were smeared on his forehead, and
descended over his cheek-bones to his chin. His manly chest was
similarly tattooed and painted, and round his brawny neck and arms hung
innumerable bracelets and necklaces of human teeth, extracted (one only
from each skull) from the jaws of those who had fallen by the terrible
tomahawk at his girdle. His moccasins, and his blanket, which was draped
on his arm and fell in picturesque folds to his feet, were fringed with
tufts of hair--the black, the gray, the auburn, the golden ringlet of
beauty, the red lock from the forehead of the Scottish or the Northern
soldier, the snowy tress of extreme old age, the flaxen down of
infancy--all were there, dreadful reminiscences of the chief's triumphs
in war. The warrior leaned on his enormous rifle, and faced the King.

"And it was with that carabine that you shot Wolfe in '57?" said Louis,
eying the warrior and his weapon. "'Tis a clumsy lock, and methinks I
could mend it," he added mentally.

"The chief of the French pale-faces speaks truth," Tatua said. "Tatua
was a boy when he went first on the war-path with Montcalm."

"And shot a Wolfe at the first fire!" said the King.

"The English are braves, though their faces are white," replied the
Indian. "Tatua shot the raging Wolfe of the English; but the other
wolves caused the foxes to go to earth." A smile played round Dr.
Franklin's lips, as he whittled his cane with more vigor than ever.

"I believe, your Excellency, Tatua has done good service elsewhere than
at Quebec," the King said, appealing to the American Envoy: "at Bunker's
Hill, at Brandywine, at York Island? Now that Lafayette and my brave
Frenchmen are among you, your Excellency need have no fear but that the
war will finish quickly--yes, yes, it will finish quickly. They will
teach you discipline, and the way to conquer."

"King Louis of France," said the Envoy, clapping his hat down over
his head, and putting his arms a-kimbo, "we have learned that from
the British, to whom we are superior in everything: and I'd have your
Majesty to know that in the art of whipping the world we have no need
of any French lessons. If your reglars jine General Washington, 'tis to
larn from HIM how Britishers are licked; for I'm blest if YU know the
way yet."

Tatua said, "Ugh," and gave a rattle with the butt of his carabine,
which made the timid monarch start; the eyes of the lovely Antoinette
flashed fire, but it played round the head of t