ho profess to enlighten the Red-man's darkness. They, in their
ignorance, denounce it as absurd, while men of science know its simple
truth.

Yan did not know that he had stumbled on a secret of the Indian
medicine bag. But ever afterward that wonderful day was called back to
him, conjured up by his "medicine," this simple, natural magic, the
smell of the Wintergreen.

He appreciated that morning more than he could tell, and yet he did a
characteristic foolish thing, that put him in a wrong light and left
him so in the stranger's mind.

It was past noon. They had long lingered; the Stranger spoke of the
many things he had at home; then at length said he must be going.
"Weel, good-by, laddie; Ah hope Ah'll see you again." He held out his
hand. Yan shook it warmly; but he was dazed with thinking and with
reaction; his diffidence and timidity were strong; he never rose to
the stranger's veiled offer. He let him go without even learning his
name or address.

When it was too late, Yan awoke to his blunder. He haunted all those
woods in hopes of chancing on him there again, but he never did.

VI

Glenyan

Oh! what a song the Wild Geese sang that year! How their trumpet clang
went thrilling in his heart, to smite there new and hidden chords that
stirred and sang response. Was there ever a nobler bird than that
great black-necked Swan, that sings not at his death, but in his flood
of life, a song of home and of peace--of stirring deeds and hunting
in far-off climes--of hungerings and food, and raging thirsts to meet
with cooling drink. A song of wind and marching, a song of bursting
green and grinding ice--of Arctic secrets and of hidden ways. A song
of a long black marsh, a low red sky, and a sun that never sets.

An Indian jailed for theft bore bravely through the winter, but when
the springtime brought the Gander-clang in the black night sky, he
started, fell, and had gone to his last, long, hunting home.

Who can tell why Jericho should fall at the trumpet blast?

Who can read or measure the power of the Honker-song?

Oh, what a song the Wild Geese sang that year! And yet, was it a new
song? No, the old, old song, but Yan heard it with new ears. He was
learning to read its message. He wandered on their trailless track, as
often as he could, northward, ever northward, up the river from the
town, and up, seeking the loneliest ways and days. The river turned to
the east, but a small stream ran into it fro