Though the joy of shoeing her brothers was not to be put off, she had not intended to let them keep on these precious brogans of civilization while they played beside the water.  But she suddenly saw Mama Lalotte walking along the street near the lake with old Michel Pensonneau.  Beyond these moving figures were many others, of engages and Indians, swarming in front of the Fur Company’s great warehouse.  Some were talking and laughing; others were in a line, bearing bales of furs from bateaux just arrived at the log-and-stone wharf stretched from the centre of the bay.  But all of them, and curious women peeping from their houses on the beach, particularly Jean Bati’ McClure’s wife, could see that Michel Pensonneau was walking with Mama Lalotte.

This sight struck cold down Jenieve’s spine.  Mama Lalotte was really the heaviest charge she had.  Not twenty minutes before had that flighty creature been set to watch the supper pot, and here she was, mincing along, and fixing her pale blue laughing eyes on Michel Pensonneau, and bobbing her curly flaxen head at every word he spoke.  A daughter who has a marrying mother on her hands may become morbidly anxious; Jenieve felt she should have no peace of mind during the month the coureurs-de-bois remained on the island.  Whether they arrived early or late, they had soon to be off to the winter hunting-grounds; yet here was an emergency.

“Mama Lalotte!” called Jenieve.  Her strong young fingers beckoned with authority.  “Come here to me.  I want you.”

The giddy parent, startled and conscious, turned a conciliating smile that way.  “Yes, Jenieve,” she answered obediently, “I come.”  But she continued to pace by the side of Michel Pensonneau.

Jenieve desired to grasp her by the shoulder and walk her into the house; but when the world, especially Jean Bati’ McClure’s wife, is watching to see how you manage an unruly mother, it is necessary to use some adroitness.

“Will you please come here, dear Mama Lalotte?  Toussaint wants you.”

“No, I don’t!” shouted Toussaint.  “It is Michel Pensonneau I want, to make me some boats.”

The girl did not hesitate.  She intercepted the couple, and took her mother’s arm in hers.  The desperation of her act appeared to her while she was walking Mama Lalotte home; still, if nothing but force will restrain a parent, you must use force.

Michel Pensonneau stood squarely in his moccasins, turning redder and redder at the laugh of his cronies before the warehouse.  He was dressed in new buckskins, and their tawny brightness made his florid cheeks more evident.  Michel Pensonneau had been brought up by the Cadottes of Sault Ste. Marie, and he had rich relations at Cahokia, in the Illinois Territory.  If he was not as good as the family of Francois Iroquois, he wanted to know the reason why.  It is true, he was past forty and a bachelor.  To be a bachelor, in that region, where Indian wives were so plenty