And I remember that the fresh, joyous chorus of waking birds was like the loud singing of spirit-children. And to the sweet sound of that blessed choir I surrendered mind and body, and so was borne on wings of song into the halls of slumber-land. * * * * * The sun was high when our sentinel hailed a detail from Fish House, bringing us a sheep, three sacks of corn, and a keg of fresh milk. I had bathed me in the Vlaie Water, had eaten soupaan, turned over my command to Nick, and now was ready to report in person to the Commandant at Summer House Point. My Saguenay had slain a gorgeous wood-duck with his arrows; and now, brave in fresh paint and brilliant plumage, he sat awaiting me in the patched canoe which had belonged, no doubt, to John Howell. I went down among the pinxter bushes and tall reeds to the shore; and so we paddled away on the calm, deep current which makes a hundred snake-like curls and bends to every mile, so that the mile itself becomes doubled,--nay, tripled!--ere one attains his destination. It was strange how I was not yet rid of that vague sense of impending trouble, nor could account for the foreboding in any manner, being full of health and now rested. My mind, occupied by my report, which I was now reading where I had written it in my _carnet_, nevertheless seemed crowded with other thoughts,--how we would seem each to the other when we met again,--Penelope Grant and I. And if she would seem to take a pleasure in my return ... perhaps say as much ... smile, perhaps.... And we might walk a little on the new grass under the apple bloom.... A troubled mind! And knew not the why and wherefore of its own restlessness and apprehension. For the sky was softly blue, and the water, too; and a gentle wind aided our paddles, which pierced the stream so silently that scarce a diamond-drop fell from the sunlit blades. I could see the Summer House, and a striped jack flying in the sun. The green and white lodge seemed very near across the marshes, yet it was some little time before I first smelled the smoke of camp fires, and then saw it rising above the bushes. Presently a Continental on guard hailed our canoe. We landed. A corporal came, then a sergeant,--one Caspar Quant, whom I knew,--and so we were passed on, my Indian and I, until the gate-guard at the Point halted us and an officer came from the roadside,--one Captain Van Pelt, whom I knew in Albany. Saluted, and the officer's salute rendered, he became curious to see the fresh scalps flapping at my Saguenay's girdle, and the new war-paint and the oil smelling rank in the sweet air. But I told him nothing, asking only for the Commandant, who, he gave account, was a certain Major Westfall, lodging at the Summer House, and lately transferred from the Massachusetts Line, along with other Yankee officers--why?--God and Massachusetts knew, perhaps.