"How can you influence them, Laurence?" asked Mr Ramsay. "They are not likely to abandon their designs for anything you can say."

"Oh, yes, yes, I am sure they will," answered Laurence. "Let me go forth at once. I'll tell them that you are my father's friend, that you preserved my life, and that, if they love me as they say, they must not hurt you or any of your people."

"But I am afraid that they will shoot you before they know who you are," said Mr Ramsay.

"Oh, I'll run the risk," exclaimed Laurence. "Let me go forth at once, before it is too late. I will tell them how unwilling you were to injure any of them, and that you are good and kind, and wish to be the red man's friend."

Mr Ramsay, thinking that Laurence might be the means of preserving the fort, no longer opposed his proposal. Laurence, however, agreed to take a white flag in his hand, with the meaning of which most of the tribes accustomed to trade at the forts were well acquainted.

Slipping out at a small postern gate, he let himself down into the trench unseen by the Sioux, and climbing up the opposite bank, the next instant was bounding down the slope of the hill, waving his flag. In a few minutes he had reached the chief who had led the assailants. He uttered a few words, and the next moment the savage warrior stood grasping his hands and gazing in his countenance.

"My second father, though your child has long been away from you, he has not forgotten you," he exclaimed; "but he would ere this have been in the world of spirits had not the good white chief, commander of yonder fort, saved his life; and you cannot, knowing this, desire to injure his kind friends. No, my father; you and my brothers promised to be the friend of your son's friends. I knew you even afar off, and my heart yearned towards you, and I felt sure that you would listen to my prayers. You know not the power and generosity of my white friends. Even at this moment their far-reaching guns are pointed towards you, and had they desired to take your life, they would have fired and laid you and many of my brothers low."

Laurence continued for some minutes in the same strain. The chief seemed troubled. He was unwilling to lose the booty he expected to find in the fort, at the same time that he remembered his promise to his adopted son, and was struck also by what he had said about his white friends.

Laurence thus went on eloquently to plead his cause; at the same time, he took care not to acknowledge how unable the garrison were to hold out much longer.

"You have conquered, my son," exclaimed the chief. "I will speak to your brothers; your friends should be our friends. Had blood been shed, our people would have been unwilling to listen to my counsels; but now all will be well. Show the flag you carry, that no one may fire at us as we retire. We will return to our camp, and you will there see many who will welcome you joyfully again among them."

Laurence, rejoiced at the success of his mission, stood waving his flag, while the Sioux retired from around the fort. He then quickly followed, and overtook the chief. Inquiries were made for his father, who had been received into the tribe and long resided among them. Laurence replied that he hoped he would soon return, and that he was sure he would be well pleased to hear that they had refrained from injuring his white friends.

On reaching the camp, Laurence was received with warm greetings from his red-skinned brothers and sisters, for he was looked on as a brother by all the tribe. He soon found his way to a lodge in which was seated an old woman with shrivelled features, her long white locks hanging down over her skeleton-like shoulders. No sooner did she see him than, uttering a wild shriek of delight, she seized him in her withered arms, and pressed him to her heart.

"My child!" she exclaimed; "and you at length have come back to visit the mother who has been yearning for long years to see you; and you have not forgotten her?"

"No, indeed," answered Laurence; "from the day my white father took me away I have ever thought of you, and recollected the happy times I passed under your care."

"You have come, then, once more to be a brother of our people!" exclaimed his old nurse. "You will not go away again; but you will stay and live in our lodges, and grow up and become a brave hunter of the buffalo and moose, and gladden the eyes of one who loves you better than any white mother."

"I have white friends who love me, and have treated me kindly; I should be loath not to see them again. And there is my white father, who may come for me, and I am bound to follow him," answered Laurence.

"Your white friends and your white father cannot care for you as we do. Your heart cannot be so hardened towards those who brought you up as to wish again to quit them."

Much more his old nurse said in the same strain. Laurence thought of all the kindness he had received from Mrs Ramsay. He was very unwilling also to part from little Jeanie; but old feelings revived within him, the new principles which he had of late heard in the fort had taken no strong hold of him, and he became once more the wild Indian boy of former years.

The chief sent for him, and used further powerful arguments to induce him to remain. Laurence at length promised to continue with his old friends, unless his father should claim him; but he begged first to be allowed to go back to the fort to bid farewell to his white friends.

The wily Sioux had had no intention of losing altogether the share of the prized articles which he supposed the fort to contain. He consented, therefore, to allow Laurence to return, on condition that he would obtain from the white chief, as he called Mr Ramsay, a certain number of guns, ammunition, blankets, knives, and numerous other things which he named.

"If he sends them, we will be his friends; but if not, we shall know that he looks upon us as enemies, and we will take by force what we now only ask as a gift."

Laurence, accompanied by a small band of Sioux, set out as the bearer of this message to the fort. The Indians remained outside while he made his way to the gates. He was welcomed warmly by Mr Ramsay. He was thankful to find that the train with the provisions had arrived, and that several of the hunters had also made their way round by the north into the fort, with two bears and several deer and other animals.

Mr Ramsay, notwithstanding this, wishing to establish, if possible, friendly relations with the Sioux, agreed to send the articles the chief demanded as a gift, though he still thought it prudent not to put himself or any of his people in their power.

"You and your red-skinned friends who have come with you shall, therefore, convey them to the chief, and you will then return and remain with us. I wish to show you how much I value the service you have rendered us; for had the Sioux assailed the fort—as not only had the provisions, but our ammunition run short—they very probably would have entered and put every one within to death."

Laurence hung down his head. "I should like to remain, sir," he said, "but I have promised to return, and live with the Sioux, unless my father comes for me. I am at home with them, and know all their ways, and shall become some day, so they say, a great chief among them."

"Their ways, I fear, are bad ways," said Mr Ramsay. "And though I cannot tell you to break your promise, you will, I am sure, some day grieve bitterly that you made it. However, go in and see Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie. You would not wish to go without bidding them farewell."

"I dare not face them; they might make my heart melt," answered Laurence, doubting his own resolution; but Mr Ramsay led him to the house.

Jeanie burst into tears when she heard of his intentions. "Oh, Laurence, and can you, after you have heard about Jesus, have been told of His love, and how He wishes you to be ready to go and live with Him for ever and ever, in glory and happiness, again go back to dwell among heathen savages, who do all sorts of things contrary to His will, merely for the sake of enjoying what you call liberty for a few short years, and thus risk the loss of your soul?" said Mrs Ramsay, taking him kindly by the hand.

