In a little thatched cottage in old Portsmouth of Hampshire, England, Roger Low sat on a stool by his father's knee, while the light of the fire flickered over the heavy settles and on the rafters above. The man was still in his working clothes, with his hammer and saw at his side.

"This new world they tell me of, my boy, must be a wonderful place. Those Puritan leaders, Bradford and Standish three years ago, in 1620, took their followers to New England to worship as they pleased. And now the Laconia Company, of which our own Governor, John Mason, is a member, has been given a grant of land there."

"What can he do with it, father?" Roger asked.

"They say, lad, the furs of those forests and the fish of those waters would make a big business for England."

A knock at the door brought the man to his feet. On opening it, he bowed low to the gentleman waiting.

"Come in, sir, and be seated."

David Thompson took the opposite settle, quite ignoring Roger, who had risen in respect. Absorbed in his own plans this Scotchman, Thompson, broke out at once, "Low, I want you to pick up your tools and come to America with me this spring. Governor Mason wishes to make a settlement and proposes to establish a Manor on his new grant. We will pursue fur trade and fishing, and even hope to cultivate vines and discover mines."

It was an astonishing thought to this carpenter, whose son was his only companion.

"I should have to take the boy with me," was his first remark, after some thoughtful moments.

"Certainly," replied David Thompson, who knew that the good workmanship of this man was worth an extra passenger. "We shall need the boys in a year or two," he added.

Final arrangements were completed, and in the spring of 1623, Roger and his father sailed with the party for New England.

Edward Hilton and his brother William, who had been fish dealers in London, were on board with equipment for one settlement, while David Thompson had charge of the other.

From the map which Captain John Smith had made, the Piscataqua River was found. Here the coast was thoroughly studied. Thompson selected for building the very point at which Monsieur Champlain once stopped. But the Hilton brothers preferred river fishing and continued some eight miles up stream to a point of land called by the Indians, Winnichannat. It later became a part of Dover.

Thompson's location was at the mouth of a small stream, which led to the main river. He called it Little Harbor. The hillock on which he planned to build gave a commanding view of the ocean. At the west stretched a salt marsh, of great value to a plantation.

Small log cabins were quickly constructed, and also a secure building for the abundant provisions. Roger worked with the men in landing barrels of pork, kegs of molasses, sacks of oats, and boxes of candles. A securely fastened door not only protected these supplies from the weather, but also kept off the prowling beasts that might find comfortable living on such food.

When the excitement of landing and the newness of this life began to wear away, the days seemed much alike. Roger asked one morning, "Father, shall we see no one but each other again today?"

"That is all, my boy, for the Plymouth Colony is many miles to the south, and there are only a few people between that settlement and our own. The Indians are probably up river now for their spring fishing."

Roger had been eager to see an Indian, though he had hoped he might not be alone, for he rather feared them.

The days wore on with much monotony. The carpenters were busy building the Manor-house. A few men were planting only the most necessary crops. Others were making arrangements for the manufacture of salt, which was of first importance. Otherwise fish could not be preserved for the markets of England.

One day something did happen. At dusk Roger passed the cabin where provisions were stored and found the door wide open. It was a law of the settlement that that door be kept closed and barred.

The boy darted in to see if any one was there. Peering about the kegs and boxes he met a pair of glaring, fiery eyes that glowed through the gloom between himself and the doorway. He screamed. The creature crouched. An added horror came when Roger glanced at the door and saw there the dark, stern face of a tall Indian with arrow poised. It was aimed not at Roger, but at the springing lynx. The whirr of that arrow lived in Roger's mind the rest of his days. The boy himself was almost as limp with fright as the creature that was carried by Nonowit to the main cabin. For this Indian had heard of the new settlement and had travelled miles through the forest to make friends with the white men. He was close behind Roger and heard his scream of fright when he ran into the store-house.

The settlers, resting from the day's work, were surprised at the appearance of the Indian, but still more astonished by Roger's story. John, the cook, then confessed that he had come out of the store-house with his arms full, and had forgotten to go back and close the door.

The day's excitement was not over, for that night David Thompson led into camp Captain Miles Standish of the Plymouth colony. He had a hard story to tell of the starving condition of his people. They had compared themselves with the Israelites during the famine of Egypt, yet the Hebrews had their flocks and herds left to them. "However," continued the captain, "the Lord has been good to give us the abundant fish of the sea and the spring water, which is all we have, save a few dried peas." He then added that Governor Bradford had urged him to go even as far as Piscataqua to search for food.

"And little could we have offered him," spoke up the cook, "if the old lynx and his friends had had a night in our store-house!"

Much was then given from the ample supply of the settlement, and Captain Standish returned to Plymouth well repaid for his journey.