kin in his ambushment. I paid a man
in the settlements to make and put a graven stone at the head of my
father's resting place. It was of the value of twelve beaver-skins, and
cunningly and curiously was it carved! Then it told to all comers that
the body of such a Christian lay beneath; and it spoke of his manner
of life, of his years, and of his honesty. When we had done with the
Frenchers in the old war, I made a journey to the spot, in order to see
that all was rightly performed, and glad I am to say, the workman had
not forgotten his faith."

"And such a stone you would have at your grave?"

"I! no, no, I have no son, but Hard-Heart, and it is little that an
Indian knows of White fashions and usages. Besides I am his debtor,
already, seeing it is so little I have done, since I have lived in his
tribe. The rifle might bring the value of such a thing--but then I know,
it will give the boy pleasure to hang the piece in his hall, for many is
the deer and the bird that he has seen it destroy. No, no, the gun must
be sent to him, whose name is graven on the lock!"

"But there is one, who would gladly prove his affection in the way
you wish; he, who owes you not only his own deliverance from so many
dangers, but who inherits a heavy debt of gratitude from his ancestors.
The stone shall be put at the head of your grave."

The old man extended his emaciated hand, and gave the other a squeeze of
thanks.

"I thought, you might be willing to do it, but I was backward in
asking the favour," he said, "seeing that you are not of my kin. Put no
boastful words on the same, but just the name, the age, and the time of
the death, with something from the holy book; no more no more. My name
will then not be altogether lost on 'arth; I need no more."

Middleton intimated his assent, and then followed a pause, that was only
broken by distant and broken sentences from the dying man. He appeared
now to have closed his accounts with the world, and to await merely for
the final summons to quit it. Middleton and Hard-Heart placed themselves
on the opposite sides of his seat, and watched with melancholy
solicitude, the variations of his countenance. For two hours there was
no very sensible alteration. The expression of his faded and time-worn
features was that of a calm and dignified repose. From time to time he
spoke, uttering some brief sentence in the way of advice, or asking
some simple questions concerning those in whose fortunes he