"The Sioux, in their dark ignorance, may wish you well, so far as this world is concerned, though the life they would induce you to lead is full of danger and hardships; but here you have friends, who desire not only to benefit your mind and body, but to show you how you may obtain blessings which no earthly power can take away, and which will endure throughout eternity. Think of that, Laurence. Would you barter your soul for the sake of a few years of wild excitement, and what you suppose to be enjoyment, and die as a poor ignorant savage, forgetting God and His mercy and loving-kindness, as shown to us in giving His Son to die for our sins, that we may be received again as favoured children, to live with Him in unspeakable happiness for ever and ever?"

"But if I become a warrior, and die bravely fighting, I shall go to the happy hunting-grounds with my Indian friends," answered Laurence.

It was too evident that all which had been said to the poor lad had fallen upon barren ground. Laurence was still a heathen.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE LIFE OF LAURENCE AMONG THE INDIANS—SHOOTING THE BUFFALO—THE HUNTERS' CAMP AND FEAST—LAURENCE IN THE WOOD—THE SIOUX HUNTERS SHOT BY CREES—LAURENCE LIES CONCEALED—HIS FIRST PRAYER—PASSES A FEARFUL NIGHT—HIS ENCAMPMENT ATTACKED BY WOLVES—JOURNEY OVER THE SNOW—FALLS INTO A SNOW-DRIFT.

Laurence was once more with his Indian friends. They were delighted with the presents they had received, and he found himself treated with respect and attention by all the tribe. A horse and arms were provided for him; he was clothed in a dress of skins, ornamented with feathers and beads, and was looked upon as the son of their chief. Still he could not forget the kindness he had received at the fort, and he very often regretted that he had been persuaded by the Sioux to abandon his white friends. Mr Ramsay would, he knew, inform his father where he had gone, should he return to the fort. He sometimes hoped that the old trapper would come and claim him, although the life he was compelled to lead with him was even harder and more full of danger than his present existence with the Sioux.

The tribe had moved to a considerable distance from the fort, where they again took up their winter quarters. Hence they sent out parties of hunters to capture buffalo, which, in small herds, pasture, even while the snow lies on the ground, by digging beneath it to reach the dry grass. Laurence, whose mind was ill at ease, endeavoured to banish thought by joining on every opportunity these expeditions. They were, he knew, full of danger. Sometimes the powerful buffalo would turn on their assailants, and broken limbs and wounds, and not unfrequently death, was the consequence. Snow storms might come on, and before the shelter of a wood could be gained horses and men might be overwhelmed. They were also on the borders of the country of the Crees, the deadly enemies of the Sioux, who would without fail put to death any who might fall into their hands. In the summer, when large herds of buffaloes appear, the hunters, on swift horses, and armed with rifle, or bows and sharp arrows, gallop fearlessly in among them, shooting them down, again managing dexterously to extricate themselves from amid the concourse of animals. Sometimes also a large enclosure is formed with a narrow entrance, and having a road lined with trees leading to it, broad at the outer end, and gradually decreasing in width towards the mouth of the pound. The hunters, forming a wide semicircle in the distance, drive the animals towards it, while people with flags stationed on either side of the road prevent the buffalo breaking through, which are thus induced to rush on till they become entrapped in the pound, where they are shot down with bullets or arrows. In the winter, however, buffaloes can only be approached by stalking, the hunter creeping cautiously on till he gets within range of his victim. Sometimes also a cruel stratagem is employed.

Laurence had gone out with three hunters on horseback. They had proceeded a considerable distance without meeting any animals; still, eager to obtain some meat, of which the camp was greatly in want, they pushed onwards. At length they descried, in the far distance to the north, several buffalo feeding near the banks of a broad stream. As they approached, they discovered that they were cows, and had two young buffaloes among them. The wary animals had espied them, and were making slowly off. Each of the hunters carried on his saddle the skin of an animal with the hair on. Laurence had that of a young buffalo calf, as also had one of the others, while the remaining two were provided with skins of wolves. Securing their horses to some trees near the banks of the river, the hunters covered their backs with the skins. Trailing their rifles along the ground, Laurence and his companion with the calf skin cautiously crept towards the buffalo, while the men in wolves' clothing followed at a distance. As they advanced, the animals stopped to watch them, uncertain what they were. Thus they were enabled to make their way towards the generally cautious monsters of the prairie. The seeming wolves now crept on at faster speed, when the buffaloes, believing that some of their young were in danger of destruction from the savage foes they were accustomed to dread, dashed forward to rescue them. The wolves now hastened on, and made as if they were about to spring on the calves. As the buffaloes rushed up, the hunters sprang to their feet, and firing at the heads of the confiding and faithful animals, brought three of them to the ground. The rest, astonished at finding themselves face to face with human foes, turning round, bellowing with rage, galloped away. The unfortunate animals were quickly despatched with the hunters' knives. The bodies were then dragged by the horses to the wood which bordered the stream. As much of the meat as the horses could carry was then packed, ready to be transported to the camp the following morning, while the remainder was hung up on the higher branches of the neighbouring trees. The hunters next lighted a fire, putting up a screen of birch bark to keep off the wind, while they sat down to regale themselves on the humps and other prize portions of the animals. Here, while their horses were left to pick up their food from beneath the snow, the hardy hunters purposed, without seek any other shelter, to pass the night.

The sky had been for some time overcast, and snow began to fall heavily; but their fire blazed up brightly, and as they sat close round it, enjoying its warmth, they cared little for the thick flakes which passed by them. Steak after steak of the buffalo meat disappeared, as they sat eating and boasting of their deeds of war and the chase, and fully giving themselves up to savage enjoyment.

Laurence listened to their tales, wondering whether he should ever perform similar brave deeds. Unaccustomed for so long to the ways of his wild companions, he had soon satisfied his hunger, and in spite of the fire, feeling the cold severely, he had gone a short distance into the wood to bring some large pieces of birch-bark with which he could form an additional shelter for himself, by putting up a small wigwam. Having found the pieces of bark, he was on the point of returning when the sharp report of several rifles rang through the air, and looking towards the fire, he saw two of his companions stretched on the ground, while the other was in vain struggling to rise. A fierce yell followed, and directly afterwards the light of the fire fell on a party of Cree warriors, who came springing out of the darkness towards the spot. He stopped to see no more, but, urged by the instinct of self-preservation, he made his way through the wood till he reached a thick mass of bushes, into the midst of which he threw himself, in the hopes that he might escape the search of the savages. He lay there, expecting every instant to be discovered, and put to death. He could hear the shouts of the victors as they hastily partook of the feast prepared by those they had slaughtered, and having caught their horses, loaded them with the buffalo meat. He judged by the sounds of their voices that his enemies were moving from the spot; and as they got further and further away, he began to entertain the hope of escape. Still fearing that they might come back, he dared not move. He felt very cold and wretched, yet the horror of the scene he had witnessed kept him from going to sleep. Poor Laurence, as he lay there almost frozen to death, not for the first time perhaps repented of his folly in having quitted the protection of his kind friends in the fort. The recollection, too, of the many things Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie had said to him came back to his mind.

