She shook her grisly head and answered slowly, “Alas, alas, mistress! there be those who will never eat of my cakes again, and yet he loved them! Old Nokomis’ cakes—he’d take them half-baked out of the oven, for the smell of them!”
“Who are you speaking of?” said Loïs, hastily putting down the half-empty pail.
“Who should I speak of if not of the young master? Ah, it was an evil day when Boscowen and Langlade parted; they’ll never come together again.”
“What have you heard?” said Loïs, turning deadly pale.
“The boy’s there; he can speak,” said Nokomis.
“What boy?” asked Loïs. “Oh, Nokomis, if there be news of Roger and Charles, do not keep me waiting.”
Thus adjured, the Indian woman went to the door, made a sign to some one, and in another minute an Indian youth entered and stood before Loïs.
“What have you to tell me?” she asked tremulously.
The boy answered,—
“I am Nadjii’s brother. I carried the boy away, but the White Chief, his father, found him, and would have hidden him from Ominipeg, but he could not; the ‘Black Eagle’ took him, and carried him into the battle, and they were killed together. And last of all the White Chief was killed; I saw him fall. They are all gone into the land of the Great Spirit.”