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with straw, stuck the stake in front of me to steady myself, and stood stiff as any scarecrow in Canada. Before I was done a column, scarlet-coated, came out in the level beyond the hillside. Through a hole in the beaver I could see them clearly. They came on, rank after rank. They deployed, forming an open square, scarlet-sided, on the green turf, the gap toward me. Then came three, walking stiffly in black coats, a squad leading them. The thing I had taken for a white visor was a blindfold. Their heads were bare. I could see, now, they were in shackles, their arms behind them. They were coming to their death—some of my unlucky comrades. God pity them! A spy might as well make his peace with Heaven, if he were caught those days, and be done with hope. Suspicion was enough to convict on either side of the water that year. As my feet sank deeper in the soft earth I felt as if I were going down to my grave. The soldiers led them into the gap, standing them close together, backs to me, The squad drew off. The prisoners stood erect, their faces turning up a little, as if they were looking into the clear, blue sky. I could see