“More profitably employed—fishing; but we will return in a day or two, and try whether a wigwam can be made of it.” The young Briton had seated himself on one of the boards, and seemed lost in contemplation, while Frank quietly withdrew to see the luck of the fishers—who, in the meantime, had not forgotten the two youths, but, in their simple phrase, were discussing the point at issue: “Why, Old Nora could tell him plenty about the Ingens,” said Basil, “for her grandmother told her, and she saw a power of ’em in her time—but he only seems to care about one—and I can’t say I ever heard Nora go over such a strange name as that.” “They were smart, them chiefs, in their time,” observed Luke, “for they say our folks learned to make the canoes from ’em, and I’d put ’em against any boat that swims.” “But they won’t hold much of a crew, Luke, let alone passengers, and as there’s four of us, and a heavy load of Massa Egerton’s nelics, as he calls them; besides, it’s lucky we’ve got something bigger to float home in.” Their angling had not been very successful in the short time they had engaged in it, and at Frank’s request, the boat was again put in readiness for their departure. Once more on the water, Frank reminded his friend of the promised conclusion of his story. “I thought you had forgotten it,” replied Egerton, smiling, “but I will with pleasure gratify you. I believe we left my ancestor expecting the early arrival of his parents at St. Mary’s, and I will now proceed to give you the other portion of the legend. “One evening, after his usual visit to the wigwam, James was slowly returning to his lodgings. Lost in thought, he did not at first perceive that heavy clouds were gathering in the sky, but the sudden darkness made him quicken his pace. “‘You are late this evening, Master James,’ said his tutor, as he met him at the door, ‘you waste a great deal of time with that wild Indian, and I am glad your parents are coming to take charge of you.’ ‘I am glad too,’ thought his pupil, but he did not say so, and soon after retired to rest. “The sleep of innocent youth is ever sound, and a severe storm which arose had been raging some time before it broke his deep slumber. “He started from his pillow, and his first thoughts were fears for his parents’ safety. The wind roared fearfully, and the rain beat in torrents against his chamber window. He looked out on the thick darkness that obscured every object, and his heart sunk within him at the dreary view. Overcome with the distress of his feelings, he leaned against the casement, and gave vent to the friendly tears that often relieve the sadness of boyhood. Suddenly a faint and distant flash of light broke through the gloom. It was gone, but a sound followed which, even amid the howling of the storm, could not be mistaken. It struck on the ear of the weeping boy, with startling certainty.