savages may know the Christian's God.

Beauty, mysticism and music--music in all things, from the silver flow
of the river to the soft notes of the native's tongue, and dominating
all, simple faith and deep-rooted, God-implanted patriotism.

Such was French Canada, the adopted country of Deschamps the trapper,
a native of old France, who made his home in Tadousac while Quebec was
yet a growing city; and, caring nothing for toil or hardship,
gradually grew to be a _grand monsieur_ in the estimation of the
people about him. He loved his country well and, when war came, sent
forth three sturdy sons to help repel the British foe. Many were the
tears the patriot shed, because age forbade the privilege of
shouldering musket and marching himself.

Weary months dragged by before tidings came. Quebec had fallen. The
gallant Montcalm had passed through the Gate of Saint John to a hero's
rest, and two of the trapper's sons lay dead on the Plains of Abraham.
They had died bravely, as Deschamps hoped they would, with their faces
to the foe, and with a whispered message of love to the old father at
Tadousac.

And Pascal, the best beloved?

Pascal was--a traitor!

The blood of Deschamps in the veins of a traitor! Wife, daughter and
gallant sons had been riven from him by death and the Christian's hope
lightened the; mourner's desolation. But disgrace! Neither earth nor
heaven held consolation for such wrong as his. Deschamps brooded on
his woe; alone he endured his agony, giving utterance to his despair
in the words: "France! Pascal! Traitor!"

Years passed and the trapper lived on, a senile wreck, ever brooding
on defeat, then breaking into fierce invective. Misery had isolated
him from his kind; the _grand monsieur_ was the recluse of Tadousac.
One day he disappeared from his lonely cabin and no one knew whither
he had gone.

Treason had purchased prosperity for the recreant son. Wealth and
honors were his and an English wife, a haughty woman of half-noble
family, who completed the work of alienation. Traitorous deed,
kindred and race were all forgotten, and when the joy-bells rang for
the birth of an heir there was revel in the magnificent mansion of
Pascal Deschamps.

"Summon our friends," said the happy father. "A son to the house of
Deschamps! Let his baptism be celebrated as becomes the heir of
wealth, power and position."

So heralds went forth from town to town, making known the tidings, but
bore no message to t