I'm afraid--I'm afraid I listened too well, and my ears heard more than he said--my head is so full of books, you know." "He should have know' dat, too," said Poleon.
"Yes," she flared up.

"He knew I was only an Indian girl." The only color in Doret's face lay now in his cheeks, where the sun had put it; but he smiled at her--his warm, engaging smile--and laid his great brown hand upon her shoulder softly.
"I've look' in hees eye an' I'm always t'ink he's good man.

I don' never t'ink he'll mak' fun of poor little gal." "But he has, Poleon; that's just what he has done." She came near to breaking down, and finished, pathetically, "They're telling the story on the street, so Runnion says." "Dat's easy t'ing for feex," he said.

"Runnion, she don' spread no more story lak' dat." "I don't care what they say.

I want the truth.