“I do not know.”

“From where do you suppose they come?” I asked, amazed.

“From Catharines-town.”

“Do you believe your mother sends them?”

“Oh, Euan, I know it now!  Until two years ago I did not understand.  But now I know it!”

“Why are you so certain Lois?  Is any written message sent with them?”

“Always within one of each pair of moccasins is sewed a strip of silver birch.  Always the message written is the same; and this is what is always written: 

“Swift moccasins for little feet as swift against the day that the long trail is safe.  Then, in the Vale Yndaia, little Lois, seek her who bore you, saved you, lost you, but who love you always.

“Pray every day for him who died in the Regiment de la Reine.

“Pray too for her who waits for you, in far Yndaia.”

“What a strange message!” I exclaimed.

“I must heed it,” she said under her breath.  “The trail is open, and my hour is come.”

“But, Lois, that trail means death!”

“Your army makes it safe at last.  And now the time is come when I must follow it.”

“Is that why you have followed us?”

“Yes, that is why.  Until that night in the storm at Poundridge-town I had never learned where the Vale Yndaia lay.  Month after month I haunted camps, asking for information concerning Yndaia and the Regiment de la Reine.  But of Yndaia I learned nothing, until the Sagamore informed me that Yndaia lay near Catharines-town.  And, learning you were of the army, and that the army was bound thither, I followed you.”

“Why did you not tell me this at Poundridge?  You should have camped with us,” I said.

“Because of my fear of men—­ except red men.  And I had already quite enough of your Lieutenant Boyd.”

I looked at her seriously; and she comprehended the unasked questions that were troubling me.

“Shall I tell you more?  Shall I tell you how I have learned my dread of men—­ how it has been with me since my foster parents found me lying at their door strapped to a painted cradle-board?”

“You!”

“Aye; that was my shameful beginning, so they told me afterward—­ long afterward.  For I supposed they were my parents—­ till two years ago.  Now shall I tell you all, Euan?  And risk losing a friendship you might have given in your ignorance of me?”

Quick, hot, unconsidered words flew to my lips—­ so sweet and fearless were her eyes.  But I only muttered: 

“Tell me all.”

“From the beginning, then—­ to scour my heart out for you!  So, first and earliest my consciousness awoke to the sound of drums.  I am sure of this because when I hear them it seems as though they were the first sounds that I ever heard....  And once, lately, they were like to be the last....  And next I can remember playing with a painted mask of wood, and how the paint tasted, and its odour....  Then, nothing more can I remember until I was a little child with—­ him I thought to be my father.  I may not name him.  You will understand presently why I do not.”