ttle everything has changed since I was here last, eight
years ago, except at the settlement."

The morning was a charming one, the river was running, fairly rushing
up, otherwise all nature seemed to sleep. The splash of the paddle, the
ripple of the water along the sides of the canoe, and the gentle rolling
of the little bark, were the only things that disturbed the quiet that
reigned supreme all about. The Indian never spoke, and Margaret and her
companion, as they sat one ahead of the other in the bottom of the
canoe, seldom exchanged a word.

Mrs. Godfrey saw at a glance that the canoe was nearing the place where
Paul Guidon and his mother had once lived. As she looked toward the
shore her eyes rested upon a form standing at the water's edge, and as
the canoe approached nearer and nearer the shore, she recognized the
form as that of the pretty squaw she had met at the settlement the
previous day. Margaret Godfrey remarked to Mrs. Fowler, "There stands
the pretty creature I met yesterday." Mrs. Fowler replied, "She does not
look like the squaws we so often see about the settlement." She
continued, "What a neat, tidy girl she is. I have never seen her at
Parrtown, what a handsome face and fine form she has"

"And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,
Of finer form, or lovelier face."

The bow of the canoe had now touched the shore, and the Indian lass
most politely made a courtesy to the ladies in the canoe.

After landing, Mrs. Fowler put a piece of silver in Jim Newall's hand
and asked him if he would take them back home again in an hour or two.
Jim nodded an assent as he pulled his little bark out of the water to
the dry land.

Mrs. Godfrey, once on shore, fully recognized that she was at the old
camping ground of her protector in by gone days, Paul Guidon.

The squaw replied to Mrs. Godfrey's inquiry after her sick husband, that
he was very weak, almost dead. Does he know that a white woman is doming
to see him this morning? asked Margaret G. "Yes," replied the Indian
woman, "he be so glad see you, but he be very weak, no speak, he told me
in whisper last night, after I come back camp from Jim Newall wigwam,
best friend, best woman ever saw, was pale face woman, who told him of
Great Chief, Big Spirit, and great hunting ground way back sun, where
old Mag, (mother) was now. Pale face woman gave him book, and would talk
Great Spirit and tell him look after Paul and make hi