"I wonder if I was to pray to the great God they told me of, He would take care of me, and lead me back to them," he thought. "They told me He hears prayers, and would listen to those which so careless and foolish a boy as I have been may make to Him; but then they said I must pray through Jesus Christ; that He is good and merciful, and loves me, and died for me too. I am sure they spoke the truth, for they would not deceive me; and so I'll pray through Jesus Christ, and ask God to protect me; for I am sure I shall never get back to the camp of the Sioux by myself without my horse, and that, of course, the Crees have carried off."

Poor Laurence did pray with all his heart, ignorant half-heathen that he was in many respects.

He soon fell asleep, and the snow came down and nearly covered up the bushes among which he lay. He awoke at length, finding a thick canopy over him, which, had he not been well clothed in furs, would probably have formed his shroud. He easily made his way out.

The spot where the fire had been was covered with snow. He could distinguish the bodies of his companions beneath it, but he dared not disturb them. Some of the buffalo meat which the Crees had not discovered still hung on the trees; he loaded himself with as much as he could carry, and then hastened away from the fatal spot. At first he thought of attempting to reach the camp of the Sioux, but it was a long distance off, and all the tracks had disappeared. So had those of the Crees. Should they be on the watch for their enemies, he would very probably fall into their hands. Then, again, the desire to be once more with his friends at the fort came strong upon him; but how could he hope to reach it across miles and miles of snow? It was somewhere away to the north-east, that was all he knew; and although the son was gaining power when the sky was bright, the wind often blew bitterly cold at night. Yet to stay where he was would be certain death, and so the hardy boy, making up his mind to try and reach the fort, and trusting to his strength and courage, began his hazardous journey.

He had lived among the Indians long enough to learn something of their cunning; and as he went along he stripped off from his dress all the ornaments and other signs which might show that they had been manufactured by the Sioux, and hid them away in a hole beneath the snow. He had a tinder-box and powder-horn in his pouch, so that he was able to light a fire. As night approached, he made his way towards a wood, near the bank of a stream, where he could procure fuel. Here he built himself a hut with birch-bark, banking it up thickly with snow. He had not forgotten the fate of his companions on the previous night; but he hoped that the Crees were by this time far away, and he knew that, without a fire, he should run the risk of being destroyed by wolves prowling about. He therefore made it inside the hut, where it was also well sheltered from the wind, and he hoped that the light would not be seen at a distance; his chief fear was that, should he sleep too long it might go out. Closing the entrance of his hut with a sheet of bark, he made up his fire, and sat down to sup on a piece of meat which he cooked before it. There was but little space in his hut to allow him to go to sleep without the risk of burning his clothes, though he had drawn himself as far away from it as he could, and leaned back against the wall of the hut. Fatigue at length, however, overcame his desire to keep on the alert.

He was awoke by hearing a wild howling around him: he knew the sound full well; it was that of a pack of wolves. His fire had almost gone out; he hurriedly scraped the embers together, and drew in from the front of the hut some fuel which he had kept in store. The voices of the wolves came nearer and nearer. He had just time to light a bundle of sticks when he heard the savage animals close to his hut. He boldly went out and waved his torch around, shouting and shrieking with all his might. The wolves, alarmed at the sudden glare of the light and the sound of a human voice, took to flight. He once more closed the entrance of his hut and sat down. It did not occur to him that it was his duty to return thanks to God for his deliverance. He fancied that it was his cleverness and boldness that had saved him. He had been ready to ask that unknown Great Spirit to preserve him. How many daily receive blessings from the Giver of all good, and yet ungratefully forget to acknowledge them and refuse to do His will!

Fear of the wolves prevented Laurence from sleeping soundly, and he started up constantly, expecting to hear their savage howlings.

Daylight came at last, and he once more pushed forward over the snow. He had cooked a piece of buffalo meat, which he ate beneath the shelter of a bank, when he saw the sun high in the sky. It restored his strength for a time; but as night again approached he felt far more weary than on the previous day. He built a hut as before, and lighted a fire, and scarcely had he eaten his supper before he dropped off to sleep. He awoke, feeling very cold, though somewhat refreshed; and great was his surprise to find the sun already high in the sky. He had been preserved from danger during the hours of darkness; but, alas! he did not kneel down to pray, but thought only that it was very fortunate the wolves had not come near him, and he hoped to have the same good luck, so he called it, the next night.

"I daresay I shall be able to reach the fort, notwithstanding my fears, in a few days," he said to himself. "I must try to avoid the Crees, though; but I fancy that I am clever enough to do that."

He trudged bravely on, hour after hour. The sky was clear, and the sun enabled him to direct his course with tolerable accuracy. Still his feet, inured though he was to fatigue, felt very weary, and he longed to arrive at the end of his journey. Sometimes he regretted that he had not tried to make his way to the Sioux camp; he might have reached it sooner. No wood was in sight, where he might build his hut and light a fire as usual for the night. He gnawed, as he walked on, a piece of the hard frozen meat, a small portion of which now only remained. Still he was afraid to stop.

A level plain, covered with snow, lay before him; he looked around in vain for some sheltering hill or wood. The sun was sinking low on his left. He must try, before darkness set in, to make his way across that wide plain. He did his utmost to exert his remaining strength. Darkness at last came on. He fancied he could distinguish a wood and a range of hills in the distance. He would make a desperate effort to reach it. Suddenly he found himself sinking in the snow. He struggled to get out, but sank lower and lower. He had fallen into a gully or water-course, now filled up by drift-snow. At length, finding his efforts vain, he gave himself up for lost, every moment expecting that the snow wreath would overwhelm him. As he lay there, he could see the stars come out and shine brightly over his head, and thus he knew that there was an opening above him; but he was afraid to move lest he might bring the snow down upon his head. Sheltered from the wind, he felt tolerably warm, and at last, in spite of his perilous position, he fell fast asleep.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

LAURENCE IN THE SNOW—DISCOVERED BY CREES—RESCUED—CONVEYED TO THE CHIEF'S TENT—KINDNESS OF THE OLD CHIEF—ESCORTED TO THE FORT—FEARS AS TO HIS RECEPTION—KINDLY WELCOMED BY MR. RAMSAY—LAURENCE AGAIN FALLS SICK—MRS. RAMSAY EXPLAINS THE GOSPEL TO HIM—LAURENCE BEGINS TO UNDERSTAND IT.

