found. Fritz
had decided to push back to Fort Edward, and so to Albany, the
quaint Dutch settlement which had been the basis of recent
operations, being the town nearest to the western frontier at this
point. There they would be certain to get news of what was going on
in the country, and for a short time it would be pleasant to dwell
amid the haunts of men, instead of in these remote fastnesses of
the forest.

"I hope we shall meet again," said Colin, as he held Fritz's hand
in a last clasp. "I am not altogether French. I find that I can
love the English well. Quebec will be my home before long. Corinne
is there already, and my uncle and I will return there shortly. It
is a fine city, such as you have hardly seen in your wanderings so
far. I would I could show it you. Some say the English have an eye
upon it, as the key to Canada. In sooth I think they would find it
a hard nut to crack. We of the city call it impregnable. But come
you in peace there, and I will show it you with joy."

They parted with a smile and a warm clasp, little guessing how they
would meet next.

The journey to Albany was uneventful. The travellers met with no
misadventures, and upon a sunny April evening drew near to the
pleasant little town, smiling in the soft sunshine of a remarkably
warm evening.

It presented a singularly peaceful appearance. The fort was on the
hill behind, and seemed to stand sentinel for the little township
it was there to protect. The wide grassy road ran down towards the
river, its row of quaint Dutch houses broken by a group of finer
and more imposing buildings, including the market, the guard house,
the town hall, and two churches.

The houses were not built in rows, but each stood in its own
garden, possessing its well, its green paddock, and its own
overshadowing tree or trees. They were quaintly built, with
timbered fronts, and great projecting porches where the inhabitants
gathered at the close of the day, to discuss the news and to gossip
over local or provincial affairs.

As the travellers entered the long, wide street, their eyes looked
upon a pleasant, homely scene--the cows straying homeward, making
music with their bells, stopping each at her own gate to be milked;
the children hanging around, porringer in hand, waiting for the
evening meal; matrons and the elder men gathered in groups round
the doors and in the porches; young men wrestling or arguing in
eager groups; and the girls gathered toget