“You better follow that one along the side of the hill,” the soldier advised, pointing to the right.  “There is a short cut down over the bank some distance ahead.  You can’t miss it.  There is another along the waterfront leading to the mill-pond.  That’s the best one to take coming back.”

Thanking the friendly sentry, Dane hurried away, and in about fifteen minutes came near the trading post.  He walked slower now, greatly interested in everything he beheld, from the quaint store to the people gathered ground the building.

For years this post at Portland Point had been the Mecca for the entire country.  The owners, Simonds and White, carried on an extensive trade with both Indians and whites.  Enduring and overcoming great difficulties, they laid the foundation of what to-day is the City of St. John.  The most important event, however, in all their career at Portland Point was the arrival of the thousands of exiles in their midst.  They gave them a hearty welcome, and did all in their power to aid them in the land of their adoption.

As Dane approached the crowd, he looked keenly about for Major Studholme.  Although he had never seen him, he imagined that he would know him at once.  He surely would be a large man, of princely bearing, who would be busy issuing orders to his men.  But although he saw a number of soldiers, there was no one who measured Up to his ideal of the commander of the Fort.

At length he observed a man, who from his uniform seemed to be an officer, seated at a small rough table near the store door.  He was busy writing, and passing pieces of paper to men standing before him.  Surely he must be the Major, Dane thought, so stepping forward, he stood for a few minutes close to the table.  He soon learned that the officer was issuing orders to the Loyalists for boards, shingles, clapboards, and bricks for the building of their houses.  For a while he had no chance to speak to the man, but waiting his opportunity, he at last stood before him.

“Are you Major Studholme?” he asked.

“No,” the officer replied, laying down his pen with a sigh of weariness.  “I am merely acting in the Major’s place.”

Then he looked at Dane more closely, and his interest became aroused.  He knew at once that this young man was not one of the newly-arrived exiles, but a courier from the wilderness.  He noted his buckskin garb, finely-built body, erect manner, and the bright open countenance.  He had seen special couriers before, and they had all been men worthy of more than a passing glance.  But this young man surpassed them all, and he looked upon him with admiration.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he at length asked.

“I have a message for the Major,” Dane explained, “and I must deliver it to him.”

“Give it to me,” and the officer reached out his hand.  “I am Lieutenant Street, and I shall see that the Major gets it.”