It was all as smooth and easy as the flowing of the water
itself. It seemed that Tayoga was doing nothing, and that the canoe once
more was alive, the master of its own course.
The ocean of fire faded into a sea of gray, and then black night came,
but the canoe sped on in the swift current toward the St. Lawrence. It
was still the wilderness. The green forest on either side of the stream
was unbroken. No smoke from a settler's chimney trailed across the sky.
It was the forest as the Indian had known it for centuries. Robert,
sitting in the center of the canoe, quit dreaming of great cities and
came back to his own time and place. He felt the majesty of all that
surrounded him, but he was not lonely, nor was he oppressed. Instead,
the night, the great forest, the swift river and the gliding canoe
appealed to his sensitive and highly imaginative mind. He was uplifted
and he felt the confidence and elation that contribute so much to
success.
It was characteristic of the three, so diverse in type, and yet knitted
so closely together in friendship, that they would talk much at times
and at other times have silence long and complete.
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