The day had been glorious and the night was one of rare beauty. We
built a big fire of logs, and by its light I read aloud, in accordance
with our custom on Sunday nights, a chapter from the Bible. After
this we talked for a while, then sat silent, gazing into the glowing
embers of our fire. Finally Pete began singing softly, "Home, Sweet
Home" in Indian, and followed it with an old Ojibway song, "I'm Going
Far Away, My Heart Is Sore." Then he sang an Indian hymn, "Pray For
Me While I Am Gone." When his hymn was finished he said, very
reverently, "I going pray for you fellus every day when I say my
prayers. I can't pray much without my book, but I do my best. I pray
the best I can for you every day." Pete's devotion was sincere, and I
thanked him. Stanton sang a solo, and then all joined in "Auld Lang
Syne." After this Pete played softly on the harmonica, while we
watched the moon drop behind the horizon in the west. The fire burned
out and its embers blackened. Then we went to our bed of fragrant
spruce boughs, to prepare for the day of our parting.

The morning of September fourth was clear and beautiful and perfect,
but in spite of the sunshine and fragrance that filled the air our
hearts were heavy when we gathered at our fire to eat the last meal
that we should perhaps ever have together.

When we were through, I read from my Bible the fourteenth of John--the
chapter that I had read to Hubbard that stormy October morning when we
said good-by forever.

The time of our parting had come. I do not think I had fully realized
before how close my bronzed, ragged boys had grown to me in our months
of constant companionship. A lump came in my throat, and the tears