She looked shyly at my husband from under her brows.
"Do you know me, Therese ?" he asked.
"Yes, sir.

It is Mr.Kinzie." "And do you know me also ?" I said, approaching.

She looked at me and shook her head.
"No, I do not," she replied.
"What, Therese! Have you forgotten Madame John, who taught you to read--you and all the little girls at the Portage ?" "Oh, my heavens, Mrs.Kinzie!--but you have changed so!" "Yes, Therese, I have grown old in all these years; but I have not grown old quite so fast as your grandpapa here." There was a flash in her eye that told she felt my meaning.

She hung her head without speaking, while the color deepened over her countenance.
"Now," said I, in French, to the grandfather, "you remember me--" He interrupted me with a protest, "Non, non--je ne puis rappeler rien--je suis vieux, vieux--le treize Septembre, mil sept cent vingt-six, je suis ne a Detroit." "And you recollect," I went on, not heeding his formula, "how I came to the Portage a bride, and lived in the old cabins that the soldiers had occupied--" "Eh b'an! oui--oui--" "And how you helped make the garden for me--and how Plante and Manaigre finished the new house so nicely while Monsieur John was away for the silver--and how there was a feast after it was completed--" "Ah! oui, oui--pour le sur." "And where are all our people now ?" I asked, turning to Therese.

"Louis Frum _dit_ Manaigre--is he living ?" "Oh, Madame Kinzie! You remember that--Manaigre having two names ?" "Yes, Therese--I remember everything connected with those old times at the Portage.