e an emerald in the heart of that rocky wilderness; and a little
wooden cross, with the name and date cut thereon by March, was erected
at the head of the low mound to mark the fur trader's last lonely
resting-place. March Marston had never known his father in early life,
having been an infant when he deserted his family; and the little that
he had seen of him at the Mountain Fort, and amid the wild scenes of the
Rocky Mountains, had not made a favourable impression on him. But, now
that he was gone, the natural instinct of affection arose within his
breast. He called to remembrance the last few and sad hours which he
had spent by his parent's dying bed. He thought of their last few words
on the momentous concerns of the soul, and of the eagerness with which,
at times, the dying man listened to the life-giving Word of God; and the
tear of sorrow that fell upon the grave, as he turned to quit that
solitary spot, was mingled with a tear of joy and thankfulness that God
had brought him there to pour words of comfort and hope into his dying
father's ear.

That night he spent in the cave with Dick; he felt indisposed to join
his old comrades just then. The grave tenderness of his eccentric
friend, and the sympathy of little Mary, were more congenial to him.

"March," said Dick in a low, sad tone, as they sat beside the fire,
"that funeral reminds me o' my friend I told ye of once. It's a
lonesome grave his, with nought but a wooden cross to mark it."

"Had you known him long, Dick?"

"No, not long. He left the settlement in a huff--bein', I b'lieve,
crossed in love, as I told ye."

Dick paused, and clasping both hands over his knee, gazed with a look of
mingled sternness and sorrow at the glowing fire.

"Did ye ever," he resumed abruptly, "hear o' a feller called Louis, who
once lived at Pine Point--before ye was born, lad; did ye ever hear yer
mother speak of him?"

"Louis? Yes--well, I believe I do think I've heard the name before. Oh
yes! People used to say he was fond o' my mother when she was a girl;
but I never heard her speak of him. Now ye mention it, I remember the
only time I ever asked her about it, she burst into tears, and told me
never to speak of him again. Thadwick was his name--Louis Thadwick; but
he was better known as Louis the Trapper. But he's almost forgotten at
the settlement now; it's so long ago. Every one thinks him dead. Why
d'ye ask?"

"Think he's dead?" repeated Dick slowl