“’Cause ’tain’t often you see a white man in these parts; you’re the first one I’ve seen.” “And how is it you are here yourself?” “Wal, stranger, there’s a long story fastened to that question--a longer one than I care about spinning at present.” “You are not a prisoner, I hope.” “It was some time last fall I got tuk, and I’ve been with them, of course, ever since.” “And why have you remained with them so long? It strikes me that if I had the fine opportunity you have, I should not be long waiting to bid them farewell.” “You see, when I landed down here, it was winter, and if you’re any hunter, as I calculate you are, from your dress, you must know that a fellow from the States would make poor work tramping a thousand miles at such a time. So I concluded to wait till spring, and have been thinking about going for the last month or two, but, somehow or other I haven’t got started; I suppose ’cause I haven’t had a good start.” “What were you doing on the lake?” “I came down this morning to fish, and seeing you on t’other side, took you to be an Injin fishin’ and so I paddled across.” “You are allowed considerable liberty, it seems, after all.” “Well, I have considerable, though it hain’t done me much good so fur.” “You wish to return to the States, I presume.” “I guess I do; I am about as homesick a dog as you ever laid eyes on, and there’s a gal home that I want to see amazingly.” At this remark I was compelled to cough several times, to prevent bursting into a loud, boisterous laugh. I felt like dropping upon the grass and rolling over and over, and yelling like an Indian. But I restrained myself, and determined to carry the deception further. “She most likely has given you up as dead by this time.” “I’m a little afraid she has, and that’s the reason I want to go down and tell her her mistake. But I don’t know as it would be any use, by gracious!” he added, in a desponding tone. “And why not, pray?” “Oh, there’s a chap named Bill Hawkins, who thinks he’s mighty smart, all the time flourishing round there. I’d just like to lay hands on him once,” and Nat clinched his hands and shook his head menacingly. Then resuming his natural manner, he added, quickly, and with a sort of desperation, “I don’t care though. If Sal wants him, she can have him.” “That’s it. Take things philosophically is my motto, when you are compelled to.” In making this last remark, I unwittingly dropped my voice to its natural key. Nat started and raised those large, blue innocent eyes of his, and stared wonderingly at me. “Did my remark surprise you?” I asked, working harder than I ever did to restrain my gravity. “It weren’t what you said, but your voice sounded amazingly like a person I used to know, and I thought maybe you might be him.” “Perhaps I am.” “No; you don’t look like him. He was about your size, but didn’t dress like you, nor didn’t have such whiskers.” “What was his name?” “William Relmond, from New Jersey.”