As I sat there musing and watching the chickens loitering around the dooryard, I chanced to remember the milch cow.
Casting about for a receptacle, I discovered several earthen jars of Seneca make set in willow baskets and standing by the stream. These I washed in the icy water, then slinging two of them on my shoulder I went in quest of the cow.
She proved tame enough and glad, apparently, to be relieved of her milk, I kneeling to accomplish the business, having had experience with the grass-guard of our army on more than one occasion.
Lord! How sweet the fragrance of the milk to a man who had seen none in many days. And so I carried back my jars and set them by the door of the bark house, covering each with a flat stone. And as I turned away, I saw smoke coming from the chimney; and heard the shutters on the southern window being gently opened.
Lord! What a sudden leap my heart gave as the door before me moved with the soft sliding of the great oak bolt, and was slowly opened wide to the morning sunshine.
For a moment I thought it was Lois who stood there so white and still, looking at me with grey, unfathomable eyes; then I stepped forward uncertainly, bending in silence over the narrow, sun-tanned hand that lay inert under the respectful but trembling salute I offered.
"Euan Loskiel," she murmured in the French tongue, laying her other hand over mine and looking me deep in the eyes. "Euan Loskiel, a soldier of the United States! May God ever mount guard beside you for all your goodness to my little daughter."
Tears filled her eyes; her pale, smooth cheeks were wet.
"Lois is still asleep," she said. "Come quietly with her mother and you shall see her where she sleeps."
Cap in hand, coon-tail dragging, I entered the single room on silent, moccasined feet, set my rifle in a corner, and went over to the couch of tumbled fawn-skin and silky pelts.