“Farewell, my friends,” said Daganoweda, the Mohawk, to Tayoga, Robert and Willet.  “We rest here until the great sachems of the Onondagas send for us, and yet we are eager to come, because never before was there such a Maple Dance and never before such a council as these will be.”

“You speak true words, Daganoweda,” said Robert, “and the Great Bear and I rejoice that we are adopted sons of the Iroquois and can be here.”

Robert spoke from his heart.  Not even his arrival at Quebec, great as had been his anticipations and their fulfillment, had stirred in him more interest and enthusiasm.  The feeling that for the time being he was an Iroquois in everything except his white skin grew upon him.  He saw as they saw, his pulses beat as theirs beat, and he thought as they thought.  It was not too much for him to think that the fate of North America might turn upon the events that were to transpire within the vale of Onondaga within the next few days.  Nor was he, despite his heated brain, and the luminous glow through which he saw everything, far from the facts.

Robert saw that Willet, despite his years and experience, was deeply stirred also, and the dark eyes of Tayoga glittered, as well they might, since the people who were the greatest in all the world to him were about to deliberate on their fate and that of others.

The three, side by side, their hearts beating hard, advanced slowly and with dignity through the groves.  From many points came the sound of singing and down the aisles of the trees they saw young girls in festival attire.  All the foliage was in deepest green and the sky was the soft but brilliant blue of early spring.  The air seemed to be charged with electricity, because all had a tense and expectant feeling.

For Robert, so highly imaginative, the luminous glow deepened.  He had studied much in the classics, after the fashion of the time, in the school at Albany, and his head was filled with the old Greek and Roman learning.  Now he saw the ancient symbolism reproduced in the great forests of North America by the nations of the Hodenosaunee, who had never heard of Greece or Rome, nor, to him, were the religion and poetry of the Iroquois inferior in power and beauty, being much closer kin than the gods of Greece and Rome to his own Christian beliefs.

“Manitou favors us,” said Tayoga, looking up at the soft blue velvet of the sky.  “Gaoh, the spirit of the Winds, moves but gently in his home, Dayodadogowah.”

He looked toward the west, because it was there that Gaoh, who had the bent figure and weazened face of an old man, always sat, Manitou having imprisoned him with the elements, and having confined him to one place.  In the beautiful Iroquois mythology, Gaoh often struggled to release himself, though never with success.  Sometimes his efforts were but mild, and then he produced gentle breezes, but when he fought fiercely for freedom the great storms blew and tore down the forests.