Old Mammy had just replenished the fire, and the flames were licking merrily around a big hardwood stick, when a noise sounded outside. Then the door was thrust suddenly open, and as the Colonel turned his head, Jean rushed across the room, threw her arms about his neck, and almost smothered him with rapturous kisses. With a great cry of joy and amazement the Colonel clutched the clinging girl, and staggered to his feet. He was trembling violently, and his excitement was intense. He looked into her face, touched her hair, and laid his right hand upon her head, imagining it was all a dream. But when Jean laughed at him, drew off her hood, and stood erect before him, his last doubt was removed. He reached out and passionately drew her to him, and silently held her to his breast. Then he sank down upon his chair, completely overcome by his emotion.

There was great excitement now in the room. Old Mammy had been impatiently waiting to embrace her "li'l lamb," and she would scarcely release her for a minute. She stroked the girl's hair, and held her hands, crying and laughing as if bereft of her senses, and murmuring words of endearment.

The neighbours soon heard the good news, and crowded into the house. Jean laughingly declared that she had never been kissed so much before, and that she was almost bewildered by the attention she received. But when she explained how much Sam and Kitty had done for her, interest was at once directed to the faithful Indians who had been curiously watching all that was taking place. Pete was there, too, and it was a wonderful night for those three dusky wanderers of the trails. They were given plenty to eat and drink, and received the approving smiles of all.

The Colonel kept his eyes fixed upon his returned daughter as she moved about, talking and laughing in the gayest manner. The weary look had gone from his face, and his eyes glowed with a new light. His heart was overflowing with thankfulness, and as the neighbours were about to depart, he rose to his feet, and requested them to remain for a few minutes.

"This has been a wonderful night to me," he said. "The lost one has been restored, and my heart is so filled with gratitude that I am going to ask you all to sing the Doxology. Jean, dear, you know the words, so suppose you start it."

The girl did as she was directed, and at once all lifted up their voices in the old familiar words of "Praise God from whom all blessings flow." It was no mere lip-service offered up there that night, but sincere gratitude from humble thankful hearts.

The Colonel, Jean, and Dane sat late before the fire that night. It was a marvellous story the girl related of her rescue from her captors by Sam and Kitty. But when she spoke of Thomas Norman, her father was deeply moved. He leaned forward so as not to miss a single word.

"Poor Tom! Poor Tom," he said. "What a pity that such a life was wasted. If I could only have seen him before he was taken away. How wonderful, though, that my daughter should have been by his side when he died. That is some comfort, at any rate."

"But you have his son with you now," Jean replied.

"His son! What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. Dane is the only son of your old friend."

Jean never forgot the expression of astonishment upon her father's face at these words. He looked from one to the other to be sure that he was not being deceived.

"It is true, daddy," Jean smilingly told him. "Dane is really Thomas Norman's son, so his name is not 'Norwood' at all. Won't you believe me?"

"Yes, I believe you, dear, but I am greatly confused over what I have just heard. Why didn't you tell me this sooner? Did you know of this before you were stolen away?"

"Why, no. I only learned of it after I met Mr. Norman. But on our way down river Dane and I planned that we would keep this surprise until the last."

"I see, I see," the Colonel mused. "It is good of you. But, dear me, how wonderful everything has happened! Why didn't you tell me about your father?" he asked, turning to the courier. "You remember our conversation out in the hills the day you saved me from the moose. Why didn't you tell me then about your father?"

"For the same reason why I would not tell Major Studholme at Fort Howe when he asked me," Dane replied.

"And what was that?"

"I would not betray my father."

"Even though he was a rebel?"

"He was my father, remember, and I never forgot that, even though he drove me away from home. And more than that, for my mother's sake I could not betray him."

Dane ceased, and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. The Colonel was deeply stirred. Impulsively he reached out and seized Dane by the hand.

"Young man," he began, "I honour you more than words can express. You did what was right, and I should have done the same. I was a fool for doubting you, as I did that day in the hills. As the son of my old friends, Thomas Norman and his noble wife, I now take you to my heart and home, and have no hesitation in giving to you her who is dearer to me than life."

He then took Jean's hand and placed it where his own had been, and clasped them together.

"May God bless you both," he said, "and may you be true to each other."

"We shall," Dane fervently declared, "while the grass grows, the sun shines, and the water flows."



CHAPTER XXXIII

SEEDS OF EMPIRE

Supper was ready and waiting in a cosy room in a well-built house situated in one of the most beautiful spots on the St. John River. The table had been laid with care, and the light from the bright open fire-place cast its soft flickering glow upon the spotless linen and well-arranged dishes. A colored woman, a worthy successor to Old Mammy, entered and lighted the tapers in the seven-branched candle-stick which had once adorned Thomas Norman's lonely cabin. A smile illumined her face as she looked into an adjoining room where a woman was seated before another fire, surrounded by three children.

