“Good coat,” she said.  “Try’m on, eh?”

Jean at once stood up, and when she had slipped on the jacket, the Indian woman viewed her with pleasure.

“Wear’m, eh?” she queried.  “Warm?”

“Indeed it is,” Jean replied.  “Is this for me?”

“A-ha-ha.  Keep babby warm.  Kitty mak’ more bimeby.  Babby no cold.”

A mistiness came into the girl’s eyes as she stood there.  The kindness of this woman affected her deeply.

“Why are you so good to me?” she asked.  “You never saw me until yesterday, and yet you are doing so much for me.  I don’t understand.”

“Kitty tell, eh?”

“I wish you would,” Jean replied as she seated herself upon the rugs and furs.  “I want to know.”

The Indian woman threw a couple of sticks upon the fire, and then faced the girl.  She reached out and touched the little arrow-brooch with the forefinger of her right hand.

“Dane geeve babby dat, eh?” she asked.

“Why, yes, how did you know that?”

“Injun know much,” and the woman smiled as she spoke.  “Injun know Dane; Dane know Pete.  See?”

“Did Pete tell you about this?” and Jean touched the arrow.

“A-ha-ha.  Pete tell Injun.  Pete, Sam, all sam’ mamma.  See?”

“What, are Pete and Sam brothers?”

“A-ha-ha, all sam’ mamma.”

A new light now began to dawn upon Jean’s mind, and she understood certain things which had been puzzling her since yesterday afternoon.  She also recalled Dane’s words when he gave her the brooch.  “It is Love’s-Charm,” he had said, “and it may mean more to you than you now imagine.”  She realised how much it had meant to her, and no doubt it had saved her from a terrible fate.

“You knew me by this?” she asked, again touching the arrow.

“A-ha-ha.  Kitty see quick.  Kitty know Dane geeve babby arrow.  Pete tell Injun.”

“Didn’t those Indians who carried me away from home know?  Didn’t Pete tell them?”

“Dem bad Injun.  Bah!  Porkeepine!  Fight King George!”

“What do you mean by porcupine?”

“Micmac; all sam’ slasher.  Fight King George.”

“But all the Indians are not rebels.”

“No, no.  Plenty good Injun no fight King George.  All sam’ Dane.”

“You have known Dane quite a while, I suppose!” Jean asked, while a conscious flush stole into her cheeks.

“A-ha-ha, long tam.  Dane leetle babby, so beeg,” and she spread out her hand, palm downward, about two feet from the ground.  “Kitty know Dane; Kitty know Dane mamma.”

“What, you know his mother?”

“A-ha-ha.  Good woman.  Dead now.”

“Do you know his father?”

The woman turned suddenly toward the fire without replying.  Jean noticed this, and wondered.  She also remembered Dane’s peculiar manner when she had mentioned his father.  Her interest and curiosity were now aroused more than ever.  There must be some mystery connected with Dane’s father, she felt certain.  She longed to know, and hoped to find out something from this woman.  There was no opportunity, however, just then as Sam appeared unexpectedly before them.  He was much excited, and addressed a few rapid words to his wife.  Jean rose to her feet, her face pale with fear.