plying
with cavalier insubordination,--pioneer of the domestic manners of these
days,--to Captain Stuart's remonstrances by the assertion that he had to
wash his kettle.

There were even cradle songs, for Mrs. Dean, who certainly had ample
field for efforts in that line, sang a sweet little theme, saying she
knew nothing else, and a big grenadier, whose hair was touched with
gray, and who spoke in a deep sonorous voice (the Cherokees had always
called him _Kanoona_, "the bull-frog"), respectfully requested to know
of the lady if she could sing one that he had not heard for forty years,
in fact, not since his mother sang it to him. One or two of the
settlers, hailing originally from England, remembered it too, and some
discussion ensued touching the words and the exact turn of the tune. In
the midst of this a wag among the younger pioneers mischievously
suggested that the grenadier should favor them with a rendition of his
version, and the big soldier, in the simplicity of his heart and his
fond old memories, in a great bass voice that fairly trembled with its
own weight, began "Bye-low, bye-low"; and the ventriloquist who had made
the cat swear, and who so often rode the wooden horse, was compelled
during the performance to wear his hat adjusted over his face, for his
grin was of a distention not to be tolerated in polite society.

Perhaps because of the several contradictory phases of interest involved
in this contribution to the entertainment, it held the general attention
more definitely than worthier vocal efforts that had preceded it, and
the incident passed altogether unnoticed, except by Captain Stuart, when
the corporal of the guard appeared in the distance, his metal buttons
glimmering from afar in the dusk as he approached, and Captain Demere
softly signaled to him to pause, and rising quietly vanished in the
shadow of the block-house. He encountered Stuart at the door, for he had
also slipped away from the crowd, himself, like a shadow.

"Dispatches?" he asked.

"The express from Fort Prince George," Demere replied, his voice tense,
excited, with the realization of an impending crisis.

CHAPTER X

Demere was not a man to consider an omen and attach weight to trifling
chances, yet he was in some sort prepared for disaster. Within the hall
a pair of candles stood on the table where it was the habit to transact
official business,--to write letters; to construct maps of the country
from the resourc