"They are too
clumsy to hunt well, so clumsy that even the birds give them away.
I am afraid we shall go without fresh meat tomorrow!"
Concombre Bateese stared as if some one had stunned him with a
blow, and he spoke no word as David went on to the forward deck.
Marie-Anne had come out under the awning. She gave a little cry of
relief and pleasure.
"I am glad you have come back, M'sieu David!"
"So am I, madame," he replied. "I think the woods are unhealthful
to travel in!"
Out of the earth he felt that a part of the old strength had
returned to him. Alone they sat at dinner, and Marie-Anne waited
on him and called him David again--and he found it easier now to
call her Marie-Anne and look into her eyes without fear that he
was betraying himself. A part of the afternoon he spent in her
company, and it was not difficult for him to tell her something of
his adventuring in the north, and how, body and soul, the
northland had claimed him, and that he hoped to die in it when his
time came. Her eyes glowed at that. She told him of two years she
had spent in Montreal and Quebec, of her homesickness, her joy
when she returned to her forests.
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