m good man."

Is your husband's name Paul? asked Margaret Godfrey. "Yes mam," she
answered, "Paul Guidon his name." Mrs. Godfrey felt all must be a dream.
She appeared lost and bewildered after she had heard the name Paul
Guidon. She cast a glance at her companion and exclaimed, "Am I back to
the old camping ground of Paul Guidon, and is he here?" Then her
faculties seemed to desert her, for at that instant she staggered and
fell into the arms of the Indian woman, with such force as to almost
knock the squaw over. Mrs. Fowler noticing the stupor of her companion
and her pallid features, asked her if she felt ill. She did not reply.

Little Mag, for such was the name of the handsome squaw, ran down to the
river side, filled her moccasins with water and tripping back, she
poured the contents full in the face of Mrs. Godfrey. She went again and
again to the river, filled her moccasins and poured the water over
Margaret's face and temples.

Jim Newall, who was sitting in his canoe a few yards distant, seeing the
woman lying on the ground, came up and proposed to carry her to the
wigwam two hundred yards distant, or under the shade of some trees near
by. The latter proposition was acted upon. Jim, Mrs. Fowler and Little
Mag, carried Margaret to a shaded spot a few yards away. They all sat
down beside her, as she lay stretched and apparently lifeless upon the
ground. After little Mag had once more poured the contents of her shoes
down the neck of Margaret, and Mrs. Fowler had steadily rubbed her
temples and wrists, she opened her eyes, looked wildly about, and then
sat up supported by her companion.

She then commenced to speak in a low weak voice. Mrs. Fowler, listening
attentively, heard her say, "Forever honored be this spot of earth: Here
'Old Mag' departed this life. Here her son Paul, that most noble spirit
of the woods, who when I was weary, distressed, and a wanderer, broken
in everything but spirit, poor in all but faith and courage: Here! Here!
Paul took refuge, and my husband, my children and myself rested. Never
shall that day be forgotten by me. I shall always look back during my
life, and when I get to that other home, I shall, too, look back to this
sacred spot with unabated affection and regard. Here! Here was I eight
years ago with husband and children, unprovided for, unprotected, on the
shore of this river, in a rude and fearful wilderness, surrounded by
savages, but that noble Indian, that splendid Iroq