hey studied each tree. They came at last to the
old oak and shook its branches. When one man even climbed far enough to
look deep into the trunk, Nonowit crouched to the very ground, holding
his breath. The shadows protected him and the men passed on. "Worse than
wolves," thought the boy as he ventured again to his peep-hole. The white
men lingered about for an hour or more, until the imprisoned little
Indian felt that he might never see his people again. He would starve
rather than face such creatures.

At last, there came the sound of oars on the water. Creeping from the
tree, Nonowit pushed aside the low branches to see the boatful of
strangers depart. Suddenly a strong hand was clapped on his shoulder. He
jumped with fear only to find himself in the grasp of his own father.
Nonowit pointed hastily through the thick growth to the river, and the
two watched the English vessel sail up the stream, but history reports
that Martin Pring saw no Indians when he searched the Piscataqua shores
for a sassafras tree, which, he believed, held the "Elixir of Life."

[Illustration]

THE NEW WORLD

Far away on the shores of France, in a little cobbled lane by the water
front, Jacques swung into the rhythm of the Sailor's Hornpipe. Raoul
stood in the doorway of his low-roofed house, with his violin, directing
the tune and swings until he pronounced the dance correctly learned.

Just then three well-dressed gentlemen turned into the narrow way and
passed on to the vessel at the wharf below. The raising of sails and
shouting of orders suggested an immediate start.

Jacques' father hurried around the corner and motioned to his boy. As
Jacques followed, he called back to Raoul, "I'll bring you an Indian
scalp when I come home!"

The father and son then crossed the narrow plank to the deck and went
below, for their business was to cook for the crew.

The distinguished-looking gentlemen, however, talked earnestly on the
shore until the last sail was spread. Then one of them, no other than
Monsieur Champlain, stepped aboard, and, as the gang-plank was drawn,
called to his friends, "We will also mark the rivers."

And so, long ago in 1605, the French sailed to the Northwest with new
hopes. The Spanish and Portuguese had returned with wonderful tales of
the mines of South America. Perhaps even greater things might be found on
the Northern shores.

It happened one day when the sea was smooth and the well-fed sailors had
li