"Splendidly, father." "And you have rested?" "I no longer feel fatigued." "Good; that is how I like to see you, my darling girl." "Father," the inquisitive maiden said, as she looked around, "have visitors arrived?" "As you see." "Strangers?" "No, old friends, who, I hope, will soon be yours." "Redskins?" she asked with an instinctive start of terror. "All of them are not wicked," he answered with a smile: "these are kind." Then, turning to the Indian woman, who had fixed her black velvet looking eyes on Carmela with simple admiration, he called out, "Singing-bird!" The squaw bounded up like a young antelope. "What does my father want?" she asked, bowing gently. "Singing-bird," the hunter continued, "this girl is my daughter, Carmela," and taking in his bony hand those of the two women, he clasped them together, adding with emotion, "Love one another like sisters." "Singing-bird will feel very happy to be loved by the White lily," the Indian squaw replied; "for her heart has already flown towards me." Carmela, charmed at the name which the squaw with her simple poesy had given her, bent down affectionately to her and kissed her forehead. "I love you already, sister," she said to her, and holding her by the hand, they went off together twittering like two nightingales. Tranquil looked after them with a tender glance. Black-deer had witnessed this little scene with that Indian phlegm which nothing even disturbs: still, when he found himself alone with the hunter, he bent over to him, and said in a slightly shaking voice,-- "Wah! my brother has not changed: the moons of winter have scattered snow over his scalp, but his heart has remained as good as when it was young." At this moment the sleeper awoke. "Hilloh!" Loyal Heart said gaily, as he looked up at the sun, "I have had a long sleep." "To tell you the truth," Lanzi observed, "I am not an early bird either: but nonsense! I will make up for it. The poor beasts of horses must be thirsty, so I will give them water." "Very good!" said Tranquil; "By the time you have done that, breakfast will be ready." Lanzi rose, leaped on his horse, and seizing the lasso of the others, went off in the direction of the stream without asking questions relative to the strangers. On the prairie it is so: a priest is an envoy of God, whose presence must arouse no curiosity. In the meanwhile Loyal Heart had also risen: suddenly his glance fell on the Indian Chief, whose cold eye was fixed on him: the young man suddenly turned pale as a corpse, and hurriedly approached the Chief. "My mother!" he exclaimed in a voice quivering with emotion, "my mother--" He could say no more. The Pawnee bowed peacefully to him. "My brother's mother is still the cherished child of the Wacondah," he answered in a gentle voice; "her heart only suffers from the absence of her son."