"Not long before my dear father died he took me into the woods to walk
in a place that we were both fond of. We had long sweet talks in that
wood; sometimes walking under the trees, sometimes sitting on the
hill-tops, and always happy--very happy! One day he looked sad. He
took my hand as we sat together on a bank. He said, `I have sometimes
longed to open up all my heart to you, my rubbit,' (he was fond of
calling me by the English name), `but I cannot do so yet.'"
"`Why not, my father?' I asked.
"`Because--because--' he answered, `it could do no good, and it might do
harm. No, my rubbit, the time may come, but not now--not yet. Listen;
for your mother's sake I left the home of the pale-faces and came to
live with your tribe. For her sake I shall remain. But you know that
life is uncertain. We cannot tell when the Great Master of Life may
call us away. Sometimes he calls us suddenly and we are forced to leave
our works unfinished. I may be called away thus, before the time comes
when I may tell you what I want you to know. If so, you will find it
all here.'
"My father took from the breast of his coat a small bundle wrapped in
birch-bark and placed it in my hands.
"`Do not open it,' he said. `Do not show it to man or woman in the
tribe. They could not understand, but if ever a white man comes here,
_whom you feel that you can trust_, show it to him.'
"My father rose as he said this, and as he seemed to wish not to speak
more about it, I did not trouble him, but I went and hid the parcel with
care. It was almost immediately afterwards that my dear father was
taken from me."
We were suddenly interrupted at this point by the appearance of a man in
the distance walking smartly towards us. I could perceive, as he drew
near, that it was James Dougall.
"Well, well, Muster Maxby," he said on coming up, "it's gled I am to
find you. I've been seekin' you far an' near."
"Nothing wrong, I hope, Dougall," said I with some anxiety, on observing
that the man was perspiring and panting vehemently.
"No, no, nothin' wrong, Muster Maxby, only it's runnin' aboot the wuds
I've been, lookin' for ye an' skirlin' like a pair o' pipes. We're
aboot to draw the seine-net, ye see, an' Tonald Pane said it would be a
peety, says he, to begin when ye wur awa', an' Muster Lumley agreet wi'
um, an' sent me oot to seek for 'ee--that's a'."
"Come along then, Dougall, we won't keep them waiting."
Nodding adieu to Waboose, I hurried away towards Fort Wichikagan,
followed by the sturdy Highlander.