Never, replied Cahoonshee. White man expects me there, white man wants Indian to help white man cheat Indian, white man great and powerful, he take Indian’s land, and tell Indian to go west. Yes, Indian will be driven west, until the great Pacific swallows them up, Indian become extinct, white man own all, Indian die, white man live forever. No! No! Cahoonshee take no part in this. English educate me, English make me wise, yet English care nothing for Indian. English have a God, Indian, the Great Spirit. English God help white man rob Indian. English send missionary to convert Indian, Missionary in the cabin, fire-water in the hold. White man no practice what they preach. Indian true to the Great Spirit. White man all self. White man wise, Indian superstitious, Indian believe in great medicine man, white man in money. No, Cahoonshee will never return to Manhattan. Cahoonshee remain here until the Great Spirit calls him home. Cahoonshee return to the scenes of his childhood on the Steynekill and live alone until his dust unites with that of his kindred. Think not, white man, that I am an enemy of your race. No, I am their friend. I bow to the will of the Almighty. The education I received from the white man, made me more wise, yet more miserable. I see that the Indian must go down, while on their ruins the whites will raise a mighty nation. But between us, brother, there must be no enmity. Let us smoke the pipe of peace, and let this be the pledge between us: As long as the grass grows on these hills, or the waters runs in these rivers. CHAPTER VII. The House of Death. We will now return to the house of death, on the banks of the Shinglekill. There lay the marble form of Mary Powers, the mother of Amy. She was lovely in life; in death, a model for an artist. Her countenance would indicate that she died in a peaceful state of mind, and perfectly resigned to the fate that had overtaken her. At the head of the bed stood Amy, crying as if her heart would break. At her side, stood her faithful dog, lapping her hand and rubbing his head against her seemingly trying to console her for the loss she had sustained in the death of her mother. Tom and Drake were interested spectators. This was the first natural death that either of them had ever witnessed. The senior Quick stood in the door, with his back to the corpse, apparently much affected. Cahoonshee stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the face of the dead. Betsy gently led Amy out of doors, and taking a seat under the butternuts, attempted to console her. Don’t cry child, it is God that has called your mother home, and He has promised to be a Father to the fatherless. But I have no mother now, said Amy. Yes, dear child, I will be your mother, and Tom and Drake shall be your brothers. Let the girl vent her feelings, said Cahoonshee, who unperceived had approached. Let her mourn her loss. Let her learn from this how uncertain all things are.