"No further words passed. My grandmother began at once to pack up. Two hours later the house was empty; my grandparents had left without even shutting the door behind them. Before sunset they were making their way up the Lawrence, in the canoes of Kouha-hande." "The river was crowded with fugitives. After a journey of four days my grandfather reached the tribe of the Hurons-Bisons, of which our relative Kouha-hande was the first sachem. Many other Canadians sought refuge in the same place, and were hospitably received by the Indians. I need say nothing more save that we have lived there ever since." "And your grandfather?" "Still lives, as does my father, though I have recently lost my mother and grandmother. I have a sister much younger than myself. She remains in the village to nurse my grandfather. My father is at this moment with the Hudson Bay Company." At this moment there was a peculiar rustling in the bushes at no great distance. "Be quiet," whispered the Canadian in the ear of his new friend, and before the other could in any way interfere with him, he seized his gun and disappeared in the high grass, crawling on his hands and knees. Then a shot was heard. [1] This is history as told by a Frenchman. As a matter of fact, the French Canadians remained where they were, until they became the most loyal subjects the British Crown possesses.--Editor. CHAPTER IV. AN ALLIANCE OFFENSIVE AND DEFENSIVE. Hearing this unexpected shot, Oliver was in the act of rushing to assist his friend, whom he supposed attacked by some wild beast, when the hearty and joyous voice of the Canadian was heard. "Don't disturb yourself, my friend," he cried, "I have only been providing our dinner." And next minute he reappeared, carrying on his back a doe, which he hung to one of the lower branches of the magnolia, and then began to open. "Handsome beast, is it not?" he said. "I believe the rascal was listening. He paid dear for his curiosity." "A fine beast and cleverly killed," replied Oliver, helping to skin the animal. "It is a pity to spoil a good skin. I am a pretty good shot, but you should see my father shoot a tiger in the eye." "That," cried Oliver, "seems extraordinary." "I have seen him do it twenty times, and still more difficult things," said the other. "But such deadly certainty is pure habit. We live by our guns--but to finish my story." "Go on, my friend."