"'Deed he is," Old Mammy declared, as just then she waddled toward the fire. Early that evening Jean had whispered the news into her ear, and had received the old nurse's blessing, accompanied by a great motherly hug. "Mistah Dane is a puffect gen'l'man," she continued. "He's not one bit stuck up, an' he's got manners, too. Why, he touches his cap to dis ol' woman, an' if dat ain't a sign of a gen'leman, den I'd like to know what is. I ain't afraid to trust Missie Jean wif a man like dat."
"But suppose he should take Jean away?" the Colonel queried.
"Doan yo' worry 'bout dat, Cun'l. Missie Jean'll nebber leave us. But if she should, dis ol' woman'll go wif her."
"You are right, Mammy," Jean replied. "I shall not leave you and daddy. We must always remain together."
For some time father and daughter sat before the fire and talked after Old Mammy had gone to bed. To Jean the future looked bright and rosy. The Colonel, on the other hand, viewed it with considerable apprehension. In a land as yet a great wilderness, he could not help seeing mountains of difficulties rising sternly before them. He knew how many hardships must beset their path for years to come. At present they were living in a most precarious manner, exiles, with the pioneering work all ahead. But with Jean it was different. To her the trail of life looked very pleasant, gleaming golden beneath the mystic halo of romance.
The Colonel spent the next day with Dane in the hills. He wished to be alone with the courier who had won his daughter's heart. There were many things he desired to say to him, and he hoped to learn a little, at least, about his past life. He had something on his mind this day of far greater importance to him than moose, deer, or caribou.
The morning passed most pleasantly, and the Colonel was more satisfied than ever with his companion. Dane was well versed in forest lore, and the ways of the feathered and furry creatures of the trails were to him an open book. Gradually and tactfully the Colonel led him to talk about his life, but on this subject he became more reserved. He spoke enthusiastically about his mother, and how much he owed to her. His father, however, he never mentioned. The Colonel was far from satisfied, as he had learned really nothing about Dane's history, nor how his parents happened to be in this country.
They stopped to eat their dinner by a sparkling spring which bubbled from a wooded hillside. They were hungry, and thoroughly enjoyed the good things Mammy had provided.
"I suppose this is a common occurrence to you," the Colonel remarked when he had finished his meal.
"It has been my life for years," was the quiet reply. "I hardly know how to eat at a table."