If was Christmas Eve, and Jean Norman was resting after the work of the day. In fact, she had been exceptionally busy for several days, so it was pleasant to sit in the big, comfortable chair awaiting Dane's arrival from the city.

Jean had changed but little since that night, seventeen years before, when she had come back to her father, as if from the grave. The years had dealt lightly with her, and except for the passing of her father and Old Mammy, her life had been very happy. Two boys and a girl had come to gladden the home, and as these gathered about her on this Christmas Eve, her eyes shone with pride. James, the eldest, aged twelve, had his father's manly bearing. Ruth, almost nine, resembled herself, while Tommy, just six, was a combination of both. As Jean watched them, she thought of that other Christmas when she had returned to her father. She glanced at his picture over the mantel, and as old memories rushed upon her, tears dimmed her eyes. She hastily wiped them away, but not before Ruth had detected her emotion.

"You mustn't cry on Christmas Eve, Mummy," she said, as she came and put her arms about her mother's neck.

"I wasn't really crying, dear," Jean replied with a smile. "I was just thinking; that was all."

"About grandad, and the time you were stolen away?" James asked. "Won't you tell us about it?"

"But I have told you that so often, you must be tired of hearing it."

"We're never tired of it, Mummy," Ruth said. "Please tell us while we're waiting for daddy."

With Tommy on her lap, James sitting at her feet, and Ruth seated on a small stool by her side, Jean again related the story of the little settlement in the wilderness, the coming of the rangers, how she was carried off at night, and her rescue by Sam and Kitty. She told the story well, and when she had ended there was silence for a few minutes. The three little ones were lost in deep thought, for everything they had heard was very real to them.

"And did you marry daddy?" Tommy unexpectedly asked, at which the others laughed merrily.

"No, dear, not for several years. I guess we were too poor to marry. Anyway, we waited until your daddy and my daddy built this nice house and cleared some of the land."

"Are we rich now, Mummy?" Ruth questioned.

"Not rich, dear, but comfortable. We have a good home, and one of the best farms along the river. We are rich, though, in happiness and in our children. Your grandfather was always so proud of you. Ruth, you were but a baby when he died. He was very fond of you, and named you after my mother. It was a sad day for me when he was taken away."

Again Jean glanced at the picture, and thought of what her father had meant to her.

"When did Old Mammy die?" Ruth asked.

"Not long after your grandfather. She was sick but a short time, and grieved very much over my father's death. She longed to go back to her old home in Connecticut, but that could not be. She died murmuring the words of her favourite psalm, 'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.' She was a good, true woman, and a mother to me. It is very hard to lose our loved ones."

"But we have the Indians, Pete, Sam, and Kitty," James reminded. "They are coming to-morrow, and I am so glad. Sam is going to make me a bow and a whole lot of arrows."

"And Kitty promised me a pair of snow-shoes," Ruth said.

"But Pete's going to bring me the best of all," Tommy chimed.

"What's that, dear?" his mother asked.

"Spruce gum. He said he would, anyway."

James and Ruth laughed so heartily that Tommy became embarrassed, and hid his flushed face against his mother.

"There, there, dear," Jean soothed. "It is all right, James and Ruth will want some gum, too. I am sure they will be very glad to see you, and will have presents for all. We must make this a very pleasant Christmas for them. They are getting old, so we cannot expect to have them with us much longer. Their house is all ready, and Martha is preparing a great dinner for them. We shall all go over to visit them."

"Did daddy build that house for them?" Ruth asked.

"Yes, you know he did. It was his own idea. He was so grateful to Sam and Kitty for what they did for me, that he had the house built just for them and Pete. It is their home, and they can come there at any time, and stay just as long as they please. They shall never want so long as we have anything to share with them. Sam and Kitty saved my life, and I can never forget how good they were to me."

Ruth reached up and reverently touched the little arrow fastened to a chain about her mother's neck.

"And was it really that which told them who you were?" she asked in an awed voice.

"Yes, it was this arrow your father gave me so long ago. I have worn it ever since. We call it 'The King's Arrow,' because of your father's name when he was in the royal service. It has meant a great deal to us both, for it was truly a Love-Charm."

And while they sat there and talked, Dane appeared in the doorway, and stood unnoticed for a few seconds watching the pleasant scene before the fire. His face bore the expression of great happiness. He had made a good trip to the city, and had returned laden with many things for Christmas Day. Some of these he had hidden safely away until the children were all in bed. His eyes shone with joy as they rested upon his loved ones; his wife, fair and comely, and his children full of health and innocent charm. In another minute he was in their midst, and radiant faces and shouts of delight told their own tale of happiness unalloyed.

THE END