Daylight came again. Laurence, on opening his eyes, found himself surrounded by a high wall of snow. He was hungry, but he had consumed every particle of food. His strength was almost gone. He somewhat assuaged his thirst by eating a little snow, though that gave him but momentary relief. Again he made an attempt to get out, hoping by beating down the snow to form steps in the side of the wall up which he might climb, but the snow came sliding down in vast masses upon him, and by the time he had struggled out of it he felt so weak that he was unable to make any further effort. With a cry of despair he fell back on the heap which had been formed by the snow slipping down, and out of which he had just made his way. For some minutes he was unconscious. Then the barking of dogs once more aroused him. The sound of human voices struck his ear. He listened with breathless anxiety to hear the language they spoke. They drew near. "I am lost if they find me," he said to himself. "They are Crees." Directly afterwards, several dogs poked their noses over the edge of the pit and barked to attract the attention of their masters. He waited, expecting in a few minutes to be put to death. Then, casting his eyes upwards, he saw the faces of two savages looking down upon him. He knew them at once to be Crees. He tried to speak—not to ask their pity, for that he believed would be useless, but, after the Indian fashion, to dare them to do their worst. His tongue, however, refused its office. Presently he saw them beginning to scrape away the snow; and as they commenced at the top, they were soon able to form some rough steps in the side of the pit, down which one of them descended. Laurence closed his eyes, expecting to have the scalp cut from his head. Instead of that the Cree lifted him in his arms, and, with the assistance of his companion, soon brought him to the surface. Making a wide circuit, to avoid the gully, together they bore him across the plain. They were directing their course towards some lodges which were erected close to a wood, and under the shelter of a high hill. On reviving, Laurence found himself in a large roomy hut, by the side of a fire, near which sat a tall Indian somewhat advanced in years. A squaw was chafing his feet, while another, bending over the fire, was cooking a mess of broth. She soon came round to him, and poured some of the warm mixture down his throat, which greatly revived him. He tried to sit up, but again fell back on the pile of skins on which his head had been resting.

"Do not try to move, young pale face," said the chief. "Your strength has gone for a while, but the Great Spirit will soon restore it. You shall then tell me whence you come, and how you happened to be where my sons found you. We are friends of the pale faces, and would gladly aid you to the best of our power."

These words greatly revived Laurence's spirits. The chief, however, insisted on not letting him speak until he had taken some rest. The kind squaw had put on his feet some warm dry socks, and then began chafing his hands, and in a short time he again fell asleep.

When Laurence awoke there was no one in the tent. This gave him time to consider what he should say. He would speak truly, and tell the Cree chief that he wished to make his way to the fort, and would be grateful to him if he would assist him in reaching it. He soon found, however, when he attempted to rise, that he was utterly unable to do so. The chief smiled when he heard his account.

"You speak but partly the truth," he said. "Still, you are a pale face, and I regard the pale faces with affection. When you are restored to strength I'll conduct you thither; for it is some way off, and unaided, without horses, or weapons to defend yourself or obtain food, you would not have been able to find your way there. I know with whom you have been, though you have pulled off the ornaments. That dress was manufactured by the Sioux. However, though you were foolish to consort with such people, you are wisely making your escape from them. So speak no more about it."

Laurence felt ashamed of himself at having been so easily detected. He at once acknowledged that the chief was right in his conjectures.

For several days he was kept in the tent of the friendly chief, and treated by his squaws as if he had been a son. When he had sufficiently recovered to sit on horseback, the chief, covering him with a thick cloak of furs, set out with a party of his people towards the fort. Even although they formed a strong party, as it was possible that bands of Sioux might attack them, scouts were sent out in all directions to feel their way as they advanced.

In what a wretched state is man who knows not God, and loves not the Saviour! Instead of peace, goodwill, and friendly intercourse existing in that savage land, every man's hand is against his neighbour, and in each stranger he expects to find a foe.

The party, however, reached the neighbourhood of the fort without meeting any enemies. Laurence had left his friends, proud of his recovered strength, and fancying that he was about to enjoy the liberty of a savage life. He was now returning sick and weak, and a feeling of shame and doubt of the reception he might meet with stole over him. He kept behind the chief and his party, and hung down his head as they drew near the gates. They were recognised from the fort, and several of the garrison came out to give them a friendly greeting.

The old chief related how his sons had found and rescued the white-skin boy, and Laurence was brought forward just as Mr Ramsay, followed by his wife and daughter, appeared from their house. Jeanie recognised him in a moment, and running forward, took his hand, exclaiming, "Oh, Laurence, is it you? I am so glad you have come back. We all thought harm would befall you among those savage Sioux. You look pale and ill. Oh papa! mamma! it is Laurence," she added, looking towards her parents, who were advancing.

Laurence was silent. It was so long since he had spoken English that he could not for some seconds find words to express himself. Mr Ramsay warmly shook him by the hand, and his wife welcomed him with the same cordiality, while not a syllable of reproach did they utter.

"He does indeed look ill," said Mrs Ramsay. "Come to the house, my poor boy," she said. "Your old room shall be prepared for you, and you can tell us all that has happened by-and-by."

Laurence burst into tears. The reception he met with was so different from what he had expected that it overcame him. He had borne up during the journey, but his strength now gave way; and he required almost the same attention and care that he had before received.

"I was indeed wicked and foolish in choosing to go and live with my old savage friends, instead of remaining with you, good Christian people, who are so kind to me," he said at length to Mrs Ramsay, as she sat by his bedside. "Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, indeed we can; and we are very thankful that you have been brought back to us," she answered. "God himself shows that we ought to receive those who have done wrong when they repent and desire to return to the right way. He himself in His mercy is always thus ready to receive repentant sinners who desire to be reconciled to Him. I'll read to you the parable of the prodigal son, and you will then understand how God the Father, as He in His goodness allows us to call Him, receives all His children who come back to Him, acknowledging their sins and transgressions. He not only does this, but He has pointed out a way by which the sinner can be reconciled to Him, and have all his sins completely blotted out, or put out of remembrance and done away with. That way is by simple faith in the atoning blood of Jesus; in other words, God desires us to believe that Jesus, His own well-beloved Son, pure and holy and sinless, became man, and was punished by death on the cross instead of us; and thus His justice, which can by no means overlook or forgive sin, is perfectly satisfied with that punishment, and He considers the debt we owe Him fully paid. Can you understand this, Laurence?"

"I will try to do so," answered the boy. "But I do not understand it yet."

"Then you must pray for the aid of God's Holy Spirit to enable you to understand it; for He alone has the power of doing that. All that one person can do for others is simply to explain the truth to them, and to read God's Word to them, or urge them to read it if they can. You, Laurence, must learn to read it without delay."

"Oh, yes, I will try now," he said, "if you and Jeanie will teach me. I was very idle before."

"That we will gladly," answered Mrs Ramsay. "But, recollect, you must not only try to read, but you must ask God's Holy Spirit to enable you to understand it also. It is not sufficient to know that Christ died on the cross to reconcile sinners to God; but you must believe that He died for you, and to reconcile you to God; for without that, whatever you may do or profess, you are still in your sins, an outcast from God, and deserving, as you will assuredly receive, punishment for your sins."

