When Jean had ended singing this verse there was a mistiness in her eyes. How wonderfully true were those words in her own case. The Shepherd had been with her through death's dark vale, He had comforted her, and led her to this quiet woodland lake.
"Babby seek?" Sam asked, noticing her emotion.
"No, not sick, but very thankful," was the quiet reply. "My Great Father in heaven has sent you to save me and to take me home. Do you know Him?"
"A-ha-ha, me know'm. White man tell Injun long tam ago."
"Missionary?" Jean asked.
"A-ha-ha. Long black robe. Cross, all sam' dis," and Sam made the form of the symbol of salvation with his forefinger.
Jean knew that he referred to some French missionary who had visited the country.
"And he taught you about the Great Father?"
"A-ha-ha. Long black robe come up Wu-las-tukw in canoe. Sam no forget. Sing more, eh?"
Jean did as she was requested, and sang several of the hymns she remembered. At times she glanced at her dusky companions. Their eyes shone with pleasure, mingled with admiration as they watched the reclining girl, and listened to the words of hope and comfort. They were but unlettered natives of the wild, yet their hearts responded readily to the concord of sweet sounds. Often the good lying in such hearts needs but a gentle fanning to burst forth in the beauty of love, service, and devotion. Little did Jean realise the influence she was exerting upon those two friendly Indians in that quiet lodge in the depths of the great forest.