.

"Come into the hall, sir," she said, and then led the way from the hall
into a large room opening upon a lawn, well-shaded by many fine, large
trees. Elihu Strong sat in a chair before one of the windows, and his
wounded leg, swathed heavily, reposed in another chair.

Robert paused, and his heart beat rather hard. This was the first friend
of his old life that he had seen. Now, he was coming in reality back to
his world. He stood a few moments, irresolute, and then advancing
lightly he said:

"Good morning, Colonel Strong!"

The wounded man wheeled in his chair and looked at him, inquiry in his
face. Robert did not know what changes his life on the island had made
in his appearance, his expression rather, but he saw that Colonel Strong
did not know him, and it pleased him to play for a minute or so with the
fact.

"You did not receive this bullet, sir, when you saved us from St. Luc,"
he said. "It must have been much later, but I know it was a bad moment
for the Province of Massachusetts when the hostile lead struck you."

Colonel Strong stared.

"Who are you?" he exclaimed.

"There was a battle on the shores of Lake George, at a point where our
men had been building boats. They were besieged by a mixed force of
French and Indians, commanded by the great French partisan leader, St.
Luc. They beat off the attacks, but they would have been overcome in
time, if you had not hurried to their relief, with a strong force and
two brass cannon."

"That is true and if the Governor and Legislature of Massachusetts had
done their full duty we'd have had twice as many men and four, six, or
even eight cannon in place of two. But what do you know about those
things?"

"There were two boys, one Indian and one white, who came on the lake,
telling you of the plight of the boat builders. The Indian was Tayoga of
the Clan of the Bear, of the Nation Onondaga, of the Great League of the
Hodenosaunee, the finest trailer in the world. The white boy was Robert
Lennox, of the Province of New York."

"Aye, you speak truly. Full well do I remember them. How could I forget
them? Tayoga is back there now with the hunter Willet, doing some great
service in the war, what I know not, but it is something surely great.
The white boy, Robert Lennox, is dead. A great loss, too! A fine and
gallant lad."

"How do you know he is dead?"

"I had it in a letter from Master Benjamin Hardy of New York, with whom
I often transact affairs of bu