The little community of Loyal had most things in common, as is generally the custom in pioneer settlements. All took to their hearts the little Indian child, and felt somewhat responsible for its welfare. It seemed to them an omen of good will, and they believed that so long as it was with them they would not be disturbed by the Indians. Old Mammy was very strong on this point, and was the one who first suggested the idea.
"If a cat comes to yo' it's a sign of good luck," she declared. "Now, we didn't send fo' dis chile; it jes came to us, so why shouldn't it bring us better luck den a cat?"
The colored woman considered the baby her special property, and only on rare occasions would she allow anyone else to look after it. Jean was delighted to have it in the house, and both she and her father became very fond of the little one. They called it "Babby," not knowing its Indian name, and were greatly pleased at its cunning ways.
The days and weeks sped rapidly by, and August was close edging into September before Jean realised that summer was almost gone. It had been a busy time at the settlement, and the bright beautiful days glided uneventfully by. Once again the
Polly had come up river with a load of provisions, and all had listened eagerly to the latest scraps of news brought by Captain Leavitt. They learned from him that another fleet with a band of Loyalists was coming in the fall. He expected to take many of the newcomers on his boat up river, and promised to call on his way back. This important piece of information, as well as other bits of news, was discussed for days at Loyal. They longed for some word from their old homes, and the friends they had left behind. If they could but see the Loyalists when they arrived in the fall they might hear much. Anyway, Captain Leavitt had promised to call, and no doubt he would have a fund of information.
Every fine Sunday was a great day for Jean. During the morning the Colonel gathered the people of the settlement about him, and read the service from the Prayer Book. The responses and the singing of a few old familiar hymns were very hearty, and the Doxology and the National Anthem were invariably sung at the close. It was but natural that the eyes of the older ones should become misty during this service, for it brought back memories of other days before the war.
After dinner the Colonel and Jean always went for a walk, either through the woods or along the shore to the large point which ran far out into the river. Here at this latter place they would sit under the great oak trees and talk to their hearts' content.
Their chief resort, however, was the brook which babbled down among the hills, and flowed into the river between the settlement and the point. About a mile back the brook was broken by a mass of huge rocks over which the water poured in torrents during the spring and after every heavy rain. But in the summer the rocks were bare, and only one great wreath of water slipped through a narrow crevice, and fell with a roar and a splash to the level below. Nearby father and daughter liked to sit in the shade of the trees and listen to the music of the falling water.
Jean always remembered the last time they were thus together. It was the final Sunday in August, and a most perfect afternoon. The Colonel had worked hard during the week and was very tired. He was strangely silent and depressed as he sat leaning against a rock, gazing off into space. It was so unlike his usual buoyant, cheery manner that Jean was quite anxious.
"Is anything the matter, daddy?" she at length asked. "Are you feeling sick?"
The Colonel started, and a slight forced laugh escaped his lips.
"No, no, not at all," he replied. "Do I look sick?"
"Then you must be worrying about something, daddy," and the girl's right hand stole sympathetically into his as she spoke.
"Not worrying, dear; only somewhat lost in thought. I have strange fancies this afternoon, suggested by those rocks which break the brook's steady course. There have been three such breaks in my life, and of them I have been thinking."
"I believe I know of two, daddy," Jean replied, as her father paused. "One was dear mother's death, and another the terrible war. But I do not remember the third."
"I told you once, dear, though you have forgotten, which is only natural. It was the loss of a very dear friend, Thomas Norman."
"Oh, yes, I remember now, daddy. He was the man who suddenly disappeared, and has never been heard from since."
"The very same, Jean. Next to your mother he was the best friend I had on earth. We had been boys together, and were inseparable. He was well educated, and held an important position in the King's service. When he lost it, as he believed through intrigue and treachery, his whole life was embittered. He became a changed man, and he brooded over it so much that I really believe it affected his mind. Anyway, he suddenly left with his wife and family, and I have never heard from him since. That was a long time ago when you were a mere child. But I can never forget him, and the happy years we spent together. What a joy it would be to have him here with me now as in the days of old. But that cannot be. As that brook flows on, notwithstanding the break in its course, so must my life. However, I have much to be thankful for. I have you, dear, and you are a great comfort. If anything should happen to you, I do not believe I could endure life any longer."
"Don't you worry about losing me, daddy," the girl assured. "I am going to stick right close to you, no matter what happens. But I think you had better leave this place which gives you such gloomy thoughts. This is too nice a day to feel unhappy."
"You are right, dear, and I suppose we had better go home. But I like to watch those great trees over yonder. How strong and self-reliant they are. How proudly they lift their heads. What storms have swept over them, and yet they stand as erect as ever. They do not complain, but accept everything, whether sunshine or darkness, winter or summer, as a matter of course. They are friendly, too, and their big branches seem to reach out like welcoming hands. There is always something inspiring to me about a great forest."
Often during the following days Jean's mind reverted to what her father had said to her at the falls. Although his old cheerful spirit returned, yet she observed him at times during the evenings, which were now lengthening, wrapped in thought, unheeding what was taking place around him. This worried her a great deal, and a new sense of responsibility began to shape itself in her mind. She believed that he missed his old home in Connecticut more than he would acknowledge, and that he was wearying of the monotonous life in the wilderness. Perhaps he needed a change, and she wondered how this could be brought about.
