“You have spoken well, Dagaeoga.”

They ate strips of venison contentedly, but did not neglect to keep a wary watch upon the creeping foe.  Robert knew that Tandakora and De Courcelles were trying to discover whether or not the line of the creek was defended, and if Willet and his men remained well hidden it would take a long time for them to ascertain the fact.  He enjoyed their perplexity, finding in the situation a certain sardonic humor.

“The Ojibway and the Frenchman would give a good deal to know just what is in the thickets here,” he whispered to Tayoga.  “But the longer they must take in finding out the better I like it.”

“They will delay far into the afternoon,” said Tayoga.  “The warriors and the Frenchmen have great patience.  It would be better for the Americans and the English if they, too, like the French, learned the patience of the Indians.”

“The birds gave us a warning that they had come.  You don’t think it possible, Tayoga, that they will also give the savages warning that we are here?”

“No, Dagaeoga, we have been lying in the thickets so long now, and have been so quiet that the birds have grown used to us.  They feel sure we are not going to do them any harm, and while they may have flown away when we first came they are back now, as you can see with your own eyes, and can hear with your own ears.”

Almost over Robert’s head a small brown bird on a small green bough was singing, pouring out a small sweet song that was nevertheless clear and penetrating.  Within the radius of his sight a half dozen more were trilling and quavering, and he knew that others were pouring out their souls farther on, as the low hum of their many voices came to his ears.  Now and then he saw a flash of blue or brown or gray, as some restless feathered being shot from one bough to another.  The birds, unusual in number and sure that there was no hostile presence, were having a grand concert in honor of a most noble day.

Robert listened and the appeal to his imagination and higher side was strong.  Overhead the chorus of small sweet voices went on, as if there were no such things as battle or danger.  Tayoga also was moved by it.

“By the snakes in the hair of the wise Tododaho,” he said, “it is pleasant to hear!  May the wilderness endure always that the birds can sing in it, far from men, and in peace!”

“May it not be, Tayoga, that the warriors watching the thickets here will see the birds so thick, and will conclude from it that no defenders are lying in wait?”

“De Courcelles might, but Tandakora, who has lived his whole life in the forest, will conclude that the birds are here, unafraid, because we have been so long in the bushes.”