this pine tree which we
planted and which has grown tall and mighty before our eyes, is not a
pine tree at all? When a quick-tongued young brave, who has not known
the young tree as we have, comes to the council and says that this Big
Buffalo, this pine tree, is not a pine but an elm with slippery bark,
are we to believe him? Are we to drop from our minds what our hearts
and eyes have long known, to forget what we have believed? My brothers
of the Long House say no. They know that the pine tree is a pine tree.
It may be that in the haze of the distance pine and elm look alike to
young eyes; but what a chief has seen, he has seen; what he has known,
he has known. The Big Buffalo speaks the truth to his Onondaga
brothers, and with another sun he shall be free to go to his white
brothers."

"The Big Throat has a faithful heart," said Menard, quietly. "He knows
that the voice of Onontio is the voice of right and strength."

"The chiefs of the Onondagas and Cayugas will sit quietly before their
houses with their eyes turned toward the lands beyond the great lake,
waiting for the whisper that shall come with the speed of the winds
over forests and waters to tell them that the white man has kept his
promise. When the dog who robbed our villages of a hundred brave
warriors has been slain, then shall they know that the Big Buffalo is
what they have believed him to be, their brother."

"And the maid and the holy Father?"

"They are free. The chiefs are sorry that a foolish brave has captured
the white man's squaw."

Menard and Father Claude bowed again, and the chiefs turned and strode
away. The priest smiled gently after them.

"And now, M'sieu, we may rest quietly."

"Yes. You lie down, Father; it will not be necessary to watch now, and
anyway I am not likely to sleep much." He walked back to the bed on
the knoll, leaving the priest to stretch out across the doorway.

The elder bushes and briers crowded close to the little clearing
behind the hut, and Menard, lying on his side with his face close to
the ground, watched the clusters of leaves as they gently rustled. He
rolled half over and stared up at the bits of sky that showed through
the trees. It seemed as if the great world were a new thing, as if
these trees and bushes and reaches of tufted grass were a part of a
new life. Before, they had played their part in his rugged life
without asking for recognition; but to-night they came into his
thoughts with their sy