course of the
evening, a number of wooden bolts for himself, La Salle, and Regnar; and
even Waring fitted a couple into two of the brass shells of his
breech-loader.

Regnar took the remains of the steel boat-hook, and succeeded in
straightening the hook, which he drew down into the shape of a rude
chisel. Peter tempered it for him, and then, with this rude tool and an
axe, he split the boulder of soapstone into halves, making two
bowl-shaped pieces, about fifteen inches across, in the line of
cleavage. One of these he proceeded to hollow out into an Esquimaux
lamp, for the stock of wood had been largely drawn upon during the cold
spell just over, and only about twenty decoys remained unburnt. Waring
sat next him, unraveling one of the old cotton-flannel over-shirts, and
twisting the fibres into large wicks; while La Salle made a cover of the
last remaining sheet-iron decoy, with holes for six wicks. As they sat
around the fire, Waring suddenly broke the silence.

"Charley," said he, "you have never told your story, although all the
rest of the club took their turn. We are not making much noise with our
work. Can't you give us your story now, to while away the evening?"

La Salle was at first disposed to comply, but his eye fell on the dark
features of Peter, opposite him.

"Peter," said he, "tell us one of the tales your old people tell around
the winter fire in the long, cold evenings. Tell us of Teahm or
Kit-pus-e-ag-a-now."

"How you know them?" asked the Indian, surprised out of his usual
self-possession. "You speak Micmac too?"

"O, no, Peter; but I have heard many of these old tales, and I know the
lads would like to hear them too."

"Yes, yes, Peter," added Waring, "let us have one, by all means."

Peter laid aside his pipe, for he still retained a little of his
treasured tobacco, and in a slow, sententious tone repeated one of those
tribal legends which are all that keep alive the fire of patriotism and
national pride, in the breasts of a people who find themselves
strangers, outcasts, and without a country in the land of their birth,
once theirs alone.

PETER'S STORY.

"The old people were camped long, long ago, near the Oolastook, where
now stands St. John. All this lan' Indian then. No 'hite man live here
that time, and the hunter always find game plenty--plenty moose, plenty
bear, plenty fish, plenty everyting.

"Then Indians not so wicked as now, and God had not sent 'hite men to
punish t