Annette - The Metis Spy

"Harken now, mademoiselle; it sings again." And lo! from over the

hushed face of the water came the notes of the guardian maiden.

"The song is not plaintive and sorrow-laden, as I have been told the

swan's song is, Julie."

"No; the singing of the swan soothes and consoles. Hark again to it."

"Oh, it is divine, Julie, and creeps into my heart, filling me with

comfort and exquisite peace."

"I doubt not, mademoiselle, that the maiden came to this lake to

cheer your sorrowful spirit, and to give you surety that neither you

nor your lover stand in danger."

"Ah, Julie; it is so sweet to think this. And this it is which the

song tells me through the delightful quiet of my heart."

"Yes, my sweet mistress; and I had forgotten the most delicious

tidings in the legend. The maiden's singing is always a guarantee

that no harm can come to either of the lovers." And while Annette was

feasting her spirit upon this new joy, the song of the swan, which

for a minute or two had been hushed, suddenly was resumed close by;

and looking, the two maidens saw a bird, beautiful, and endowed with

grace of motion past description, move by, sending divers shining

rings of water before it. Then a sudden darkness fell and hid the

bird; but the song came at frequent intervals to the girls from the

midst of the lake, and whenever a shadow passed over Annette's

spirit, the singing was resumed. [Footnote: There is a legend among

some of the Indian tribes of the North-West territories that the swan

is a metamorphosed love-sick maiden, whose function and prerogative is

to watch over all young virgins who have given away their hearts. It

is a fact that the Indian hunters long refrained from killing the

white swan in deference to a belief in this legend.--E.C.] There was now a stir among the brambles near the girl's tent, and to

Annette's "Qui vive?" came the response-"It is Little Poplar."

"Oh, I am so glad that he is come," Julie said, and the eyes of this

minx grew instantly larger, and ten times more bright.

Some of my fair readers may now desire to know "exactly" what this

Indian chief, who is so conspicuous in the story "looked like." Well,

he was just such a man as always finds an easy access to a woman's

heart. It is true that he was "a savage," but if merit there be in

"blood,"--and for my own part I would not have a dog unless I was

sure about his pedigree,--he was descended of a long and illustrious

line of chiefs, whose ancestors, mayhap, were foremost in that

splendid civilization, that has left us an art mighty and full of

wonders, centuries before the destroying sails of Cortez were spread

upon the deep.