When he had packed his last load of winter supplies from the trade-house to the Mission, he said with a laugh to Julie:
"Julie, we have made a good start, you and I. We have credit of three hundred dollars with the Company."
The olive skin of Julie Breton flushed to the dusky crown of hair, but she retorted with spirit:
"You are counting your geese before they are shot, M'sieu Jean. Merci! But I am very happy with Père Henri."
Père Breton's laugh interrupted Jean's reply. "Yes, my son. Julie is right. You are too young, you two, to think of anything but your souls."
"Some day, Julie, I will be a Company man and then you will listen to Jean Marcel," and the lad who had cherished the memory of the girl's oval face through the long winter and taken it with him into the dim, blue Ungava hills, left the Mission with head erect and swinging stride.
"Jean, when are you going back to the bush?" inquired Gillies, as Marcel entered the trade-house.
"My partners and I go next week, maybe."
"Well, I want you to take a canoe to Duck Island for me. We're short-handed here, and you have just come down that coast. I promised some Huskies to leave a cache of stuff there this summer."
Marcel's dark features reddened with pride. He had been put in charge of a canoe bound on Company business. His crossing to the Big Salmon had marked him at Whale River as a canoeman of daring—a chip of the old block, worthy of the name Marcel.