ffers little from ourselves."

"They are brave," interrupted Brock.

"Oh, yes," said Henry, "splendidly reckless of life. The courage of the
fatalist I should say. You see, they are so constantly on the war-path
that fighting is a compulsory pastime."

"Still," said Brock, "with what daring they fight for their homes."

"True, Colonel," retorted Henry, "but when it comes to fighting for
home, a hummingbird will defend its nest. Their peculiar traits are
largely the result of a nomadic life and tribal strife, hence, their
duplicity. Superstition influences them greatly, as it does all savage
races. In one respect they are at least superior to some of our own
people--I refer to their treatment of their children. Their
lovingkindness is pathetic. Contact with civilization, as you may
discover, develops at first all their bad qualities, for they are apt
imitators, so when the pagan Indian meets a trader without a
conscience--and there are some, you know--why, he is not slow to adopt
the bad Christian's methods."

[Illustration: BROCK'S COCKED HAT]

CHAPTER XI.

LITTLE YORK, NIAGARA, AMHERSTBURG.

In common with most great men, Brock found distraction in trifles. For
weeks prior to leaving Quebec all kinds of gayety prevailed. A visit
from Governor Gore of Upper Canada, and the arrival of the fleet from
Guernsey and two frigates from Portsmouth, gave a fillip to society.
Races, water-parties and country picnics were the order of the day. Our
hero's contribution consisted of a banquet and grand ball. He had his
own troubles, however, that even the versatile Dobson could not
overcome, and he roundly scolded his brother Irving for not sending him
a new cocked hat.[2]

"That cocked hat," he said, "has not been received; a most distressing
circumstance, as from the enormity of my head I find the utmost
difficulty in getting a substitute."

His departure for York weighed upon him. In Quebec he had the most
"delightful garden imaginable, with abundance of melons and other good
things"--these, together with his new bastions and forts, he had to
desert. Being somewhat of a philosopher, he said that since fate decreed
the best portion of his life was to be wasted in inaction, and as
President Jefferson, though he wanted war, was afraid to declare it, he
supposed he should have to be pleased with the prospect of moving
upwards.

Brock had been but a few weeks at Fort George--a "most lonesome place,"
as compared w