The camp had never been dearer. I walked among the Indian children when
the evening fires were lighted, and the children looked at me curiously
as at an alien. Already my people had cut me off from them.

"What I learn I will come back and teach you," I told the young men and
women of my own age. They laughed.

"You are a fool, Lazarre. There is a good home for you at St. Regis. If
you fall sick in De Chaumont's house who will care?"

"Skenedonk is my friend," I answered.

"Skenedonk would not stay where he is tying you. When the lake freezes
you will be mad for snowshoes and a sight of the St. Lawrence."

"Perhaps so. But we are not made alike. Do not forget me."

They gave me belts and garters, and I distributed among them all my
Indian property. Then, as if to work a charm which should keep me from
breaking through the circle, they joined hands and danced around me. I
went to every cabin, half ashamed of my desertion, yet unspeakably
craving a blessing. The old people variously commented on the measure,
their wise eyes seeing the change in one who had been a child rather
than a young man among them.

If the wrench from the village was hard, the induction into the manor
was harder. Skenedonk took me in his boat, skirting the long strip of
mountainous shore which separated us from De Chaumont.