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For a brief space the body of Isaac Brock rested where it had fallen, about one hundred yards west of the road that leads through Queenston, and a little eastward of an aged thorn bush. Above the dead soldier's head, clouds, sunshine and rustling foliage; beneath it, fallen forest leaves, moist and fragrant.

Occasionally, in the brief winter days, Brock was awakened from his comfortable sleep by the music of the hounds, as they passed by on the scent of Vulp, the fleetest and most cunning fox on the countryside, or by the stamp of impatient hoofs, as the huntsman's mare, tethered to a tree not far from the "set," eagerly awaited her rider's return from a "forward cast" into the dense thicket beyond the glade.

Two troops, one from the First Michigan the other from the Sixth, commanded by Captain George R. Maxwell and Captain Manning D. Birge, respectively, were sent well out on the Brock road to picket the front. The line of battle was formed in the woods, facing a cleared space, beyond which dense timber served as a screen to prevent the enemy's approach from being discovered.

"I'll think about it, and let you know," Arthur Brock answered to get rid of him. When he had gone Beth appeared.

"But, after all, what is it you give up? Mr. Gresham may be out to-morrow, and then where will be your place?" "There does not seem to be much chance of that at present." "Who can tell? Of course I do not understand, but it was only the other day when Mr. Mildmay was there, and only the day before that when Lord de Terrier was there, and again only the day before that when Lord Brock was there."

"You are surprised, dear Emma," said he; "I only cared to please you when I wrote it, but now I will try to please all" He then, in a clear distinct tone of voice read the following: #Narrative of Brock the Swimmer and Yarmouth Boatman.# "Amongst the sons of labor, there are none more deserving of their hard earnings than that class of persons, denominated Beachmen, on the shores of this kingdom.

The people of Canada will always hold in grateful recollection the names of those men who did such good service for their country during these momentous years from 1812 to 1815. Brock, Tecumseh, Morrison, Salaberry, McDonnell, Fitzgibbon, and Drummond are among the most honourable names in Canadian history.

Brock began to see dimly how little was really strange, how little really unaccountable, in the character of the man who was now speaking to him. "I slept soundly," Midwinter continued, "under my friend the rock. When I woke in the morning, I found a sturdy old man with a fiddle sitting on one side of me, and two performing dogs on the other.

Just as with Lutra, the little otter-cub in the "holt" above the river's brim, the first weeks of babyhood passed uneventfully, so with Brock, the badger, nothing of interest occurred till his eyes gradually opened, and he could enjoy with careless freedom the real beginning of his woodland life. Even thus early, what may be called the nocturnal instinct was strong within him.

"This instant arrived; and I hurried on after you, as Miss Dunstable told me that you were here. What a crowd she has! Did you see Lord Brock?" "I did not observe him." "Or Lord De Terrier? I saw them both in the centre room." "Lord De Terrier did me the honour of shaking hands with me as I passed through." "I never saw such a mixture of people. There is Mrs.