"Tell me, Mrs Ramsay, how am I to believe that Christ died for me? I feel that I am wicked, and very unlike what you, and Mr Ramsay, and Jeanie are, who are Christians; but I cannot think that the Son of God should have suffered death for a poor miserable boy like me."

"It's very simple. God does not give us a very difficult task," answered Mrs Ramsay. "All He requires of us is to take Him at His word: 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' You understand, Laurence, that God does not say, only people who have have been generally well behaved, and are supposed to be good, but whosoever, which includes every human being, however bad and abandoned they may have been. The prodigal son had been very ungrateful and very wicked, but his father received him as soon as he came back. That parable was told by Christ himself, to show that His Father in heaven gladly receives all sinners returning to Him. When God says, 'He so loved the world,' He means the people in the world, and we know that the world lies in wickedness. Oh, trust God, for He is loving and merciful, and without doubt or fear accept His offers of reconciliation."



CHAPTER NINE.

ARRIVAL OF MR. MARTIN, THE MISSIONARY—HE PREACHES THE GOSPEL TO THE INDIANS—LAURENCE LISTENS WITH ATTENTION—LEARNS MORE OF THE TRUTH, AND EXPRESSES HIS WISH TO MAKE IT KNOWN TO OTHERS—THE SPRING RETURNS.

A keen, strong wind was blowing, driving the heavy snow which fell in small sharp flakes over the ground, when, one evening shortly after the arrival of Laurence, a dog sleigh was seen approaching the fort. The sleigh, which was simply a narrow board turned up in front, a slight iron frame forming the sides and back, and lined with buffalo skins, was drawn by six dogs, harnessed two and two, while the driver ran behind, with a long whip guiding the animals. On it came, in spite of the snow storm, at rapid speed, for the sagacious dogs knew that they had nearly reached the end of their journey. The traveller, who had faced the dangers of a long journey over the trackless wintry waste, was welcomed by Mr Ramsay, who conducted him to the house. Some time elapsed, however, before he could venture near a fire, after the bitter cold to which he had been exposed.

"We have been long looking for you, Mr Martin," said Mrs Ramsay, as she came out to greet him; "and thank Heaven that you have arrived in safety."

"We should thank the God of heaven and earth for all the blessings we receive," answered Mr Martin, who was the missionary Mrs Ramsay had been so anxious should come to form a station near the fort. "I shall be amply repaid if I am permitted to win souls to Christ in this neighbourhood."

"It will be a hard task, for they are deeply sunk in heathen ignorance," observed Mr Ramsay.

"An impossible task, if man alone were to engage in it," said Mr Martin. "Man, however, is but the humble instrument; God the Holy Spirit is the active agent, and with Him nothing is impossible. Let us labour on, confident in that glorious fact; and whatever may appear in the way, we may be sure that the victory will be won, not by us, but by Him, who is all-powerful."

Such was the faith in which the new missionary commenced his labours among the savage Crees of the woods and plains who frequented the neighbourhood of the fort. The glad tidings of salvation by faith in the blood of the Lamb, shed for sinful man, sounded strange in their ears. Strange, too, it seemed to them, when they were told of His great love, which made Him willingly yield himself up as an all-atoning sacrifice of His abounding goodwill; and stranger still seemed His law, that man should not only love his neighbours himself, but should love his enemies; should do good to those who despitefully use and abuse him, and should willingly forgive all who offend him, as he hopes to be forgiven by God for his offences.

Among his most earnest hearers on the first day he preached the gospel to the Indians assembled in the fort was young Laurence. He had sufficiently recovered to leave the house, though he was now always unwilling to be absent from it longer than he could help. All the time he was within doors he was endeavouring to learn to read that wonderful Book, which God in His mercy has given to man, that he may know His will and understand His dealings with mankind.

Laurence, however, as yet had made little progress in reading, but he could listen to Jeanie and her mother read to him without ever growing weary.

Still as yet his mind did not comprehend many of the more glorious truths, and he held to the idea that he himself had some great work to do, to merit the love of God and the glory of Heaven.

He asked Mr Martin how he was to set about the work. "I want to be very good," he said, "and to do something with which God will be highly pleased, and then I am sure I shall go to heaven when I die."

"My dear young friend," answered Mr Martin, "had you read the Bible, you would have found that 'there are none that do good, no, not one;' and that 'God came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.' God will certainly be well pleased with you, not from any good works which you can do, but simply if you banish all thoughts of your own merits, and put faith in His well-beloved Son; then He will assuredly fulfil His promise to make you heir with Him of eternal life, and receive you into that glorious heaven he has prepared for all those who love Him."

"But I am afraid, sir, that I can never have faith enough or love enough to satisfy God."

"You certainly, my young friend, can never have too much faith or too much love," said Mr Martin. "But God does not say that He will measure our faith or our love, or our sorrow for sin, but He simply tells us to take him at His word, to show our love by our obedience; and then Jesus Christ tells us what He would have all those who love Him to do, namely, to follow His example—to make known His Gospel among those who do not know it. Have you read the account of the thief on the cross?"

"I have heard it," said Laurence. "Jeanie read it to me yesterday."

"Did it not occur to you that, when Christ told that dying thief that he should be with Him in paradise, it was not on account of his burning faith, still less because he had performed any works, or because of obedience, but simply because he believed that He who hung like himself on the cross was the Messiah who should come into the world to die for sinful men. But though He saves all who come to Him, simply if they will but trust Him, He desires these to remain in the world, as He desired His disciples, to make His Gospel known among their companions, to tell them what great things the Lord has done for their souls; while to some He gives the command to go forth with the glad tidings throughout all lands; and thus He has put it into my heart, and enabled me to come here to win souls for Him."

Day after day Laurence listened to these and other glorious truths which Mr Martin unfolded to him from God's Word, and when the missionary was otherwise engaged, Jeanie or Mrs Ramsay read to him, or assisted him in learning to read. He felt himself becoming, as he was indeed, a new creature; his old habits of thought were passing away. He wondered sometimes how he could have thought as he had done.

"Ah, then I was in darkness," he said to himself. "I knew nothing of the love of God I knew not how sinful I was, and how He hates sin, though He loves the sinner. I knew not that God is so pure and holy that even the heavens are not clean in His sight; and I had no idea how sinful sin is, how contrary in every way to God. I had little thought that God, my loving Father, would hear the prayers of so wicked, wayward a child as I was, and as I am indeed still, if left to myself in my own nakedness; but I know now that He does not look at me as I am in myself, but as I am clothed with Christ's righteousness. Trusting in Him, I am no longer naked, but dressed in His pure and spotless robe, at which God will alone look when I offer up my prayers; and that, for the sake of His son, He listens to all who are thus clothed. Oh how thankful I ought to be that God has made known these joyous things to me!"

