Jeanne bridled and flung up her chin.
Pierre took her soft hand in his rough one.
"Do not mind," he said in a whisper; "I would never beat you even if you did not have dinner ready. And I will bring you lovely furs and whatever you want. My father is willing to send me up in the fur country next year."
Jeanne laughed, then turned to sudden gravity and gave back the pressure of the hand in repentance.
"You are so good to me, Pierre. But I do not want to marry in a long, long time, until I get tired of other things. And I want plenty of them and fun and liberty."
"Yes, yes, you are full of fun," approvingly.
Louis was coming up to them in a fine canoe and some Indian rowers. He waved his hand.
"Good luck, you see! Step in. Now for a glorious sail. Is it up or down?"
"Down," cried Jeanne hopping around on one foot, and still hanging to Pani.
They were soon settled within. The river was like a stream of golden fire, each ripple with a kind of phosphorescent gleam as the foam slipped away. For the oars were beating it up in every direction. The air was tensely clear. There was Lake St. Clair spread out in the distance, touching a sky of golden blue, if such colors fuse. And the opposite shore with its wealth of trees and shrubs and beginnings of Sandwich and Windsor and Fort Malden; Au Cochon and Fighting island, Grosse island in the far distance, and Bois Blanc.