parent, and knew of but one home which was worthy the name. That
was in the Canadian wilderness where the Indian Mission held out
its arms to her, and the beloved sister made her more welcome than
words could imply. Four pretty children had come to grace this
forest household, where young George Mansion, still the veriest
right hand of the missionary, had grown into a magnificent type
of Mohawk manhood. These years had brought him much, and he had
accomplished far more than idle chance could ever throw in his
way. He had saved his salary that he earned as interpreter in the
church, and had purchased some desirable property, a beautiful
estate of two hundred acres, upon which he some day hoped to build
a home. He had mastered six Indian languages, which, with his
knowledge of English and his wonderful fluency in his own tribal
Mohawk, gave him command of eight tongues, an advantage which soon
brought him the position of Government interpreter in the Council
of the great "Six Nations," composing the Iroquois race. Added to
this, through the death of an uncle he came into the younger title
of his family, which boasted blood of two noble lines. His father,
speaker of the Council, held the elder title, but that did not
lessen the importance of young George's title of chief.

Lydia never forgot the first time she saw him robed in the full
costume of his office. Hitherto she had regarded him through all
her comings and goings as her playmate, friend and boon companion;
he had been to her something that had never before entered her
life--he had brought warmth, kindness, fellowship and a peculiar
confidential humanity that had been entirely lacking in the chill
English home of her childhood. But this day, as he stood beside
his veteran father, ready to take his place among the chiefs of
the Grand Council, she saw revealed another phase of his life and
character; she saw that he was destined to be a man among men, and
for the first time she realized that her boy companion had gone a
little beyond her, perhaps a little above her. They were a strange
pair as they stood somewhat apart, unconscious of the picture they
made. She, a gentle-born, fair English girl of twenty, her simple
blue muslin frock vying with her eyes in color. He, tawny skinned,
lithe, straight as an arrow, the royal blood of generations of
chiefs and warriors pulsing through his arteries, his clinging
buckskin tunic and leggings fringed and embroidered with coun