The
wooded slopes of Orleans basked in sunshine as they overlooked the
broad channel through which the canoe sped, and long before meridian
the little bark was turned in to shore and pulled up on the beach of
St. Valier.
Fanchon leaped out without assistance, wetting a foot in so doing,
which somewhat discomposed the good humor she had shown during the
voyage. Her Indian boatmen offered her no help, considering that
women were made to serve men and help themselves, and not to be
waited upon by them.
"Not that I wanted to touch one of their savage hands," muttered
Fanchon, "but they might have offered one assistance! Look there,"
continued she, pulling aside her skirt and showing a very trim foot
wet up to the ankle; "they ought to know the difference between
their red squaws and the white girls of the city. If they are not
worth politeness, WE are. But Indians are only fit to kill
Christians or be killed by them; and you might as well courtesy
to a bear in the briers as to an Indian anywhere."
The boatmen looked at her foot with supreme indifference, and taking
out their pipes, seated themselves on the edge of their canoe, and
began to smoke.
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