“I’m afraid,” said Stanley, as he took his child by the hand and led her away, “that I must begin to put in my claim to the services of this little baggage, who seems to be so useful. What say you, Eda; will you allow me to train you to shoot, and fish, and walk on snow-shoes, and so make a trader of you?”
“I would like very much, papa, to learn to walk on snowshoes, but I think the gun would hurt me—it seems to kick so. Don’t you think I am too little to shoot a gun off?”
Stanley laughed at the serious way in which the child received the proposal.
“Well, then, we won’t teach you to shoot yet, Eda; but, as you say, the snow-shoe walking is worth learning, for if you cannot walk on the long shoes when the snow falls, I fear you’ll not be able to leave the fort at all.”
“Yes, and François has promised to make me a pair,” said Edith gaily, “and to teach me how to use them; and mamma says I am old enough to learn now. Is it not kind of François? He is always very good to me.”
“Indeed it is very kind of him, my pet; but all the men seem to be very good to you—are they not?”
“Oh yes!—all of them. Even Gaspard is kind now. He never whips Chimo, and he patted me on the head the other day when I met him alone in the ravine—the berry ravine, you know, where I go to gather berries. I wonder if there are berries in all the other ravines?—but I don’t care much, for there are thousands and thousands of all kinds in my own ravine, and—where are you going, papa?”
This abrupt question was caused by her father turning into the square of the new fort, in which the most of the men were at work.
“I’m going to show you our house, Eda, and to ask you to fix on the corner you like best for your own room. The partitions are going to be put up, so we must fix at once.”
As he spoke they passed through the open doorway of the new dwelling, which was a long, low building; and, placing his little daughter in the centre of the principal hall, Stanley directed her to look round and choose a corner for herself.