“Pierre, Pierre! Would you had been ‘all Indian’ when you tackled Angelique’s fried chicken. Um-m! I can taste it now.” But at length the new canoe was ready. They had put as few ribs into it as would suffice to hold it in shape, and Pierre had carefully sewn it with the roots of the black cedar, which serves the woodsman for so many purposes where thread or twine is needed. They had made a paddle and a pole as well as they could with their knives, and, having nothing to pack except themselves and their small remnant of beans, made their last camp-fire at that spot and lay down to sleep. But the dreams of both were troubled; and in the night Adrian rose and went to add wood to the fire. It had died down to coals, but his attention was caught by a ring of white light upon the ashes, wholly distinct from the red embers. “What’s that?” In a moment he had answered his own question. It was the phosphorescent glow from the inner bark of a half-burned log, and further away he saw another portion of the same log making a ghostly radiance on the surrounding ground. “Oh! I wouldn’t have missed that for anything. Mr. Dutton told me of beautiful sights he had witnessed and of the strange will-o’-the-wisps that abound in the forest. I’ll gather some of the chips.” He did so, and they made a fairy-like radiance over his palm; but while he was intently studying them, he felt his hand rudely knocked up, so that the bits of wood flew out of it. “Pierre, stop that!” “Don’t you know what that is? A warning--a sign--an omen. Oh! if I had never come upon this trip!” “You foolish fellow! Just as I thought you were beginning to get sense. Nothing in the world but decayed bark and chemical--” Pierre stopped his ears. “I was dreaming of the mére. She came with her apron to her eyes and her clothes in tatters. She was scolding--” “Perfectly natural.” “And begging me--” “Not to eat so many half-baked beans for supper.” “There’s something wrong at the island. I saw the cabin all dark. I saw Margot’s eyes red with weeping.” “No doubt, Tom has been into fresh mischief and your mother has punished him.” Pierre ignored these flippant interruptions, but rehearsed his dismal visions till Adrian lost patience and pushed him aside. “Go, bring an armful of fresh wood: some that isn’t phosphorescent, if you prefer. That’ll wake you up and drive the megrims out of your mind.” “’Tis neither of them things. ’Tis a warning. They were all painted with black, and all the Hollow creatures were painted, too. ’Tis a warning. I shall see death before I am--” Even while he maundered on in this strain, he was unconsciously obeying the command to fetch wood, and moved toward a pile left ready. Now, in raking this together, Adrian had, also, swept that spot of ground clean and exposed; and what neither had observed in the twilight was plainly revealed by the glow and shadows cast by the fire.