There was rejoicing and in the household of John this afternoon. Molly and Johnny were in the throes of an overwhelming sorrow, the noise of which might be heard from the barracks to the Indian village. They were sparing of tears as a rule, but when they did give way to they published it abroad, yelling with utter abandon, their black eyes up, their mouths into squares, from which came such a measure of sound as to rack the ears and burden the air heavily with sadness. Poleon was going away! Their own particular Poleon! Something was badly in the general scheme of affairs to permit of such a thing, and they manifested their grief so loudly that Burrell, who knew nothing of Doret's intention, sought them out and tried to the cause of it. They had found the French-Canadian at the river with their father, loading his canoe, and they had asked him whither he fared. When the meaning of his words struck home they looked at each other in dismay, then, bred as they were to mask emotion, they joined hands and silently back up the bank with filling eyes and chins a-quiver until they gained the rear of the house. Here they sat down all forlorn, and began to weep bitterly and in an .  
"What's the matter with you tikes, anyhow?" inquired the . He had always filled them with a speechless , and at his unexpected appearance they began the slow and painful process of swallowing their grief. He was a nice man, they had both agreed long ago, and very splendid to the eye, but he was nothing like Poleon, who was one of them, only somewhat bigger.
 
"Come, now! Tell me all about it," the soldier insisted. "Has something happened to the three-legged puppy?"
 
Molly denied the occurrence of any such .
 
"Then you've lost the little shiny rifle that shoots with air?" But Johnny this horrible suspicion by drawing the formidable weapon out of the grass behind him.
 
"Well, there isn't anything else bad enough to cause all this of . Can't I help you out?"
 
"Poleon!" they , in .
 
"Exactly! What about him?"
 
"He's goin' away!" said Johnny.
 
"He's goin' away!" echoed Molly.
 
"Now, that's too bad, of course," the young man ; "but think what nice things he'll bring you when he comes back."
 
"He ain't comin' back!" announced the heir, with the tone that conveys a sorrow unspeakable.
 
"He ain't comin' back!" wailed the little girl, and, being a woman, yielded again to her weakness, unashamed.
 
Burrell tried to extract a more explanation, but this was as far as their knowledge ran. So he sought out the Canadian, and found him with Gale in the store, a pile of food and on the counter between them.
 
"Poleon," said he, "you're not going away?"
 
"Yes," said Doret. "I'm takin' li'l' trip."
 
"But when are you coming back?"
 
The man his shoulders.
 
"Dat's hard t'ing for tellin'. I'm res'less in my heart, so I'm goin' travel some. I ain' never pass on de back trail yet, so I 'spect I keep goin'."
 
"Oh, but you can't!" cried Burrell. "I—I—" He paused awkwardly, while down the breeze came the of the two little . "Well, I feel just as they do." He motioned in the direction of the sound. "I wanted you for a friend, Doret; I hate to lose you."
 
"I ain' never got my satisfy yet, so I'm pass on—all de tam' pass on. Mebbe dis trip I ' de place."
 
"I'm sorry—because—well, I'm a selfish sort of cuss—and—" Burrell pulled up blushingly, with a strong man's display of shame at his own emotion. "I owe all my happiness to you, old man. I can't thank you—neither of us can—we shall never live long enough for that, but you mustn't go without knowing that I feel more than I'll ever have words to say."
 
He was making it very hard for the Frenchman, whose heart was aching already with a dull, unending pain. Poleon had hoped to get away quietly; his heart was too heavy to let him face Necia or this man, and run the risk of their reading his secret, so a wrinkle gathered between his eyes that grew into a smile. And then, as if he were not tried , the girl herself came flying in.
 
"What's this I hear?" she cried. "Alluna tells me—" She saw the telltale pile on the counter, and her face grew white. "Then it's true! Oh, Poleon!"
 
He smiled, and cheerily. "Yes, I been t'inkin' ' dis trip long tam'."
 
"When are you coming back?"
 
"Wal, if I fin' dat new place w'at I'm lookin' for I don' never come back. You people was good frien' to me, but I'm ' of shif'less feller, you know. Mebbe I forget all 'bout Flambeau, an' stop on my 'New Countree'—you never can tol' w'at dose Franchemans goin' do."
 
"It's the wander-lust," murmured Burrell to himself; "he'll never rest."
 
"What a child you are!" cried Necia, half angrily. "Can't you conquer that roving spirit and settle down like a man?" She laid her hand on his arm appealingly. "Haven't I told you there isn't any 'far country'? Haven't I told you that this path leads only to hardship and suffering and danger? The land you are looking for is there"—she touched his breast—"so why don't you stay in Flambeau and let us help you to find it?"
 
He was deeply grateful for her blindness, and yet it hurt him so that his great heart was nigh to bursting. Why couldn't she see the endless, hopeless that consumed him, and know that if he stayed in sight and touch of her it would be like a living death? Perhaps, then, she would have given over urging him to do what he longed to do, and let him go on that search he knew was hopeless, and in which he had no joy. But she did not see; she would never see. He laughed aloud, for all the world as if the sun were bright and the for adventure were still keen in him, then, picking up his bundle, said:
 
"Dere's no use argue wit' Canayen man. Mebbe some day I come paddle back roun' de ben' down yonder, an' you hear me singin' dose chanson; but now de day she's too fine, de river she's laugh too loud, an' de birds she's sing too purty............