Robert, who was in a cheerful mood and who wished to exercise his gift of golden speech, met him half way, and enlarged upon the splendor and power of Britain, the great kingdom that bestrode the Atlantic, seated immovable in Europe, and yet spreading through her colonies in America, increasing and growing mightier all the time.  It was soon a test of eloquence between him and Monsieur Jolivet, in which each was seeking to obtain from the other an expression of the opinion that swayed his country.  The Onondaga was silent, and the hunter spoke only a word or two, but each listened intently to the dialogue, which, however earnest it might be, never went beyond the bounds of good humor.

“I cannot make you see the truth,” said Monsieur Jolivet, at last, smiling and spreading his hands.  “I cannot convince you that France is the first of nations, the nation of light and learning and humanity, and yet it is so.  And seated here upon the St. Lawrence we shall build up another France, the New France of America, which will shed light upon you English or Bostonnais down below, and teach you the grace and beauty of civilization.”

“We should be willing to learn from any who can teach us,” said Robert, “and such a willingness I claim is a chief merit of us English who are born in America, or Bostonnais, as you would call us.”

Monsieur Jolivet once more spread out his hands in deprecation.

“We argue in vain,” he said.  “But now Lizette comes with the coffee, which is one of the most glorious triumphs of my inn.  Does the young chief drink coffee?”

“Yes,” replied Robert, “he learned at Albany all the white man’s habits.”

After the coffee they rose from the table and mine host prepared to show them to their room.  The darkness had thickened meanwhile and glimpses of the river and the hills were faint.  The little garden was enclosed by three walls of darkness, being lighted on the side where it joined the inn.  Yet Robert thought he saw a shifting figure blacker than the shadows in which it moved.

Marie and Lizette took away the silver and china and Monsieur Jolivet went ahead to show them to their room.  Then something whistled in the darkness, and an arrow buried to the head of the barb stood out in the rear wall of the inn.  The three seized their rifles, but the darker shadow in the shadows was gone.  Tayoga broke off the arrow level with the wall, and threw the shaft into the garden.

“It was Tandakora,” he said, “seeking revenge.  But since the arrow has sped wrong he will not loose another shaft tonight.  If it had not been for his wounded shoulder the arrow might have gone true.  It was a treacherous deed, worthy of the savage Ojibway.”

“I hope the time will come,” said Willet, “when I shall send a bullet not through Tandakora’s shoulder, but through his heart.  I don’t love the shedding of blood, but the forest will be a better forest without him.  Meanwhile, say nothing, lads.  Monsieur Jolivet is coming back, but don’t mention the arrow to him.  He may find the head of it later on in the wall, and then he can wonder about it as much as he pleases.”