She was thinking seriously of this at the close of a bright day as she pointed the bark canoe up the creek lying to the northwest of the settlement. She had become quite expert in handling the frail craft, although, at her father's bidding, she always paddled in shallow water. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the mighty forest crowning the undulating hills was radiant with the beams of the streaming sun. Slowly she moved up a narrow winding channel, the trees of the shoreward side spreading out their great branches in a leafy canopy, while on the other, acres of rushes and lily-pads lined the way. It was a fairy-like scene through which she moved, and but for the serious thoughts which were agitating her mind, her soul would have been thrilled at the magnificent vista spreading out before her.
Reaching at length the mouth of the brook, where the shallowness of the water made further progress impossible, she ran the bow of the canoe gently upon the shore under the shade of a big maple tree. Here she rested and viewed with interest the antics of two red squirrels as they frisked about and scolded most furiously at the intrusion of the stranger in their domain. So funny did they appear that Jean was compelled to laugh outright. She always enjoyed watching the tiny creatures of the wild, especially the squirrels. She could get closer to these saucy and daring rascals of the nimble feet than their shyer comrades of the forest.
Presently in the midst of their antics the squirrels suddenly started, ceased their scolding, and scurried rapidly away. That something had frightened them Jean was certain, and she grew nervous. She was about to back the canoe from the shore and leave the place, when the tall form of a man unexpectedly emerged from the forest and stood before her. So great was her own fright that for a few seconds she was completely unnerved, although she uttered no sound. Her face became very white, and her heart beat wildly. Then recognising the intruder as Dane Norwood, she gave a slight hysterical laugh, and her tense body relaxed.
"Oh, my, how you frightened me!" she gasped. "I didn't know you at first."
"Forgive me," the young man apologised, as he stepped to the side of the canoe. "I came upon you sooner than I expected."
"Did you know I was here?" Jean asked.
"Yes. I happened to see you as I crossed the brook farther up."
"Where were you going?"
"To see you, of course. It has taken me three months to get here, and when I do arrive I frighten you almost out of your senses."
Jean smiled as she picked up the paddle. She had to be doing something, for she felt the hot glow stealing into her cheeks beneath Dane's ardent gaze. She was greatly struck by the remarkable change in his appearance. The travel-stained buckskin suit he had worn when first she met him had been replaced by a new one, neat and clean. It fitted him perfectly, making him appear taller and nobler than ever.
"Have you been really travelling three months to get here?" Jean asked. "You do not look like it." She glanced at his clothes, and this Dane noted.
"I have not been travelling all that time to get here," he explained. "I did not mean that. But Davidson has kept me so busy the last three months that I could not get away, although I tried several times."
"And you were not here before?" Jean asked in surprise. "Why, I thought it was you who gave us those presents, and stuck that arrow into the tree."
"Oh, Pete did that. He was keeping an eye over you."
"Who is Pete?"
"My Indian; the one who generally travels with me. You surely must have met him."
"No, I never did."
"But this is his canoe! How did you get it, then? It must be a sign of special favour, for I never knew him to let any one have his favourite canoe before."
"A big Indian left it with me the night of the great storm when he brought his little child to our place. It is there now."
"That must have been Pete!" Dane exclaimed in astonishment. "I have not seen him for several weeks, and did not know what had happened to him. It is very seldom that he leaves me for such a length of time. I am puzzled, though, about the child."
"He said that its mother is dead, and he wanted us to look after it for one moon, and maybe two. I hope he will leave it with us a long time, for we are very fond of it."
"Ah, now I understand," and Dane's eyes wandered thoughtfully out upon the river. "Poor Pete, he must be making up for lost time. It is just like him. He is a great Indian."
Noticing the expression of interest and curiosity in the girl's eyes, Dane smiled.
"Yes," he continued, "Pete always makes up for lost time. Five years ago his first wife died, and he was away for over two months. It was during the war when efforts were being made to keep the Indians true to King George. It was a hard struggle, and James White, the deputy agent of Indian affairs, was often at his wits' end. But at last a treaty was signed at Fort Howe, when the Indians and the English all became 'one brother,' as the natives say. I found out afterwards that Pete had a great deal to do with the signing of that treaty. He travelled from camp to camp, meeting the Indians, and urging them to be loyal to King George. He made up for lost time then, and I believe he is doing so now. No doubt we shall hear from him soon."
"Do you think the Indians are becoming troublesome again?" Jean somewhat anxiously asked.
"Not altogether this time. Our danger now is from the slashers, as they will do their best to stir up the Indians. But Pete will be on the lookout. He nipped a little game of theirs in the bud over a year ago."
"How?" Jean was becoming keenly interested.
"Oh, he brought us news of a raid the slashers were about to make upon the King's mast-cutters, so we were able to check them. Twenty of us marched all day and night through the woods and fell upon the rebels before they were awake. There was a lively tussle, but we cleaned them out, although they were double our number. Pete had been absent for two weeks before that, but his timely news put him back again in Davidson's good books."
"I hope there will be no more trouble," and Jean gave a deep sigh. "Everything has been so quiet this summer that I can hardly imagine that there are mischief-makers around. Perhaps those guns which Major Studholme sent up river have been a warning to the slashers. But my, how late it is getting! Daddy will be anxious about me. You will come and have tea with us, will you not?"
The young courier needed no second bidding, so in a few minutes the canoe was speeding riverward, with Dane paddling and Jean facing him. Peace surrounded them as they moved onward, but a deeper peace than that which brooded over river and land dwelt in their happy young hearts.