committed against his race; but this desire existed in a form a good deal mitigated by his intercourse with the “Yankees,” and his regard for individuals.  It had, nevertheless, strangely occurred to the savage reasoning of this young warrior that possibly some arrangement might be effected, by means of which he should take scalps from the Canadians, while Peter and his other followers were working their will on the Americans.  In this confused condition was the mind of the Chippewa, when he and his companion threw down their loads, near the place where the provision of game was usually kept.  This was beneath the tree, near the spring and the cook-house, in order that no inconvenience should arise from its proximity to the place where the party dwelt and slept.  For a siege, should there be occasion to shut themselves up within the “garrison,” the men depended on the pickled pork, and a quantity of dried meat; of the latter of which the missionary had brought a considerable supply in his own canoe.  Among these stores were a few dozen of buffaloes’ or bisons’ tongues, a delicacy that would honor the best table in the civilized world, though then so common among the western hunters, as scarce to be deemed food as good as the common salted pork and beef of the settlements.

The evening that followed proved to be one of singular softness and sweetness.  The sun went down in a cloudless sky, and gentle airs from the southwest fanned the warm cheeks of Margery, as she sat, resting from the labors of the day, with le Bourdon at her side, speaking of the pleasures of a residence in such a spot.  The youth was eloquent, for he felt all that he said, and the maiden was pleased.  The young man could expatiate on bees in a way to arrest any one’s attention; and Margery delighted to hear him relate his adventures with these little creatures; his successes, losses, and journeys.

“But are you not often lonely, Bourdon, living here in the openings, whole summers at a time, without a living soul to speak to?” demanded Margery, coloring to the eyes, the instant the question was asked, lest it should subject her to an imputation against which her modesty revolted, that of wishing to draw the discourse to a discussion on the means of preventing this solitude in future.

“I have not been, hitherto,” answered le Bourdon, so frankly as at once to quiet his companion’s sensitiveness, “though I will not answer for the future.  Now that I have so many with me, we may make some of them necessary.  Mind—­I say some, not all of my present guests.  If I could have my pick, pretty Margery, the present company would give me all I can desire, and more too.  I should not think of going to Detroit for that companion, since she is to be found so much nearer.”