ht my
freedom; and when I get ten horses of my own, I will buy Le-Le's. Could you help us? Your father is good."
"A good heart isn't always accompanied by a full purse," thought Jean.
"Who imagines that he has a property interest in your sister?" she asked aloud.
"Our chief, Tyee of the Nootkas. He captured both of us in a war with our people, the Seattles, many, many moons ago."
"Ugh! Way-siyah! Whulge!" cried the girl, writhing like a captured eel.
"Mac-kam-mah-shish, copa-nika?"
"She asks if you cannot buy her."
"Nowitka! Mika! Closh potlatch hy-u chickamin?"
"God knows I wish I could buy her," said Jean.
No painter could have done justice to the varying expressions that alternately lighted and clouded the Madonna-like face of Le-Le, as she strained every nerve to comprehend the conversation. And when at last every vestige of her awakening hope had settled into a conviction of failure, she buried her face in her hands, and, bending forward, shook her black abundant hair over her face and body to the floor, and uttered a piercing wail, making Jean's blood curdle.
"Le-Le's cold!" cried the girl, crouching lower, till the embers singed the ends of her straying locks.
"Don't cry, Le-Le dear. You have come to spend the night with me," exclaimed Jean, seizing her gently by the arm.
Nika wake cumtux," cried the girl. You have come to sleep," pointing to the bed in the corner.
Nowitka! sleep! Nika cumtux." She understands," said Jean, rising and turning to Siwash. "Good-night."
Jean was too full of contending emotions for sleep. She lingered long upon the hearth. "I could stay here
