East, west, and south, the ground fell gently to the water's edge, entirely clear of trees: even their stumps had been uprooted to make room for small gardens in which the garrison grew its cabbages and pot-herbs; and below these gardens the Commandant's cows roamed in a green riverside meadow. At the back a rougher clearing, two cannon-shots in width, divided the northern wall from the dark tangle of the forest. The canoe had been sighted far down the lake, and the Commandant himself, with his brother M. Etienne and his daughter Mademoiselle Diane, had descended to the quay to welcome the _voyageurs_. A little apart stood Sergeant Bedard, old Jeremie Tripier (formerly major-domo and general factotum at Boisveyrac, now at Fort Amitie promoted to be _marechal des logis_), and five or six militiamen. And to John, as he neared the shore in the haze of a golden evening, the scene and the figures--the trim little stone fortress, the white banner of France transparent against the sky, the sentry like a toy figure at the gate, the cattle browsing below, the group at the river's brink--appeared as a tableau set for a child's play. To add to the illusion, as the canoe came to the quay the sun sank, a gun boomed out from the tallest of the four towers, and the flag ran down its staff; all as if by clockwork. As if by clockwork, too, the taller of the two old gentlemen on the quay--the one in a gold-laced coat--stepped forward with a wave of his hand. "Welcome, welcome, my good Dominique! It will be news you bring from Boisveyrac--more news of the great victory, perhaps? And who are these your comrades?" "Your servant, Monseigneur; and yours, Monsieur Etienne, and yours, Mademoiselle Diane!" Dominique brought his canoe alongside and saluted respectfully. "All my own news is that we have gathered the harvest at Boisveyrac; a crop not far below the average, we hope. But Father Launoy desired me to bring you these strangers, who will tell of matters more important." "It is the wounded man--the sergeant from Fort Carillon!" cried Diane, clasping her hands. "Eh, my child? Nonsense, nonsense--he wears no uniform, as you see. Moreover, 'Polyte Latulippe brought word that he was lying at the point of death." "It is he, nevertheless." "Mademoiselle has guessed rightly," said Dominique. "It is the wounded soldier. I have lent him an outfit." The Commandant stared incredulously from Dominique to John, from John to Menehwehna, and back again to John. A delightful smile irradiated his face. "Then you bring us a good gift indeed! Welcome, sir, welcome to Fort Amitie! where we will soon have you hale and strong again, if nursing can do it."