The factor was in
high humor. An Indian from the Porcupine had brought in two silver fox
that morning, and he was immensely pleased at Jan's return--a
combination of incidents which put him in the best of moods.
Melisse sat opposite Jan at the table. She had twisted a sprig of red
bakneesh into her glossy braid, and a cluster of it nestled at her
throat, but Jan gave no sign that he had noticed this little favor,
which was meant entirely for him. He smiled at her, but there was a
clear coolness in the depths of his dark eyes which checked any of the
old familiarity on her part.
"Has MacVeigh put in his new trap-line?" Cummins inquired, after
asking Jan many questions about his trip.
"I don't know," replied Jan. "I didn't go to MacVeighs'."
Purposely he held his eyes from Melisse. She understood his effort,
and a quick flush gathered in her cheeks.
"It was MacVeigh who brought in word of you," persisted the factor,
oblivious of the effect of his questions.
"I met him in the Cree Lake country, but he said nothing of his trap-
lines."
He rose from the table with Cummins, and started to follow him from
the cabin. Melisse came between. For a moment her hand rested upon his
arm.
"You are going to stay with me, Jan," she smiled. "I want your help
with the dishes, and then we're going to play on the violin.
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