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Roe, Vingie E. (Vingie Eve)

"The Maid of the Whispering Hills"

Soft haze of
blue and gold hung over forest and stream, sweet breath of summer
fondled the high carpet of interlaced tree-tops, blew down the waters
and wimpled the bending grasses, and the wolf had sighted the caribou
herd.
In a shelter of spruce within sight of the Indian smoke the lone canoe
and its people lay hidden, awaiting the coming of night.
"Now, Ma'amselle," said Dupre earnestly, "do you remain close here with
Frith and Wilson and Alloybeau while Brilliers and McDonald go with me
to reconnoitre."
Maren knelt beside a fallen log binding up the heavy ropes of her hair.
Before her were spread the meagre adjuncts of her toilet, in all
conscience slim enough for any masculine runner of the forest,--a
dozen little pegs hand-whittled from hard wood and polished to finest
gloss by contact with the shining braids.
She looked up at him with eyes that were unreadable to his simple
understanding.
"Remain?" she said; "and send you into my danger alone? You know me
not, M'sieu."
Purple dusk was thick upon the underworld of lesser growth beneath the
towering woods. In its half-light the trapper saw that her face,
usually of so sad a calm, was glowing with excitement.


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