Now, for the last two years, they have remained the same in size, fitting me perfectly.
And--I never yet have worn them more than to fit them on and take them off." "Why ?" I asked vaguely.
"I save them for my journey." "What journey ?" "The long trail through the Long House--straight through it, Euan, to the Western Door.

That is the trail I dream of." "Who leaves these strange moccasins at your threshold every year ?" "I do not know." "From where do you suppose they come ?" I asked, amazed.
"From Catharines-town." "Do you believe your mother sends them ?" "Oh, Euan, I know it now! Until two years ago I did not understand.

But now I know it!" "Why are you so certain Lois?
Is any written message sent with them ?" "Always within one of each pair of moccasins is sewed a strip of silver birch.

Always the message written is the same; and this is what is always written: "Swift moccasins for little feet as swift against the day that the long trail is safe.

Then, in the Vale Yndaia, little Lois, seek her who bore you, saved you, lost you, but who love you always.
"Pray every day for him who died in the Regiment de la Reine.
"Pray too for her who waits for you, in far Yndaia." "What a strange message!" I exclaimed.
"I must heed it," she said under her breath.