ld muskets which did such
valuable service at Grimross. Charlie, her twelve-year old son, said to
his mother: "Do you see Indians?" The little fellow was so agitated he
could scarcely speak. She cautioned her son to remain perfectly quiet,
and not to utter another word. Brave, calm, unmoved, she stood over her
boy at the bow of the sloop. On the nearer approach of the object she
discovered it was a canoe, with someone leisurely paddling it along. It
had almost drifted by the vessel when, to her surprise, it suddenly
turned, and ran straight as an arrow for the side of the sloop.

Mrs Godfrey, in a loud, firm tone, sang out:

"Pull away, or I'll shoot you!"

The canoe was turned about in an instant, and as quick came floating
over the water the words:

"Me, Paul: Me, Paul Guidon!"

She threw him a small line and then invited him to come on board,
immediately resuming her former position with the musket by her side.

The Indian came on board, fastened his frail bark and stood for a moment
watching the retreating tide. Mrs. Godfrey asked him to come forward,
while little Charlie was shaking as though he would fall in pieces. He
obeyed her, and stepped forward. She took him by the hand and said:

"Paul! Paul! You have again come to see me. I have thought of you,
prayed for you, and shall never forget you. You have saved my life and
the lives of my husband and dear children. I am in great trouble; God
has sent you again."

Paul Guidon stood speechless and motionless with his sparkling black
eyes fixed on her thin, pale hand. The mild effulgence of the lunar
light shone full upon his face, bringing out every feature in perfect
outline. Presently his whole frame shook as though it had received an
electric shock. Mrs. Godfrey looked straight at him with her piercing
black eyes from the moment he had stood before her. Her power over him
seemed like that of a charmer. Her magic nature had completely overcome
him. Never did a naval hero appear on deck after a victory more
transcendently grand than did Margaret Godfrey at that moment of her
life. She pressed his hand more closely and said: "Paul, are you ill?"
He replied by placing her soft, white hand upon his throbbing breast,
and then moved toward the canoe. He spoke not a word. He pointed towards
his canoe, and made a sign with his right hand from the eastern horizon
up the semicircle of the sky. She understood it to mean that he would
return in the morning, at the ris