FORT LA JOYE AND MICMAC TALES 51

is only one son to honour. By morning their bullets and powder are exhausted. They demand more. Otherwise, they will not go.

”But we can't give them more,” protest the garrison. “We won’t have enough for ourselves. ”

“Give it to them, ” orders the commandant grimly, “so they’ll go.”

They get the shot and powder . . . and they

...finally...

But they have gone! That is the main thing. That’s all that matters. The commandant wipes a fevered brow and mutters, “Gone for another year!”

“Buy a basket?” inquires a strangely human voice.

So they’re not ghosts after all. Apparently they have inherited one outstanding trait from their ancestors of old!

“Have you ever heard the story of the fair Mineota?”

“Clothes basket . . .? Waste paper basket

.? ” continues the older girl mechanically.

They seem to care little if they ever hear of Mineota or not, but the little Indian looks a trifle interested at the thought of a story. Perhaps it is carrying coals to Newcastle to tell Indian legends to Indians.

“Many, many moons ago a great Souriquois chief— tain, Kiotsaton, came from Cape Breton, and fixed his tent near the creek, Minnewauken, by this old fort. With him came his son, Sunfells, his wife, and his daughter, the fair Mineota.

“Now in this creek dwelt strange monsters, and Kiotsaton warned his son never to cross this stream, but always to go around. For a long time Sunfells obeyed his father, but one day, when he was returning, tired out from hunting, he came to the edge of the

0. I.——-5

go