re
dying."

The Red men paid the utmost attention to the words as they dropped from
Margaret Godfrey's lips. The grave was then filled in and the mourners
dispersed to their homes along the river, leaving Paul Guidon to rest
beside his mother.

For more than a century the "Young Lion of the Woods" has slept on the
banks of the St. John. His loyal spirit took its flight to another
sphere about the time thousands of united loyal spirits were forming a
city near his tomb. The few thousand people that had settled in the
colony in the days of Paul Guidon, were the ancestry of the nearly one
million true, loyal subjects who inhabit the Maritime Provinces at the
beginning of this year 1889. The colony, of which the noble Iroquois was
a citizen, was confined within narrow bounds. Now the sons of the
Loyalists are on the shores of the Pacific. Our country extends there.
It is a noble faculty of our nature which enables us to connect our
thoughts with the past as well as with the future, and by contemplating
the example and studying the character of Paul Guidon, we must come to
the conclusion that were that Indian living now his heart would glow
with patriotic pride at the strides the country has taken, and that our
destiny is Canadian, not American.

It is a pleasure to be able to exhibit to the present generation
something of the splendid character of the Iroquois, whose ashes,
commingled with those of the Union Jack, repose near the loyal City of
St. John.

"And has he not high honor,
The hill side for a pall,
He lies in state while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall;
And the dark rock pines, with tossing plumes,
Over his tomb to wave;
'Twas a kind dear hand in that lonely land,
That laid him in the grave."

"In that lonely grave without a name,
Where his uncoffined clay
Shall break again, O, wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment Day,
And stand with glory wrapped around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife that won our life,
And the Incarnate Son of God."

CHAPTER XI.

MARGARET GODFREY'S FAREWELL.

The widowed squaw and the two pale-faced women were the last to leave
Paul's late camping ground. As they were pushed off into the stream by
Jim Newall, who with another Indian paddled them back to the settlement,
Margaret saw the other canoes, nine in number, going up the river. In
the twilight she watched them, and it came