“I hope, Pigeonswing,” he said to the Chippewa, whom he had followed to the spring--“I hope, Pigeonswing, that no offence has been taken by the chiefs on account of what I told them yesterday, concerning their being Jews. It is what I think, and it is an honor to belong to God's chosen people, and in no sense a disgrace. I hope no offence has been taken on account of my telling the chief they are Jews.” “Don't care any t'ing 'bout it,” answered the literal Indian, rising from his kneeling position, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don't care wedder Jew, or wedder Indian.” “For my own part, gladly would I have it to say that I am descended from Israel.” “Why don't say him, if he make you grad? Good to be grad. All Injin love to be grad.” “Because I cannot say it with truth. No; I come of the Gentiles, and not of the Hebrews, else would I glory in saying I am a Jew, in the sense of extraction, though not now in the sense of faith. I trust the chiefs will not take offence at my telling them just what I think.” “Tell you he don't care,” returned Pigeonswing, a little crustily. “Don't care if Jew--don't care if Injin. Know dat make no difference. Hunting-ground just same--game just same--scalps just same. Make no difference, and don't care.” “I am glad of this--but why did you advise Dorothy to quit the Openings in the hasty manner you did, if all is right with the chiefs? It is not good to start on a journey without preparation and prayer. Why, then, did you give this advice to Dorothy to quit the Openings so soon?” “Bess for squaw to go home, when Injin dig up hatchet. Openin' full of warrior--prairie full of warrior--wood full of warrior. When dat so, bess for squaw to go home.” “This would be true, were the Indians our enemies. Heaven be praised, they are our friends, and will not harm us. Peter is a great chief, and can make his young men do what he tells them; and Peter is our friend. With Peter to stand by us, and a merciful Providence to direct us where, when, and how to go, we can have nothing to fear. I trust in Divine Providence.” “Who he be?” asked Pigeonswing, innocently, for his knowledge of English did not extend far enough to comprehend a phrase so complicated, though so familiar to ourselves. “He know all paths, eh?” “Yes; and directs us on all paths--more especially such as are for our good.” “Bess get him to tell you path into Detroit. Dat good path, now, for all pale-faces.” On uttering this advice, which he did also somewhat pointedly, the Chippewa left the spring, and walked toward the kennel of Hive, where the bee-hunter was busy feeding his old companion. “You're welcome back, Pigeonswing,” the last cordially remarked, without pausing in his occupation, however. “I saw that you came in loaded, as usual. Have you left any dead game in the Openings, for me to go and back in with you?”