“I love you, Uncle Gaspard,” she exclaimed. “But I don’t love that old man in there. Are you sure he is my grandfather? I couldn’t live here. I should run away and live with the birds and the squirrels.”
“And the Indians.”
“But that Light of the Moon was sweet and pretty.”
“Yes. I should like to have brought her with us for your maid.”
“Oh, that would have been nice!” She clapped her hands. “What is over there?” nodding her head.
“That is St. Louis—the fort, the palisades, the stockade to keep out the Indians.”
“There are no Indians in France,” she said retrospectively.
“No. And I have wondered a little, Renée, if you would not rather be back there.”
“And not have you?” She clung to his arm.
He gave a little sigh.