such shrill-voiced, defiant deathsong, from the smoke and anguish of the
stake, as that chant of the Algonquin son of Alknomuk which my
grandchildren still sing at their school. This dead and horrible past of
heathendom I saw as in a mirror, looking upon these council-stones.

The children's children of these savages were still in the Valley. Their
council fires were still lighted, no further distant than the Salt
Springs. In their hearts burned all the old lust for torture and massacre,
and the awful joys of rending enemies limb by limb. But the spell of
Europe was upon them, and, in good part or otherwise, they bowed under it.
So much had been gained, and two peaceful white people could come and talk
in perfect safety on the ancient site of their sacrifices and cruelties.

Yet this spell of Europe, accomplishing so much, left much to be desired.
It was still possible to burn a slave to death by legal process, here in
our Valley; and it was still within the power of careless, greedy noblemen
in London, who did not know the Mohawk from the Mississippi, to sign away
great patents of our land, robbing honest settlers of their all. There was
to come the spell of America, which should remedy these things. I cannot
get it out of my head that I learned to foresee this, to feel and to look
for its coming, there in the gorge as a boy.

But there are other reasons why I should remember the place--to be told
later on.

The part little Daisy played in all these childhood enjoyments of mine is
hardly to be described in words, much less portrayed in incidents. I can
recall next to nothing to relate. Her presence as my sister, my comrade,
and my pupil seems only an indefinable part of the sunshine which gilds
these old memories. We were happy together--that is all.