from his sunburnt forehead, and settling his cap with a swagger.

"It's you and me for it first, I reckon, Grange's Andree," he said, and clattered cheerfully down the narrow stairs.

He felt relieved that Tempest would not be back from the Black Mile until the next night. The matter was entirely under his control, and he knew exactly what he was going to do as he walked down to Grange's where a Sabbath calm lay over everything, including the many dogs that slept in the dust round the door.

"I want to speak to Andree a moment," he said, leaning in through the back-parlour window; and Moosta, with unsteady babies reeling round her ample skirts, answered him.

"Suppose she go in canoe. She mak' fight avec Monsieur Lampard."

"Thank you," said Dick, and withdrew his head, and went down to the river.

"She can flirt with that little beast when she has Tempest!" he said. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "I know something about women," he said. "But I doubt Andree is rather too raw even for me."

Against the bank where the canoe widened to the lake he found Andree in her canoe. She held the overhanging willow-branches with one round arm from which the sleeve had fallen back. There was a bracelet of the dyed porcupine quills on it, and a belt of like make clipped her supple waist. She lay back idly, and her long slender feet were thrust out before her, cased in new moccasins gay with blue and magenta bead-work and silk. Dick smiled.

"Waiting for Monsieur Lampard to come back and make friends," he murmured.

Then he slid down the bank and stood beside her. Andree looked up with a pretty pretence at anger. Then she frowned. She had no reason to love Dick.

"What boy are you waiting for this evening, Andree?" asked Dick pleasantly, and stepped into the canoe.

"Not you," she said sharply, and drew her feet in.

"Ah, I'm sorry for that." Dick reached for the pad-