"My white brothers have come to the green-corn feast of the Senecas. They are welcome. Our hearts are glad, and all we have is theirs." Then he ordered his guests conducted to a well-built log house, where a generous provision for all their wants was found. They had scarcely satisfied their simple needs when the music of Indian flutes and drums drew them to the door, and there they found the messenger ready to conduct them to the "long house," where the procession was forming which would begin the festivities. [Illustration: MA-ZA-RI-TA LED THE CHANT AS THEY DANCED ABOUT THE PILLAR.] Foremost, hand in hand with the chief, was a brilliant little figure, a girl about ten years old. With a skin naturally snow-white, but now kissed to a ruddy hue by the sunshine, and long brown plaits glittering with the most brilliant beads; petticoat and bodice of the finest broadcloth, and around her neck and shoulders rows of silver brooches and strings of white and purple wampum; on her feet deer-skin moccasins embroidered with porcupine quills, contrasting with the scarlet leggings above--Ma-za-ri-ta looked indeed the fit princess of the revels. The pride which shone in Cornplanter's eyes, the admiration with which all the Indians gazed on the dancing girl--for her feet had already begun to move to a nimble measure--struck a chill to the heart of Mark, for it seemed a portent of sure defeat. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy as she danced in the van, followed by the Seneca girls in pairs, all attired in gala dress, and with wreaths of flowers on their heads. Then came Cornplanter and his lesser chiefs, the warriors, the squaws, and the children, and the march advanced to the pole in the centre of the village, shaped in a square enclosure, that painted pole horribly etched with the scars of innumerable tomahawks when the frenzy of war-dancing made it the symbol of the enemy's body. Now the great mast was belted thick with greenery to its very top, corn-stalks with pendent ears, bunches of golden-rod, and all the richest spoil of the thickets and meadows. Ma-za-ri-ta's sweet voice, as the dance of the maidens gyrated more and more swiftly about the gorgeous pillar, led the chant among the more shrill and unmusical notes of her companions. Mark edged his way through the throng, for a fancy had suddenly come to him, and he stood in the inner ring next the circle of dancers. "Nellie! little Nellie! don't you remember Mark?" he said, in a piercing whisper, as she approached several paces in the van of her choir.