Thus it chanced that when we left Montreal for Boston town, aboard a trader of that port, both Ruth and I were like to be well off upon our return to the Old World. Of the finding of Hudson I had said nothing, keeping the little Bible and the scrap of written paper safe stowed away, for our tale seemed wild enough as it was, in all sooth.
One more package there was, in two pieces, but very large and bulky. What this contained I did not know. It had been Ruth's secret from the time we left Uchichak's village until we reached Rathesby once again, and so on to the stead at Ayrby, which Ian MacDonald yielded up readily enough, being glad to go back to his nets. At the unpacking of this thing, Ruth bade me begone for a time. I returned from the moors to find, hung over the broad fireplace, the massy antlers of the Mighty One! She had fetched them where I had clean forgot them, to be a lasting memorial of the days that had been.
So here endeth my tale. There is another Grim now to tend the sheep, yet still about us are things whereby to remember him and his. But the things we fetched back from the New World were more than we had gone to seek there. We had dreamed of fortune, and we came home with love. We had looked for struggle and hardship, and we had found them, but we had come home again with peace. Ruth, bending over my shoulder as I write this last, would have me say one word more of Radisson—nay, she shall write it herself, here at the end.
"Trust thou in the Lord, wait patiently for Him, and He shall give thee thy heart's desire!"
THE END.