"This is where the chief lives, Monsieur," said the Indian lad, pointing to a wooden hut about thirty feet square, painted a dull red, with a bright yellow door. The place was not architecturally beautiful, to be sure; but it was the residence of the ruler of the place; and, as the lad tapped at the door, the traveller began to experience the same diffidence that a stranger in London might feel in asking for a night's lodging at Buckingham Palace. A buxom serving-woman opened the door, and, on the boy's explaining the visit, bade him bring the luggage in and courteously asked the German to follow her into the chief's presence. Kohl gave the lad about a shilling's-worth of coppers, whereat both he and the servant exclaimed. The man must be a prince! A halfpenny would have been thought a more than sufficient tip for such a task as the Indian boy had performed. The woman led the way through the house--which was so ill-lighted, that anyone coming in from the bright sunshine could at first see nothing--and out by another small door to a huge space which seemed to be cornfield, garden, meadow, and orchard all in one. The back of the house was as tasteful as the front was grotesque; the porch was covered with honeysuckle, now in full bloom, and all kinds of creepers ran over the blank wall. In the middle of the garden a man was digging early potatoes. He looked round as the two walked up the path, and, to Kohl's surprise, the woman introduced the potato-digger as the Mohawk chief. When she had gone, the intruder entered into explanations to which the chief--a bright-eyed, gentle-looking old man--listened with polite attention. "You are very welcome," he said. "We country people are always glad to see visitors and learn all their news; strangers seldom come this way now; they go over there instead--they travel by the _chemin de fer_"; he pointed westwards, where, fifteen miles away, ran a line of railroad. "But--it must be an awful thing to go about the country like that, sir. I myself have never been in a train, thank God." He spoke the ordinary Canadian _patois_, though he evidently understood Kohl's Parisian French quite well. "You do not travel far, I suppose?" said the white man gently. "No; I am over eighty years of age. But in my time I have been far, very far. I have traded and fought with the _Inwi_" (Eskimos); "I have guided white hunters through Ungava; I have seen steamboats and railway trains." While he was speaking the old gentleman shouldered his fork, picked up his potato-basket, and turned towards the house. "You will like some refreshment. We do not dine till my sons return."