The mother drew the little one close to her with a low moaning cry and again she lay silent, drinking slowly to the dregs that last bitter cup that all mothers must drink. But having drunk, she set herself to her last service for them. “Not today will you come, Singing Water,” she said, her voice flowing softly again. “I will go and later you will come, and Peter and Paul. And now you will listen and remember, you and Peter, while the sun shines and the winds blow you will not forget.” “Yes, Mammy,” whispered the child. “You and Peter will go back to my people.” “No,” said Paul, speaking with sharp decision. “Where I go they will go.” “They are not your people, Paul.” “They are my father’s children.” An eager light came into the woman’s eyes. “Paul! Paul!” she cried in English. “You do not know what you say. They are of my blood. They will be a burden on you. They will spoil your life. Your father, Paul, did not wish that, I know. Peter will be a great chief. He will care for Tanna. I have planned this with my father. They will drag you down as I dragged your father down. I—who would have given him the blood from my heart! You must not do this.” Her voice was eager and tremulous with pain. “I will not spoil your life too.” “They are my father’s children. They are my brother and sister,” said Paul, in a voice steady and strong. “Do you think I can leave Tanna to go back to the blanket and the wigwam? Tanna! my little blind sister!” His voice rang out in indignant scorn. “No, no, Mammy,” he added, using Tanna’s form of address, rare with him, “say no more. It is settled. They go with me.” A look of great wonder dawned in the woman’s eyes—wonder and joy. Raising herself she held out her hands to him. “Paul!” she cried, her voice broken with sobs, the tears flowing down her cheeks. “Your God hears! Now I know, I know! Oh, I feared to lay this burden on you, but now I know He hears. I was afraid for Tanna, my Tanna living in the dark. I feared for her. But now——” Paul took her hands in his, leaned over and, for the first time in his life, kissed her. “Have no fear, Mammy,” he said softly. “I will keep her with me always—always.” The blood slowly came up into her dark face, touching it with rare beauty. Passionately she kissed his hands. “My chief!” she whispered. “You will do this!” She turned to the children. “Peter! Tannawita!” she said, reverting to her own tongue, “listen to me now.” Her voice was solemn, almost stern. “Give Paul your hands, quick!” Wondering, the children put their hands in Paul’s. “You are going with Paul, your brother. He is your chief, to obey, to love, to serve with your lives, always.” She plucked the crucifix from her breast. “The Holy Jesu, the Jesu of the Cross hears your promise.” She pressed the crucifix to their lips, then to her own, and lay back, pale, upon the pillow. When she had rested a little she opened her eyes.