Strange beauty sometimes results from a mixed
descent, and this girl had French, English and Indian blood in her
veins, the three races mixing and intermixing among her ancestors,
according to the custom of the Northwestern border. A bold profile
delicately finished, heavy blue-black hair, light blue eyes looking
out unexpectedly from under black lashes and brows; a fair white skin,
neither the rose-white of the blonde nor the cream-white of the
Oriental brunette; a rounded form with small hands and feet, showed
the mixed beauties of three nationalities. Yes, there could be no
doubt but that Jeannette was singularly lovely, albeit ignorant
utterly. Her dress was as much of a melange as her ancestry: a
short skirt of military blue, Indian leggings and moccasins, a red
jacket and little red cap embroidered with beads. The thick braids of
her hair hung down her back, and on the lounge lay a large
blanket-mantle lined with fox-skins and ornamented with the plumage of
birds. She had come to teach me bead-work; I had already taken several
lessons to while away the time, but found myself an awkward scholar.
'Bonjou', madame,' she said, in her patois of broken English
and degenerate French.
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