Mrs. Godfrey said to herself, “This Indian girl may be a daughter of one of the savages who attacked us at Grimross.  Perhaps she has lied to me and I may never again see her or the ring.  I may possibly get some information to-morrow that will satisfy me.  I must wait.”

At ten o’clock the next morning a strapping big Indian knocked at the door of the house where Mrs. Godfrey was lodging, and inquired if “woman lived there who wanted go in canoe and see sick Injun up river?”

He was informed that there was a lady inside, ready and waiting for a man named Jim Newall, to take her up the river.  “Me Jim,” he replied.

Margaret came to the door.  She said, “Are you Jim Newall?” “Yes, me Jim Newall,” he answered gruffly.

Margaret asked Jim how far it was to where he had left his canoe.  “Just few steps,” he replied.  “Down among stumps at water edge.”  Margaret accompanied the Indian, and finding out where the canoe was, told Jim to remain there until she returned, as she wanted to get a few things for the sick man.

Half an hour later Mrs. Godfrey and a Mrs. Fowler were making their way by stumps of trees and over branches, with their arms loaded with things for the sick Indian.  They were soon on board, and then Jim Newall paddled away up stream.

As the canoe slipped along, every spot on the shores seemed familiar to Margaret’s eyes, and many sad thoughts flashed across her mind; memories of days never to be forgotten rose in her soul.  She remarked to Mrs. Fowler, “How little everything has changed since I was here last, eight years ago, except at the settlement.”

The morning was a charming one, the river was running, fairly rushing up, otherwise all nature seemed to sleep.  The splash of the paddle, the ripple of the water along the sides of the canoe, and the gentle rolling of the little bark, were the only things that disturbed the quiet that reigned supreme all about.  The Indian never spoke, and Margaret and her companion, as they sat one ahead of the other in the bottom of the canoe, seldom exchanged a word.

Mrs. Godfrey saw at a glance that the canoe was nearing the place where Paul Guidon and his mother had once lived.  As she looked toward the shore her eyes rested upon a form standing at the water’s edge, and as the canoe approached nearer and nearer the shore, she recognized the form as that of the pretty squaw she had met at the settlement the previous day.  Margaret Godfrey remarked to Mrs. Fowler, “There stands the pretty creature I met yesterday.”  Mrs. Fowler replied, “She does not look like the squaws we so often see about the settlement.”  She continued, “What a neat, tidy girl she is.  I have never seen her at Parrtown, what a handsome face and fine form she has”

    “And ne’er did Grecian chisel trace
    A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,
    Of finer form, or lovelier face.”

The bow of the canoe had now touched the shore, and the Indian lass most politely made a courtesy to the ladies in the canoe.