lake schooner, the trim sentinel pacing the fort walls, were nothing
to her, and this somewhat incongruous hauteur gave her the air of a
little princess.

On this stormy afternoon the captain's wife was in my parlor preparing
to return to her own quarters with some coffee she had borrowed.
Hearing my remark she said, 'O, the snow won't hurt the child, Mrs.
Corlyne; she must be storm-proof, living down there on the beach!
Duncan can take her home.'

Duncan was the orderly, a factotum in the garrison.

'Non,' said Jeannette, tossing her head proudly, as the door
closed behind the lady, 'I wish not of Duncan; I go alone.'

It happened that Archie, my nephew, had gone over to the cottage of
the commanding officer to decorate the parlor for the military
sociable; I knew he would not return, and the evening stretched out
before me in all its long loneliness. 'Stay, Jeannette,' I said. 'We
will have tea together here, and when the wind goes down, old Antoine
shall go back with you.' Antoine was a French wood-cutter, whose cabin
clung half-way down the fort-hill like a swallow's nest.

Jeannette's eyes sparkled; I had never invited her before; in an
instant she had turned the day into a high festival. 'Braid hair?'
she asked, glancing toward the mirror, 'faut que je m' fasse
belle.' And the long hair came out of its close braids enveloping her
in its glossy dark waves, while she carefully smoothed out the bits of
red ribbon that served as fastenings. At this moment the door opened,
and the surgeon, the wind, and a puff of snow came in together.