When, some days afterwards, Laurence expressed the same thoughts to Mr Martin, the missionary replied, "Now these things are yours, can you be so selfish as not to desire to make them known to others?"

"Oh, indeed, I do wish to make them known," exclaimed Laurence. "I should like to tell every one I meet of them, and to go forth and find people to whom to tell them."

"Before you do that, you must prepare yourself, you must be armed for the battle you will have to fight; for a severe battle it is, and you will find Satan, the great enemy to the truth, ever ready to oppose you. The thought of this, however, will stimulate you to make the necessary preparations, by study and prayer; and I trust, Laurence, that some day God will employ you as His missionary among the savage Indians of this long-benighted land."



CHAPTER TEN.

LAURENCE LEARNS WHAT IT IS TO BE A CHRISTIAN—GETS LEAVE TO SET OUT IN SEARCH OF HIS FATHER—STARTS ON AN EXPEDITION WITH PETER, A CHRISTIAN CREE—DISCOVERS TWO OF MICHAEL'S TRAPS—A PARTY OF BLACKFEET—BLACKFEET WOUND OLD MICHAEL—BLACKFEET CAPTURED—LAURENCE GOES TO HIS FATHER'S ASSISTANCE—PETER PREACHES TO THE BLACKFEET, AND INVITES THEM TO THE FORT—THE BLACKFEET SET AT LIBERTY—HEARING LAURENCE EXPLAIN THE GOSPEL TO HIM—LAURENCE CONVEYS THE OLD TRAPPER TO THE FORT—NARRATES TO MR. MARTIN HIS FORMER LIFE—MR. MARTIN TELLS HIM THAT THE QUEEN HAS PARDONED HIM—THE OLD TRAPPER AT LENGTH BELIEVES THE TRUTH—RETURNS WITH LAURENCE TO CANADA—LAURENCE RESTORED TO HIS PARENTS—REVISITS THE FORT AS A MISSIONARY.

Spring was now advancing. Laurence was anxiously looking out for the return of his father. He would, at all events, have longed to see him; but his desire to do so was greatly increased by his wish to impart to him a knowledge of the glorious truths he himself possessed. Having learned the priceless value of his own soul, he could now appreciate that of others.

Laurence's faith was simple, and he enjoyed a clear view of the gospel truth.

From every Indian who came to the fort he made inquiries for the old trapper, who was known to many of them. At length several brought tidings of his death. Laurence refused to believe them; and when Mr Ramsay came to cross-question his visitors, he found that they had only heard the report from others. Laurence, therefore, begged that he might be allowed to go out and search for the old man.

"I know all his haunts so well," he said, "that I am sure I shall find him better than any one else; he may be sick in some distant place, and unable to come as he promised."

So earnestly did he plead that Mr Ramsay, hoping that his old friend might still be alive, could no longer refuse to let him go.

A Cree who had become a Christian, and was named Peter, offered to accompany him; and Laurence thankfully accepted his assistance.

The only provision they took with them was a good supply of pemmican; but they had an abundance of ammunition, knowing that they might depend for their support on the animals they might shoot.

"You will come back, Laurence, when you have found your father?" said Jeanie, as, with tears in her eyes, she wished him good-bye.

"If God spares me, and I have the means to do so, I will come back, whether I find him or not; I promise you that," answered Laurence. "That object alone would have induced me to quit the fort. I have no longer any wish to roam or lead the wild life of a trapper; and when I return, my great desire will be to go on with the study of that blessed Book which you first taught me to read and love."

"I taught you to read it, but God's Holy Spirit could alone have taught you to love it," answered Jeanie.

Laurence and Peter, followed by the prayers of many in the fort, set out on their expedition. The appearance of the country was now completely changed from the stern aspect it had worn but a few weeks before. Trees and shrubs were clothed with a livery of green of varied hues, the grass was springing up in rich luxuriance, and flowers exhibited their gem-like tints in the valleys and woods; full streams flowed with rapid currents, sparkling along; numberless birds flew through the air, swarmed on the lakes, or perched on the boughs of the forest-trees.

Laurence led the way towards the spot where he and his father had concealed their traps before they set out to visit the fort, believing that old Michael would to a certainty have visited them, and hoping to find some traces beyond showing the direction he had afterwards taken. Peter agreed with him that this was the best course to pursue. The journey would take them many days. Although so long a time had elapsed, from habit Laurence recollected the various landmarks, and was able to direct his course with great accuracy.

They arrived at length at the spot where the white wolf-skin had been concealed. It was gone; and from the tracks near it, which an Indian alone would have observed, Peter was of opinion that Michael must have removed it. On they went, therefore, over hill and dale, camping at night by the side of a fire, the warm weather enabling them to dispense with any shelter, towards the next spot where the wolf traps had been concealed. These also had been taken, and Peter found the tree to which the old man had tied his horse while he fastened them on their backs. They soon reached the wood within which Laurence had assisted to hide the beaver traps. They also had been removed.

"Now I know that my father intended to begin trapping as soon as the spring commenced," observed Laurence. "See, he took his way onward through the wood towards the north, instead of returning by the road he came."

Laurence and Peter's keen eyes easily distinguished the twigs which the horses had broken as the old trapper led them through the wood. Probably he intended to spend the remainder of the winter in a wigwam by himself, as he often had done, or else in the lodges of some friendly Crees.

Laurence and Peter now went confidently on, expecting before long to meet with further traces of the old trapper. The borders of all the neighbouring lakes and streams were visited, but no signs of his having trapped there were discovered. Many leagues were passed over, till at last an Indian village was reached. It consisted not of neat cottages, but of birch-bark wigwams of a sugar-loaf form, on the banks of a stream, a few patches of Indian corn and some small tobacco plantations being the only signs of cultivation around; fish sported in the river; and the wild animals of the forest afforded the inhabitants the chief means of subsistence. They welcomed the travellers. Peter was of their tribe. They gave them tidings of old Michael. He had been seen to pass just before the snow had begun to melt in the warmer valleys.

Peter did not fail to tell his red-skinned brothers of the wonderful tidings the white-face missionary at the fort had brought.

"The great God of the white-faces loves us as much as He does them," he exclaimed. "He wishes us to go and dwell with Him in a far better land than the happy hunting-grounds we have hitherto heard of. He says that we are wicked, and deserve punishment; but He has allowed another, His own well-beloved Son, to be punished instead of us; and all He wants us to do is to believe that His dutiful and well-beloved Son was so punished, and to follow the example which He set while He was on earth."

"These are wise things you tell us," cried several of the Crees; "but how do you know that it is so?"

"Because it is all written in a book which He has given to us. He sends His Holy Spirit to all who seek for His aid to understand that book."

