again, Langlade directed the hunting in the adjacent
forest and the fishing conducted on the great lake. He also made presents
from time to time of gorgeous beads or of huge red or yellow blankets that
had been sent from Montreal. Robert could not keep from admiring his
diplomacy and tact, and now he understood more thoroughly than ever how the
French partisans made themselves such favorites with the wild Indians.

His own position in the village was tentative. Langlade still seemed
uncertain what to do with him, and held him meanwhile for a possible reward
of great value. He was never allowed to leave the cluster of tepees for the
forest, except with the warriors, but he took part in the fishing on the
lake, being a willing worker there, because idleness grew terribly irksome,
and, when he had nothing to do, he chafed over his long captivity. He slept
in a small tepee built against that of Monsieur and Madame Langlade, and
from which there was no egress save through theirs.

He was enclosed only within walls of skin, and he believed that he might
have broken a way through them, but he felt that the eyes of the Dove were
always on him. He even had the impression that she was watching him while
he slept, and sometimes he dreamed that she was fanged and clawed like a
tigress.

Langlade went away once, being gone a long time, and while he was absent
the Dove redoubled her watchfulness. Robert's singular impression that her
eyes were always on him was strengthened, and these eyes were increased to
the hundred of Argus and more. It became so oppressive that he was always
eager to go out with the warriors in their canoes for the fishing. On Lake
Ontario he was sure the eyes of the Dove could not reach him, but the work
was arduous and often perilous. The great lake was not to be treated
lightly. Often it took toll of the Indians who lived around its shores.
Winter storms came up suddenly, the waves rolled like those of the sea,
freezing spray dashed over them, and it required a supreme exertion of
both skill and strength to keep the light canoes from being swamped.

Yet Robert was always happier on water than on land. On shore, confined
closely and guarded zealously, his imaginative temperament suffered and he
became moody and depressed, but on the lakes, although still a captive, he
felt the winds of freedom. When the storms came and the icy blasts swept
down upon them he responded, body and soul. Relief and freedom were to