'What has become of Jeannette Leblanc?' I asked.

'Jeannette? O, she married that Baptiste, a lazy, good-for-nothing
fellow? They live in the same little cabin around the point, and pick
up a living most anyhow for their tribe of young ones.'

'Are they happy?'

'Happy?' repeated my islander, with a slow stare. 'Well I suppose they
are, after their fashion; I don't know much about them. In my
opinion, they are a shiftless set, those French half-breeds round the
point.'




THE OLD AGENCY.


'The buildings of the United States Indian Agency on the island of
Mackinac were destroyed by fire December 31, at midnight.'--WESTERN
NEWSPAPER ITEM.


The old house is gone then! But it shall not depart into oblivion
unchronicled. One who has sat under its roof-tree, one who remembers
well its rambling rooms and wild garden, will take the pen to write
down a page of its story. It is only an episode, one of many; but the
others are fading away, or already buried in dead memories under the
sod. It was a quaint, picturesque old place, stretching back from the