"I will be true to my brothers."
Then, at the side of a beckoning Quagnant, Conrad sat down.
"You have done well," said Quagnant. "Now the feast begins."
Conrad made no answer. He saw the Long House, enormous, mysterious; he saw the little fringe of white faces between it and the sea. He saw the hopes and fears of the dwellers in the Long House and the hopes and fears of the strangers. Both were in his own heart.
In June, John Conrad's eager, anxious eyes were satisfied. He still walked each evening into the forest. There on a fallen tree he sat and looked toward the west. One clear evening, he saw coming toward him an erect, alert young Indian and sprang up to make the same eager inquiry with which he greeted all Indians. Then he stood still. The Indian was clad in doeskin, his hair was long, his feet were moccasined—but his eyes were blue!
"My son!" cried John Conrad.
Hand in hand the two sat down on the fallen tree.