Laurence assured the Crees that he had thought us they then did a short time ago, but that now he knew that all Peter said was true. So earnestly did Peter plead the cause of the gospel, that many of the Crees promised to visit the fort, to hear from the missionary himself further on the subject.

Several of the inhabitants offered to accompany Laurence and his friends to assist them in their search, and to spread the strange tidings they had heard among others of their tribe whom they might fall in with.

For several days they journeyed on, lakes and streams being visited as before. At last they found a broken trap. Laurence, on examining it, decided that it belonged to his father. Still he must have gone further to the west. Laurence began to fear that he might have wandered into a part of the country frequented by Blackfeet and Peigans, among the most savage tribes of the Sioux.

"He is friendly with many of the Sioux, among whom, indeed, I was brought up," observed Laurence, "and fears none of them. Still, I know how treacherous many of them are; and he may, I fear, have fallen into their power. This will account for his not returning to the fort."

"He may, however, have escaped them, and be still trapping about here, as it is a rich country for the beaver," observed Peter. "We may then hope ere long to find him."

The party now advanced more cautiously than before. They had certain proof that old Michael was in the neighbourhood; for Laurence discovered, by the side of a beaver pond, another of his father's traps. Why it was deserted he could not tell. Peter was of opinion that he had hurried away from the spot, probably on account of the appearance of enemies, and had been unable to return. This increased Laurence's anxiety. They now advanced according to Indian custom, concealing themselves behind every bush and rock, and climbing each height or tall tree whence they could obtain a view of the surrounding country.

It was towards evening, and they were looking out for a sheltered place for their camp. Peter had gone to the summit of a hill and gazed around for the purpose mentioned, when he came hurrying down.

"There are Blackfeet at the further end of the valley," he said, "and by their movements they are evidently watching for some one. If it is your father, we have no time to lose. We outnumber them, and may hope easily to come off victorious."

"Oh, let us not delay a moment, or we may be too late to save him," exclaimed Laurence; and they and their allies pushed on as before in the direction where Peter had seen the Blackfeet. By carefully keeping among the thick underwood and trees they hoped to take their enemies by surprise.

"Remember, my friends," said Laurence, "that though we conquer them, we are to endeavour to spare their lives, and by no means to injure them."

With stealthy steps Laurence and his friends advanced towards the Blackfeet, of whom they now discovered there were but five, while his party numbered eight. They were so eager in tracking whatever they were in pursuit of that, notwithstanding their usual wariness, they did not discover the approach of Laurence and the Crees. Presently the Blackfeet were seen to draw their bows, and several arrows winged their flight through the air. At the same time Laurence caught sight of the figure of a man, who sprang up from where he had been seated near a fire to seek shelter behind a rock, firing his rifle as he did so. Laurence recognised his father, and to his horror saw that two arrows had pierced his body. The moment he fired, one of the Blackfeet fell to the ground. The old man stood as if uninjured, calmly reloading his weapon; while the Indians, with their bows ready drawn to shoot should he reappear, sprang towards the thick trunks of some neighbouring trees to escape his fire. They were thus separated from each other, and brought nearer to where Laurence and his party lay concealed. Peter now made a sign to his companions, and in a few bounds they were up to the Blackfeet, who, thus taken unawares, were pinioned and brought to the ground before they could turn round and shoot their arrows or draw their hatchets from their belts.

Laurence, leaving his companions to guard their prisoners, who, expecting instant death, had assumed that stoic indifference of which Indians boast, hastened to the assistance of his father. He shouted as he ran, "Father, father, I am coming to you."

The old man, who had sunk on one knee, with rifle ready prepared to fight to the last, fortunately recognised his voice. "What have become of the Blackfeet, boy?" were his first words. "I saw the Crees spring from under cover to attack them. Have they killed the treacherous vermin?"

"No, father," answered Laurence. "Our friends made them prisoners. We will spare their lives, and pray God to soften their hearts."

"What is that you say?" asked Michael. "The Crees will surely kill them, and take their scalps, unless they wish to carry them to their lodges, that their wives and children may torture them as they deserve. But I feel faint, Laurence; their arrows have made some ugly wounds in my flesh; help me to get them out."

Laurence saw with grief that his father was indeed badly hurt; and as he supported him, he shouted to Peter to come to his assistance. Peter, having helped to secure their prisoners, soon appeared. The old trapper, notwithstanding his hardihood, had fainted from pain and loss of blood. Peter's first care was to extricate the arrows, which, though they had inflicted severe injuries, had mercifully not reached any vital part. He and Laurence then, having bound up his wounds, carried him to his little wigwam, which stood close by. Within it were a large supply of skins, several traps, and articles for camp use, to obtain which probably the treacherous Blackfeet had attacked old Michael. In the meadow hard by his horses were also found. Laurence sat by his side, supporting his head, and moistening his parched lips. He soon sufficiently recovered to speak.

"I was about to return, Laurence," he said, "but I wished to bring a good amount of skins to pay for your charges, should you wish to remain longer at the fort, and learn the ways of the white man; or if not, to fit you out, that you might come back and trap with me. We might have had some pleasant days again together, boy; but had you and our friends not appeared the moment you did, the Blackfeet would have put an end to all my plans."

"Father," said Laurence, "I never wished to desert you; but it would have been a sore trial to me to leave the fort; and if God in His mercy spares your life, I pray that you may return there with me, and that we may employ our time in a better way than in trapping beaver."

"No, no! God cannot have mercy on such a one as I am," groaned Michael; "and it's hard to say whether I shall ever get back to the fort."

"Oh, but God is a God of love and mercy," cried Laurence. "He delights in showing mercy and forgiveness. You must hear what Mr Martin, the missionary, will tell you about Him; then I am sure you will wish to stop and hear more, and to serve and love Him."

Peter now came back with the old trapper's horses to the camp, near to which his friends had dragged their prisoners. He had had much difficulty in persuading the Crees not to put to death the Blackfeet. He had still a harder task to perform.

"Friends," he said, "according to Indian custom you might kill them; but I have learned a new law, which is just and true—given me by an all-powerful, kind, and merciful Master, who commands His servants to forgive their enemies, and to do good to those who injure them. Our prisoners were doing a wicked thing, and have been severely punished, for one of their number lies dead. I would that he were alive again, that he might hear what I have to say. I must pray you, therefore, to let these men go. We will take their arms, that they may do us no further injury; but we will give them food, that they may return to their friends, to tell them about the love of our great Father; that He desires all His children to serve Him, and to be at peace with each other."

