One morning she descried a speck on the distant water, and exclaimed with delight—“A canoe, father—it must be a canoe! There is a speck on the lake; now another, and another—it must be the party of Oliwibatuc with darling Red-Bird! O, I am so happy! Hasten, and go with me, father, to the shore to meet and welcome them.” It was indeed the party of the Mohawk chief, who had come this season to encamp on the south shore of the lake at a little distance from the emigrant’s cottage. Their number was much greater than on the summer preceding, and their dress and appearance far more imposing. Every warrior wore the tuft of hawk’s-feathers, and a gay wampum-belt, and Oliwibatuc was borne down almost with his symbolic decorations, among which the claws of the eagle were most conspicuous. They had come back from their last campaign victorious, and the savage and Christian victor must alike wear the regalia in the hour of triumph. Weetano had been true to her promise, and brought the Pale-Lily a little canoe, the very counterpart of her own, and after she had gained a little experience in rowing side by side, they glided over the smooth waters gathering white lilies in the shallows to wreathe in their hair, or starting up the wild birds that often lay in multitudes on the bosom of the lake. But Anna was not long in discovering that a change was on her young companion. Weetano was not now the glad, sunny-hearted creature she had known in the year gone by. Her wild, musical laugh no longer awoke the mountain echo, and her step had lost its fleetness—for, the delicate white girl could now outstrip the forest-maiden who so lately outstripped the deer. She would sometimes sit silent and motionless in her canoe, gazing down into the deep waters with an intensity that both surprised and alarmed her companion, and once, when questioned by her, she replied—“She was listening for whisperings of the Great Spirit.” “Will the Lily teach Weetano to read the Great Book of the white man?” inquired the Indian girl one morning, as they were sitting alone in Anna’s little room. “She has a new brother in her father’s lodge; he is a Book man, and will not take up the bow and tomahawk! He sings the songs of the spirit-land, but no war-song; and when Weetano was sick and dying, he pointed her to the blue home of the weary! Weetano has looked on the face of her pale brother, and the image of her Brave has faded from her heart! The Huron’s spirit no longer comes to me in dreams! Owanaw should take a warrior maiden to his wigwam, and leave the daughter of the Mohawk to dwell in peace! Teach me the Book then, but tell it not to Oliwibatuc.”