WHICH TELLS OF A BROTHER'S BLOOD CRYING FROM THE GROUND Two men stood leaning against a great gun aloft on the heights of Quebec.

The air of an October morning fluttered the lace at their breasts and lifted the long brown hair of the younger man from his shoulders.

His companion was tall, alert, bronzed, grey-headed, with an eagle eye and a glance of authority.

He laid his hand on the shoulder of the younger man and said: "I am glad you have come, Iberville, for I need you, as I need all your brave family--I could spare not one." "You honour me, sir," was the reply; "and, believe me, there is none in Quebec but thanks God that their governor is here before Phips rounds Isle Orleans yonder." "You did nobly while I was away there in Montreal waiting for the New Yorkers to take it--if they could.

They were a sorry rabble, for they rushed on La Prairie, that meagre place,--massacred and turned tail." "That's strange, sir, for they are brave men, stupid though they be.