Antoine then explained to the boy that no one should take Samone away from him, because he intended keeping her with him all the time, and from that hour until the day soon after, when Billy saw the little Samone no more, she was always close beside her father. The particular thing that puzzled Billy, though, kept half the village guessing. 'Phonse, Buzz, Bud, and Tony came to school just before the holidays dressed in fine new suits and beaming with smiles. That same afternoon Billy was in the dry-goods store when Antoine bought a red dress for his wife and wide red ribbons to trim it with.
"I tole you the ole lady she look pretty good when he get this on, Beely," said Antoine, rattling a pocketful of money for Samone's benefit. The jingle pleased Antoine more than it did the little girl.
Billy wondered where Antoine got his money, and when he learned that the Frenchman's own family didn't know, he wondered more than ever.
For many weeks Antoine had been stage-driver on the evergreen road,—the winding way across the ice, marked on either side by forest trees.
The day before Christmas there was a blizzard. From Billy's home on the point nothing could be seen but whirling snow. The nearest trees on the evergreen road were hidden from sight, while the north shore across the frozen straits seemed for ever lost.
"Antoine won't go to-day," said Billy; but scarcely were the words spoken when the sound of sleigh-bells was heard, and Antoine stopped his horses at the cottage door. He asked for an extra shawl or blanket for the children, and laughed at the idea of being afraid to make the trip. When Billy's mother knew that 'Phonse and Samone were in the sleigh, she begged Antoine to leave them with her.
"Samone stay with ole Antoine long as he live in Mackinaw," declared the Frenchman, "and Beely she know that. I ain't leave Samone no more." Antoine went on to explain that he could cross the evergreen road with his eyes shut, and that there wasn't a bit of danger. He had positively promised to meet two passengers who were coming from Duluth, and he was determined to be on time for the train. The children were comfortable as two kittens, Antoine further insisted, at the same time declaring that he would be back at noon to help the "old lady" get ready for Christmas.
Fumbling in his pocket at the last moment, Antoine drew forth an envelope, in which he declared was his wife's Christmas present.
"Tell Beely to take care of it until ole Antoine come back, and, if she ain't come home no more, give her to the old lady."
Every hour the storm grew worse, and at noon the marine reporter's three children listened in vain for the sound of sleigh-bells.