George Tracy Marsh

“ At times, when the magic of the young spring swept his troubled brain clean of dark memory for a while, he dreamed that the water thrushes in the river willows called to him: “Sweet, sweet, sweet, Julie Breton!” He would feel, for a space, that yellow warblers and friendly chickadees, from the spruces of the shore, hailed him as one of the elect, for was he not also a lover? ”

“ I was sorry to hear about Antoine and Piquet but I don’t think you had any part in it, lad—be sure of that!”
“T’anks, m’sieu.” Slowly and in great detail Marcel related to the three men, sitting with set faces, the gruesome history of the past winter. When he came to the night that Fleur had destroyed the crazed Piquet, the Hudson Bay men turned to each other with exclamations of wonder and admiration.
“That’s a dog for you! She got his wind just in time!” muttered Gillies. ”

“ Now, Jean,” continued Gillies, “I am perfectly satisfied with your story. I believe every word of it. The Marcels are not liars. But the Lelacs are going to make trouble over the evidence they found at your camp. Suspicion always points to the survivor in a starvation camp and you know the circumstances are against you, my lad.”
“M’sieu,” Marcel protested, “eef I keel Antoine, I would tak’ heem into de bush and hide heem, I would not worry ovair de fox and wolverene.” ”