The entries in the journal closed with a sorrowful farewell to his spiritual charges, of which they probably never knew, and an expression of pathetic gratitude to his friend Jacques, who had opened a gate between desolation and earthly paradise, for warm arms in France were reaching across the stormy seas, and into the wilds of the new world for Pierre de Lisle. It seemed strange that he had left the journal and the letter of Marie d’Aubigney. He was probably obsessed by his one dominant thought, and naturally excluded everything not needed for his long journey, but if his mind had not been much perturbed and confused he might have taken or destroyed the journal, but he surely would have carried the precious letter with him. The little bundle that he threw into the river, the day he left the island, may have contained his sacramental chalice, for in it his lips had found bitter waters. He probably dissembled his apostasy and utilized such Jesuit facilities as were available in getting back to his native land, lulling his conscience with one of the maxims of the Society of Jesus—“the end justifies the means”—but be that as it may, the chronicles in the attic had come to an end. I sat for a long time, listening to the patter of the rain on the old roof, and mused over the frail memorials. There is but one great passion in the world. With it all human destiny is entwined. Votaries of established religion have ever been recruited from the disconsolate. The gray walls of convents and monasteries have lured the heart stricken, and in remote fields of pious endeavor unguents have been sought for cruel wounds. In the waste places of the earth have been scattered the ashes of despair, but while life lasts, it somewhere holds the eternal chords. At hope’s vibrant touch the enfeebled strings awake and attune to the sublime strains of the Great Lyric. The faint echo of a song lingered in the brass bound box. The silk covered letter intoned a dream melody that the years had not hushed. IV THE “WETHER BOOK” OF BUCK GRANGER’S GRANDFATHER My friend “Buck” told me something of his grandfather’s history as we sat in the genial glow of the stone fireplace the evening after I had examined the contents of the brass bound box. The old pioneer, with his wife and two sons, had come west in 1810 and located on the island. He found many Indians there and his relations with them were very friendly. A small area was cleared and cultivated on the island, but the main source of livelihood was hunting, fishing and trapping. The woods and waters teemed with life and nature yielded easily of her abundance. The old man lived alone for many years after the death of his wife. His sons married and went farther west. Two years before he died one of the sons, Buck’s father, returned with his wife and little boy, to the old home. Buck was now the only surviving member of the family.