242 OVER ON THE ISLAND

even the timid wood mouse followed him serenely happy in his company. He was old, so very, very old . . .

“One day the Spirit of the Sea called to him . . . What the Spirit told him no one knows. But, as the Indians gathered together on the shore that evening they saw the old Father step into his canoe. Silently he sat in the bow, looking intently out beyond the horizon . . . Then, the boat began to move. Some unseen force seemed to draw the frail craft out, out into the Strait. Farther and farther it went. Then, suddenly a heavy mist descended on the sea like a vast curtain . . . The boat passed through it and the old Indian was gone.

”The Indians mourned. They felt lost without their gentle old Father. For weeks they grieved. For weeks they wandered along the shore looking always out, out over the Strait. Their hunting was neglected. Their wigwam fires died down unnoticed. Still they haunted the shoreline looking in vain for a frail canoe to come in over the sea.

“Finally, one night, as the stars twinkled faintly in the sky, a vast panorama of moving lights appeared. These shifting lights were not new, but this time there was something unusual about them. The Indians had seen them many times before, so that now they scarcely noticed them. Suddenly, a weeping brave exclaimed:

“‘Look! Look!’

“There, amid the shifting lights, stood the old Indian, with one arm stretched protectingly over them. Around him were grouped his friends of the forest and the field. And as they stood in awe and fear, the old Indian spoke to them.