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An old crone is sitting over a turf fire that glows and burns dimly in its subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a three-legged pot, in which boil the "praties" for the "boys'" dinners, who will be coming home presently from their work.,Then she closed the smoke hole. The smoke began to fill the top of the lodge. It settled lower and lower. Broken Bow was afraid.,"Mona," says Nicholas, roughly, laying his hand on her shoulder, and shaking her slightly, "I forbid you talking like that. It is nobody's fault. It is the will of God. It is morbid and sinful of you to let such a thought enter your head.","Certainly I shall not. It would be very mean, and I wonder at you to ask the question," says Mona, with a great show of virtuous indignation. "Besides," mischievously, "if you know, there is no necessity to tell you anything.","You are very much to be admired," says his mother, in an abominable tone.,"It is all her doing," says the old man,—"Mona's, I mean. She loves those flowers more than anything on earth, I think. Her mother was the same; but she wasn't half the lass that Mona is. Never a mornin' in the cowld winter but she goes out there to see if the frost hasn't killed some of 'em the night before.","From whom?" demands Mona, lazily, seeing the writing is unknown to her.,"I mean a real fairy," says Dorothy, shaking her head "If she were to come now this moment and say, 'Dorothy'——",At his words, a glad light springs to life within her wonderful eyes. She is so pleased and proud that he should so speak of her.,"It is pretty, I think," she says. "The duke," with a grave look, "gave it to me just two years after my son was born.",About this time Red Robe fell in love.,His passion carries Mona along with it..