Here! Here was I eight years ago with husband and children, unprovided for, unprotected, on the shore of this river, in a rude and fearful wilderness, surrounded by savages, but that noble Indian, that splendid Iroquois, whose old mother lies in everlasting sleep near here, protected us and provided for us.
The hills around are hallowed in my memory, and these trees seem to stand with grace and beauty.

This shore is as sacred to my mind as those of the Jordan were to the people of old.

Here! yes here! how often have I communed with my loving Saviour! This ground is sacred to me because it incloses the dust of the mother of my protector.

The ashes of old Margaret Guidon repose here.

Is this sacred ground soon to claim the dust of her loving son?
It may be that both came here to live for a brief space and then to die and mingle their ashes with this Acadian soil." Tears streamed down over her beautiful waxen features, as Mrs.Fowler and little Mag assisted her to her feet.