For a long while I lay there, thinking, awed by the ways of God--so certain, so inscrutable.

And understood how at the last all things must be revealed--even the momentary and lightest impulse, and every deepest and most secret thought.
Lying there, I asked of the Master of Life His compassion on us all, and said my tremulous and silent thanks to Him for the dear, sad secret that His mercy had revealed.
And, my lips resting on my mother's needle-book, I thought of Lois, and how like mine in a measure was her strange history, not yet fully revealed.
"Sagamore, my elder brother ?" I said at last.
"Mayaro listens." "How is it then with Lois de Contrecoeur that you already knew she was of the Hidden Children ?" "I knew it when I first laid eyes on her, Loskiel." "By what sign ?" "The moccasins.

She lay under a cow-shed asleep in her red cloak, her head on her arms.

Beside her the kerchief tied around her bundle lay unknotted, revealing the moccasins that lay within.

I saw, and knew.
And for that reason have I been her friend." "You told her this ?" "Why should I tell her ?" There was no answer to this.