“This is the lover,” he muttered; “curses upon him.”  From that moment he hated with all the bitterness of his nature the man now striding carelessly up toward the cottage door.

“Bon jour, mademoiselle et messieurs” the newcomer said in cheery tones, as he entered, making a low bow.

“Bon jour, Monsieur Scott,” was the reply.  Louis Riel, intently watching, saw the girl’s colour come and go as she spoke to the young man.  This was the same Scott, the Thomas Scott, the tidings of whose fate, at the hands of the rebel and murderer, Louis Riel, in later years, sent the blood boiling through the veins of Western Canada.  The young man stayed only for a few moments, and Riel observed that everybody in the house treated him as if in some way he had been the benefactor of all.  When he arose to go, young Jean, who knew of every widgeon in the mere beyond the cottonwood grove, and where the last flock of quail had been seen to alight, followed him out the door, and very secretly communicated his knowledge.  Marie had seen a large flock of turkeys upon the prairie a few moments walk south of the poplar grove, and perhaps they had not yet gone away.

“When did you see them, ma chere mademoiselle Marie? enquired Scott.  You know turkeys do not settle down like immigrants in one spot, and wait till we inhabitants of the plains come out and shoot them.  Was it last week, or only the day before yesterday that you saw them?” There was a very merry twinkle in his eye as he went on with this banter.  Marie affected to pout, but she answered.

“This morning, while the dew was shining upon the grass, and you, I doubt not, were sleeping soundly, I was abroad on the plains for the cows.  It was then I saw them.  I am glad, however, that you have pointed out the difference between turkeys and immigrants.  I did not know it before.”  He handed her a tiger lily which he had plucked on the way, saying,

“There, for your valuable information, I give you that.  Next time I come, if you are able to tell me where I can find several flocks, I shall bring you some coppers.”  With a world of mischief in his eyes, he disappeared, and Mary, in spite of herself, could not conceal from everybody in the house a quick little sigh at his departure.

“It seems to me this Monsieur Scott is a great favourite with your folk, Monsieur?” Said M. Riel, when the young man had left the cottage.  “Now I came with my friend also for sport, but no pretty eyes had seen any flocks to reserve for me.”  And he gave a somewhat sneering glance at poor Marie, who was pretending to be engaged in examining the petals of the tiger-lilly, although she was all the while thinking of the mischievous, manly, sunny-hearted lad who had given it to her.  M. Riel’s words and the sneer were lost, so far as she was concerned.  Her ears were where her heart was, out on the plain beyond the cottonwood, where she could see the tall, straight, lithe figure of young Scott, with his dog at his heels, its head now bobbing up from the grass, and now its tail.