"You have totally forgotten the story you were to tell us," she said, pointing to the sheets of manuscript in Stuart's hand; "if we are to have it to-night, why not begin?"
"Certainly; the story, by all means," echoed Fred. "We had it scared out of our heads, I guess, but our nerves are equal to it now. Are you fond of stories, Mr.—Mr. Genesee?"
"Uncommonly."
"Well, Mr. Stuart was about to read us one just as you came in: one he wrote since he came up in these wilds—at the Fort, didn't you say, Mr. Stuart? You know," she added, turning again to Genesee—"you know Mr. Stuart is a writer—a romancer."
"Yes," he answered slowly, looking at the subject of their discourse as if examining something rare and curious; "I should reckon—he—might be."
The contempt in the tone sent the hot blood to Stuart's face, his eyes glittering as ominously as Genesee's own would in anger. An instant their gaze met in challenge and retort, and then the sheets of paper were laid deliberately aside.
"I believe, after all, I will read you something else," he said, reaching for one of the rolls of manuscript on the table; "that is, with your permission. It is not a finished story, only the prologue. I wrote it in the South, and thought I might find material for the completion of it up here; perhaps I may."
"Let us have that, by all means," urged Tillie.
"What do you call it?"
"I had not thought of a title, as the story was scarcely written with the idea of publication. The theme, however, which is pretty fairly expressed in the quotation at the beginning, may suggest a title. I will leave that to my audience."