ut the sagamore. It is the end of
the sugar-making that your mind is set on."

"My husband is at the camps," said the Etchemin plaintively. "Besides,
I am very tired."

"Rest yourself, therefore, by tramping far to wait on your husband
and keep his hands filled with warm sugar. I am tired, and I go to my
lodge."

"But there is a feast in the camps, and nobody has thought of putting
a kettle on in the village. I will first get your meat ready."

"No, I intend to observe a fast to-night. Go on to the camps, and
serve my family there."

The Etchemin looked toward the darkening bay, and around them at those
thickening hosts of invisible terrors which are yet dreaded by more
enlightened minds than hers.

"No," responded the princess, "I am not afraid. Go on to the camps
while you have the courage to be abroad alone."

The Etchemin woman set off at a trot, her heavy body shaking, and
distance soon swallowed her. Madockawando's daughter stood still in
the humid dimness before turning aside to her lodge. Perhaps the ruddy
light which showed through the open fortress gate from the hall of
Pentegoet gave her a feeling of security. She knew a man was there;
and there was not a man anywhere else within half a league. It was the
last great night of sugar-making. Not even an Abenaqui woman or child
remained around the fort. Father Petit himself was at the camps to
restrain riot. It would be a hard patrol for him, moving from fire to
fire half the night. The master of Pentegoet rested very carelessly in
his hold. It was hardly a day's sail westward to the English post of
Pemaquid. Saint-Castin had really made ready for his people's spring
sowing and fishing with some anxiety for their undisturbed peace.
Pemaquid aggressed on him, and he seriously thought of fitting out a
ship and burning Pemaquid. In that time, as in this, the strong hand
upheld its own rights at any cost.

The Abenaqui girl stood under the north-west bastion, letting
early night make its impressions on her. Her motionless figure,
in indistinct garments, could not be seen from the river; but she
discerned, rising up the path from the water, one behind the other, a
row of peaked hats. Beside the hats appeared gunstocks. She had never
seen any English, but neither her people nor the French showed such
tops, or came stealthily up from the boat landing under cover of
night. She did not stop to count them. Their business must be with
Saint-Castin. She ran along