"Long ago, your words gave me my purpose in life,--to prepare myself to the uttermost for the uplift of my race. "Daily, I thank you in my heart, for the years I had at Carlisle. But most of all, I thank you for yourself and what you have been to me. "I must not close without telling you of a conversation I had with Col. H---- of Boston. He heard your address on 'The Indian in Transition' at the Mohonk Conference. He told me it was a masterly address, and that you presented the Indian question with a clearness and force few have done. He told me that what you said would give a new impulse to Indian legislation. He seemed to know of your conferences at Washington, too. "I hear great things of Father Kenneth, too; his increasing wealth, his power for leadership, and his upright dealings with men. "Do you remember how jealous I used to be of him when I was a little chap? Well, I am jealous no longer. He is the finest man I know. "But I must stop writing. This letter has run on into an old-fashioned visit. "I am coaching one of the fellows in mathematics. Strange work for a savage! "With love for all of you, including my dear Carla, "Your loving boy, "WATHEMAH." "He's a fine fellow, is Wathemah," said Kenneth, as he cuddled his little girl up in his arms. "Yes, he's developed wonderfully," responded Esther. "How's Carla?" the husband asked. "Carla's well, and just now deeply interested in the Y.M. and Y.W.C.A. work." Here Carla herself appeared, and joined in the welcome home. She was the picture of wholesome content. While they were talking, there was a sound of wheels again. The wagon stopped, a young man jerked out a trunk, paid the driver, and ran towards the veranda. How happy he seemed! "It's Wathemah," all cried, hastening to meet him. The sprite was in advance, with arms outstretched. "I guess you don't reco'nize me," she said. "I'm your little sister." He laughed, stooped and lifted her in his arms, and kissed her several times. Then came Esther's turn. At the same time, Kenneth enfolded Wathemah. Then came Carla, whom Wathemah kissed as he used to do in childhood days, and laughingly repeated a question he was accustomed to ask her then--"Is my face clean, Carla?" And all laughed and talked of the days when they had found one another, of the Claytons and Jack Harding, and Patrick Murphy and his family, and the Rosses and Carmichaels, and the changes that had taken place in Gila since they left there. "I was so sorry to hear of Mr. Clayton's death," said Wathemah. "What a great-hearted man he was! Such a generous friend! Do you suppose Mrs. Clayton and Edith will ever come back to America?" "No," answered Kenneth, "I fear not. Mrs. Clayton's kindred are in England, you know. She never liked America. It was a lonely life for her here, and doubly so after her husband's death." "And how's Jack? Dear old Jack! I must see him soon," said Wathemah. "I'll call him up," said Kenneth, going to the phone.