And so, with Gaspard on one side of him and Catherine and Mick Otter on the other, Tom unwrapped the little package. Within the wrapper he found a cardboard box, and within that a smaller box of a different shape and material. This inner box had a hinged top that was fastened down with a catch; and when Tom undid the catch and turned back the top he gasped with astonishment at the thing he saw. Old Gaspard’s white whiskers shook with excitement and Cathie’s cheeks and eyes brightened like roses and stars. Mick Otter alone showed no sign of emotion.
“I didn’t buy this,” said Tom to the girl. “I haven’t any money, as you know, and still owe the Government some thousands on account of a stolen aëroplane. If this were mine, and all danger of my being cashiered were past—”
“It was in your pocket,” said the girl.
“True; and I’ll pay for it when my skins are sold. Show me a finger, please.”
She raised her left hand and extended to him a finger of peculiar significance.
“On the understanding that you will transfer it to another finger if I am caught and broken,” he said; and then he slid the ring into place.
“Never,” she whispered, closing her hand tight; and the little diamond flashed defiant fire from her small brown fist.
“Mick Otter have to larn ’em how to get engage’,” said the old Maliseet, in a voice of pity and mild scorn.
“Vanity! Vanity!” exclaimed old Gaspard, shaking his head slowly. “But I reckon I never see a purtier little ring,” he added.
“What’s for supper?” asked Mick Otter, in sentiment-chilling tones. “Hungry man can’t eat rings, nor vanity neither.”