and death are unknown. You must live to meet her there. Your mother is
now sailing on silvery water; breathing an atmosphere perfumed with
celestial spices; and sitting in a canoe made from the bark of trees
growing on the shores of Canaan's stream. Her wigwam will be made of the
same kind of bark and ornamented with pearls and precious stones. She
will wear a neck-lace of jewels and on her head will be a crown of
glory."

Paul, weary and sad, went to his canoe, launched it and sailed down the
river to catch some fish for supper, and Mrs. Godfrey proceeded to
prepare the body of old Mag for burial, while the children played around
the wigwam. When the Indian had returned he found all that remained of
his mother neatly prepared for the grave.

The black and red plaid shawl was wound round and round the body from
head to feet, no part being visible but the face. Margaret had fastened
the shawl at the throat with a silver brooch. Old Mag, as she lay upon
the camp bed, resembled a dead Highlander. Arrangements were made for
the funeral, and Paul paddled Mrs. Godfrey and children to the sloop and
then returned to dig his mother's grave. Next morning Paul came down to
the sloop looking very sad. He said that he had not closed his eyes
during the night. He sat watching through the long night at the side of
his dead parent.

Many of us have heard and read accounts of lonely scenes and lonely
spots, but what place could be more lonely and what scene more solemn
than that of a lone Indian sitting beside the corpse of his mother in a
Nova Scotian forest a hundred and twenty years ago, through the dread
hours of a whole night?