, either. At the dinner hour, twelve o'clock,
the Grand Master of the day entered the dining-hall, a napkin on his
shoulder, his staff of office in his hand, and the collar of the Order,
worth about four crowns, about his neck. After him came the
Brotherhood in procession, each carrying a dish. Indian chiefs were
often guests at the board; old Membertou was always made welcome.
Biscuit, bread and many other kinds of food served there were new and
alluring luxuries to the Indians, and warriors, squaws and children who
had not seats at table squatted on the floor gravely awaiting their
portions.

[Illustration: "THE GRAND MASTER OF THE DAY ENTERED THE DINING
HALL."--_Page_ 266]

The evening meal was less formal. When all were gathered about the fire,
the Grand Master presented the collar and staff of office to his
successor, and drank his health in a cup of wine.

The winter was unusually mild; until January they needed nothing warmer
than their doublets. On the fourteenth, a Sunday, they went boating on
the river, and came home singing the gay songs of France. A little later
they went to visit the wheat fields two leagues from the fort, and dined
merrily out of doors. When the snow melted they saw the little bright
blades of the autumn sowing already coming up from the rich black soil.
Winter was over, and work began in good heart. Poutrincourt was not
above gathering turpentine from the pines and making tar, after a
process invented by himself. Then late in spring a ship came into harbor
with news which ended everything. The fur-traders of Normandy, Brittany
and the Vizcayan ports had succeeded in having the privilege of De Monts
withdrawn. Hardly more than a year after his arrival Lescarbot left his
beloved gardens, and in October all the colonists were once more in
France. Membertou and his Indians bewailed their departure, and held
them in long remembrance. Wilderness houses soon go back to their
beginnings, and it was not long before all that was left of the brave
and gay French colony was a little clearing where the herb of
immortality, the tansy of Saint Athanase, lifted its golden buttons and
thick dark green foliage above the remnant of the garden of Helene.

Yet the experience of that year was not lost. It was the first instance
of a company of settlers in that northern climate passing the winter
without illness, discord or trouble with the Indians. Later, in the
little new settlements of Quebec and Montrea