What thoughts passed through the brain of Paul Guidon during the weird
hours of that night, it may be, will be revealed in eternity.

Mrs. Godfrey and her children again went with Paul to the abode of
death. After landing, Margaret accompanied the Indian to inspect the
place of burial. It was situated on the bank of a small stream running
down to the river, and about two hundred yards from the camp. The grave
looked like the newly made nest of some huge bird. It was cleanly dug
and neatly lined with evergreens. In this grave the body of old Mag was
placed as the sun was sinking below the horizon. It was conveyed to its
last resting place by Paul, Margaret and her son Charlie; the four
younger children forming the procession.

None of the Indians of the tribes of the St. John were present at the
burial, as Paul had not circulated the news of his mother's death.

Mrs. Godfrey read, from the old service book, the Church of England
burial service, the most beautiful of all burial services, that of the
Masonic brethren perhaps excepted.

Mrs. Godfrey and Charlie filled in the grave. When they returned to the
wigwam all within was darkness and gloom. Margaret and her children were
paddled to the sloop by Paul. He was invited to spend the night on board
the little vessel, but declined to do so. Margaret then took him by the
hand, and, as she drew him toward her, he placed his hand upon her
shoulders and cried aloud, "Mother!" "Mother!" She led him to the canoe,
he got into his little bark and was soon sailing away towards his lonely
dwelling-place, where it may have been the spirit of old Mag kept watch
that night over the wigwam and her boy.