Ah, she sees me not, and she turns
back heartily disappointed, I'll swear by all the saints in the
calendar! Did you ever see a figure like that, Jan Thoreau? And did
you ever see hair that shines so, like the top-feathers of a raven
who's nibbling at himself in the hottest bit of sunshine he can find?
Deliver us, but I'll go with the sugar this minute!"
The happy Jean hopped out, like a cricket over-burdened with life,
calling loudly to his wife, who came to meet him.
A few minutes later Jan thrust his head in at their door, as he was
passing.
"I knew I should get a beating, or something worse, for forgetting
that sugar," cried the little Frenchman, holding up his bared arms.
"Dough--dough--dough--I'm rolling dough--dough for the bread, dough
for the cakes, dough for the pies--dough, Jan Thoreau, just common
flour and water mixed and swabbed--I, Jean de Gravois, chief man at
Post Lac Bain, am mixing dough! She is as beautiful as an angel and
sweeter than sugar--my Iowaka, I mean; but there is more flesh in her
earthly tabernacle than in mine, so I am compelled to mix this dough,
mon ami. Iowaka, my dear, tell Jan what you were telling me, about
Melisse and--"
"Hush!" cried Iowaka in her sweet Cree. "That is for Jan to find out
for himself.
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