But
he spoke very sensibly now, it seemed to Nan; very pitifully,
too, about his blasted hopes of a clerical career. She said,
quietly:
"I expect you know my uncle and his family, Pete. He is Mr.
Sherwood of Pine Camp."
"Ah! Mis-tair Hen Sherwood! I know heem well," admitted the
man. "He nice-a man ver' kind to Injun Pete."
"I'd like to have you look at me, please," said Nan, still
softly. "You see, I want to know you again if we meet. I am
very grateful."
Pete waved her thanks aside with a royal gesture. "Me! I be
glad to be of use, oh, oui! Leetle Man'zelle mus' not make
mooch of nottin', eh?"
He laughed again, but he did not turn to look at her. Nan
reached out a tentative hand and touched his sleeve. "Please,
Mr. Pete," she said. "I, I want to see you. I, I have heard
something about your having been hurt in a fire. I am sure you
must think yourself a more hateful sight than you really are."
A sob seemed to rise in the man's throat, and his shoulders
shook. He turned slowly and looked at her for a moment over his
shoulder. Then he went swiftly away across the snow (for the
bobcat had disappeared into her lair) and Nan stumbled back up
the trail toward the camp, the tears blinding her own eyes.
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