ining neck and speak admiringly of it. It was a
warm autumn day: the roads were dry and dusty, and, after a mile or so,
the boy-prince brought from beneath the carriage seat a basket of
grapes. With his handkerchief he flicked the dust from them, handed a
bunch to the chief and took one himself. An odd spectacle to be
traversing a country road: an English prince and an Indian chief,
riding amicably side-by-side, enjoying a banquet of grapes like two
schoolboys.

On reaching the church, Arthur leapt lightly to the green sward. For a
moment he stood, rigid, gazing before him at his future brother-chiefs.
His escort had given him a faint idea of what he was to see, but he
certainly never expected to be completely surrounded by three hundred
full-blooded Iroquois braves and warriors, such as now encircled him on
every side. Every Indian was in war paint and feathers, some stripped
to the waist, their copper-colored skins brilliant with paints, dyes
and "patterns"; all carried tomahawks, scalping-knives, and bows and
arrows. Every red throat gave a tremendous war-whoop as he alighted,
which was repeated again and again, as for that half moment he stood
silent, a slim boyish figure, clad in light grey tweeds--a singular
contrast to the stalwarts in gorgeous costumes who crowded about him.
His young face paled to ashy whiteness, then with true British grit he
extended his right hand and raised his black "billy-cock" hat with his
left. At the same time he took one step forward. Then the war cries
broke forth anew, deafening, savage, terrible cries, as one by one the
entire three hundred filed past, the Prince shaking hands with each
one, and removing his glove to do so. This strange reception over,
Onwanonsyshon rode up, and, flinging his scarlet blanket on the grass,
dismounted, and asked the Prince to stand on it.

Then stepped forward an ancient chief, father of Onwanonsyshon, and
Speaker of the Council. He was old in inherited and personal loyalty
to the British crown. He had fought under Sir Isaac Brock at Queenston
Heights in 1812, while yet a mere boy, and upon him was laid the honor
of making his Queen's son a chief. Taking Arthur by the hand this
venerable warrior walked slowly to and fro across the blanket, chanting
as he went the strange, wild formula of induction. From time to time
he was interrupted by loud expressions of approval and assent from the
vast throng of encircling braves, but apart from th