When at last morning broke, and the black shaded imperceptibly into gray, they were far out of sight of the citadel and of all trace of man's handiwork.

Virgin woods in their wonderful many-coloured autumn dress flowed right down to the river edge on either side, and in the centre was a little island with a rim of yellow sand and an out-flame of scarlet tupelo and sumach in one bright tangle of colour in the centre.
"I've passed here before," said De Catinat.

"I remember marking that great maple with the blaze on its trunk, when last I went with the governor to Montreal.

That was in Frontenac's day, when the king was first and the bishop second." The Redskins, who had sat like terra-cotta figures, without a trace of expression upon their set hard faces, pricked up their ears at the sound of that name.
"My brother has spoken of the great Onontio," said one of them, glancing round.

"We have listened to the whistling of evil birds who tell us that he will never come back to his children across the seas." "He is with the great white father," answered De Catinat.