Peter then, in a simple way, suited to the comprehension of his hearers, unfolded to them the gospel plan of salvation. The Blackfeet listened with astonished ears, and could scarcely believe the fact that they were allowed to go free and uninjured. Peter then invited them to the fort, and promised to receive them as friends, and to tell them more of the wonderful things of which he had spoken. The coals of fire which he heaped on their heads appeared really to have softened their hearts. Having, with the assistance of the Crees, buried their companion, by Peter's desire their arms were unbound, and they were set at liberty. Uttering expressions of gratitude such as rarely fall from an Indian's lips, they took their departure, promising ere long to pay him a visit at the fort.

A night's rest sufficiently restored old Michael to enable him to commence his journey on one of the horses to the fort, while the other carried his peltries and traps. Laurence walked all the way at the head of his steed, endeavouring by his conversation to keep up the spirits of his father, and never failing, at every opportunity, to introduce the subject nearest his heart. The old man listened to what he said; but he seldom made any answer. He offered, however, no opposition to his remarks. Frequently Laurence feared that he would sink from the effects of his wounds; but his life was mercifully preserved, and at length the fort was reached.

There was sincere rejoicing as Laurence was seen leading his father's horse up to the gate. The old trapper was carried into Mr Ramsay's house, and there received that watchful care he so greatly needed. He gradually recovered his strength. One of his first visitors was Mr Martin. His object, as may be supposed, was not to talk of temporal affairs, but to unfold to him, as he perceived that his mind was capable of comprehending it, God's merciful plan of salvation.

The old man's heart, unlike that of his young son, appeared so hardened and seared, from having long rejected Divine truth, that some people might have given up the attempt in despair; but Mr Martin had too much knowledge of the human heart, and too firm a faith of the all-powerful influence of God the Holy Spirit, to relax his efforts. From no idle curiosity, he endeavoured to draw from Michael some account of his early life. He was, he found, an Englishman, and that he had been for some time married and settled in Canada, when he had joined the rebellion which broke out many years ago against the authority of the British Government. Having acted as a leader in some of the more desperate enterprises in which a few of the misguided inhabitants engaged at that time, a price was set on his head. He escaped, however, to the wilds of the Far West, where, both from inclination and necessity, he had taken to the pursuit of a trapper. He quickly learned the language both of the Crees and Sioux, and other tribes among whom he wandered. He gained their confidence and friendship;—he believed, indeed, that he could lead them to any purpose he might entertain, and all sorts of wild plans passed through his mind. One enterprise he was, unfortunately, able to carry out. One of his daughters had married a gentleman of some property who had been a firm adherent of the Government, and Moggs had, in consequence, conceived a bitter hatred against him, which time in no way had lessened. Several years passed by, when he heard that his daughter had a son, then about four years of age; and he formed the barbarous idea of carrying off the child. He had little difficulty in obtaining the assistance of a band of Indians; and, disguising himself as one of them, he led an attack on the place, and succeeded too well in his nefarious project. As the country was in a disturbed state at the time, the attack was supposed to have been instigated by American sympathisers, and the real culprit was not suspected. Making good his retreat, he did not stop till he had got many hundred miles away from the borders of Canada; and believing that he might still be traced, he placed the child under charge of an old squaw belonging to a tribe of Sioux, with whom he had formed a friendship. Strangely inconsistent as it would seem, an affection for the boy grew up in his hard heart; and in time, oppressed with the solitary life he had doomed himself to lead, he determined to make him his companion in his trapping expeditions.

"Has no remorse ever visited you?" asked Mr Martin, when the old man had finished his narrative.

"Yes, sometimes my thoughts have been terrible," groaned Michael.

"Then pray God that it may be a repentance to salvation not to be repented of. With regard, however, to your temporal affairs, my friend, I can assure you that, through the clemency of the Queen of England, all the rebels in Canada at the time you speak of have been forgiven."

"Ah, sir," exclaimed Michael Moggs, "the Queen may have forgiven some, but she cannot have forgiven me. You must, I am sure, be mistaken."

"But, my friend, if I can show you her proclamation, in which she declares that she overlooks and pardons all those rebellious subjects who rose against her authority, and allows those who have fled the country to return under her rule, would you then believe me?"

"I suppose I could not help it," said Michael. "Let me see the paper."

Mr Martin went to his room, and returned with the document he spoke of.

"I have preserved it," he said, "for I am pleased with the gracious terras in which it is couched."

Old Michael read the paper with intense interest.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I can no longer doubt the fact. Had I not kept away from those who knew of this, I might long ago have been enjoying the comforts and pleasures of the home I abandoned, and have again become a member of civilised society."

"Then, my friend, if an earthly sovereign can be so merciful and gracious, do you suppose that the King of Heaven, who has so wonderfully manifested his love to man, is less merciful and gracious in forgiving those who sin against Him?" said Mr Martin, feeling the importance of not allowing so practical an illustration of the great truth to pass unemployed. "Here is God's proclamation to sinful, rebellious man," he added, lifting his Bible before the eyes of the old trapper. "He declares in this—not once, but over and over again—that He forgives, freely and fully all who come to Him; that their sins and iniquities are blotted out and remembered no more; that 'though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool;' that His pardon is a free gift, without money and without price! You have seen the Queen's proclamation, and you believe it, and you know that you may return to your home with perfect safety, provided you take back your grandson, and restore him to his long-bereaved parents. That they will forgive and welcome you I know; for they belong to Christ's flock, and I am well acquainted with them. Now, my friend, let me entreat you to believe God's proclamation, to trust to the gracious plan He has designed, whereby you can obtain free pardon, perfect reconciliation, and life eternal."

"But can He ever pardon such a wretch as I am? Oh! tell me, sir, what shall I do to be saved?"

"I'll answer, as Paul answered the jailor at Philippi, who was, we have reason to believe, a cruel and bad man, or he was very unlike others in his occupation in those days: 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' Paul, who certainly knew what God requires, did not tell him to go and do anything, he was simply to believe with a living faith. That, my friend, is all you have to do; and, be assured, the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, will be yours; and however you may bewail the effects of your sins, still you will know that they are all put out of God's remembrance; for He sees you not as you are, but clothed with the righteousness of Christ, with the white spotless robes of the Lamb."

Many days passed by, and at length the old trapper could say with confidence, as he clasped the hand of the missionary, "I rejoice in the blood of my risen Saviour."

Young Laurence had long before been able to say the same.

They together soon afterwards set out for Canada. Mr Martin had not wrongly estimated the character of his Christian friends. While they rejoiced at the return of their long-lost son, they truly heaped coals of fire on the head of the old man by their kindness and attention. A few years afterwards he died, in perfect peace, in their midst. Laurence's thoughts had ever been fixed on the far-off fort and its beloved inmates. He made rapid progress in his studies, and with the entire concurrence of his parents, at an early age he returned to act as a Catechist under Mr Martin. He was soon placed in a more important position, when Jeanie Ramsay became the devoted sharer of his labours in making known the unspeakable goodness of Christ to the red men of the woods and prairies.

THE END