"Out of the water came her friend's wife, beautiful to behold and shining with silver scales. Her long hair fell all around her, and seemed like silver and gold. When she came ashore she stretched out on the sand and took a strawberry between her lips. The young maid watched the lake until she saw something moving on the waters a great way off, which seemed like a cloud. "In a moment the stars went out and it grew dark, and it thundered till the skies fell down, torn into rain by the terrible lightning. All was still at last, and it grew lighter. The maid opened her eyes to find herself in the arms of her friend. But at their feet lay the dying sparks of a shattered star. "Then as they went back through the woods the eight chiefs passed them in Indian file, and they saw them rising higher and higher, till they went up to the sky like mists at sunrise." Dorothy's voice died away; she stretched out one arm. [Illustration: "THIS IS THE END, O YOU WISE MEN AND SACHEMS!".] "This is the end, O you wise men and sachems, told since the beginning to us People of the Morning. Hiro [I have spoken]!" Then a startling thing occurred; up from the underbrush behind us rose a tall Indian warrior, naked to the waist, painted from belt to brow with terrific, nameless emblems and signs. I sprang to my feet, horror-struck; the savage folded his arms, quietly smiling; and I saw knife and hatchet resting in his belt and a long rifle on the moss at his feet. "Kôue! That was a true tale," he said, in good English. "It is a miracle that one among you sings the truth concerning us poor Mohawks." "Do you come in peace?" I asked, almost stunned. He made a gesture. "Had I come otherwise, you had known it!" He looked straight at Dorothy. "You are the patroon's daughter. Does he speak as truthfully of the Mohawks as do you?" "Who are you?" I asked, slowly. He smiled again. "My name is Brant," he said. "Joseph Brant! Thayendanegea!" murmured Dorothy, aloud. "A cousin of his," said the savage, carelessly. Then he turned sternly on me. "Tell that man who follows me that I could have slain him twice within the hour; once at the ford, once on Stoner's hill. Does he take me for a deer? Does he believe I wear war-paint? There is no war betwixt the Mohawks and the Boston people--yet! Tell that fool to go home!" "What fool?" I asked, troubled. "You will meet him--journeying the wrong way," said the Indian, grimly. With a quick, guarded motion he picked up his rifle, turned short, and passed swiftly northward straight into the forest, leaving us listening there together long after he had disappeared. "That chief was Joseph Brant, ... but he wore no war-paint," whispered my cousin. "He was painted for the secret rites of the False-Faces." "He could have slain us as we sat," I said, bitterly humiliated. She looked up at me thoughtfully; there was not in her face the slightest trace of the deep emotions which had shocked me.