"Hear me, Gaspar Keith; prisoner, if you will. But I would rather call you an adopted son of the Black Partridge, and by your new name of Dark-Eye. This is the reason: In these troubles which are coming, you may not only serve yourself, the Sun Maid, and me, by having as your own the gelding Tempest, but you may help the helpless, also. In this one village of Muck-otey-pokee are many old and many very young. The Spotted Adder was the oldest man I ever knew, and though he has died just now, there are others almost of his age. They ought to die, too, and not burden better people. But nobody dies who should while those who should not are snatched away like a feather on the breeze." Here Wahneenah became absorbed in her own reflections, and was so long silent that Kitty stole her arms about the woman's neck and kissed the dark face to remind her that they were still listening. "Yes, beloved, Child of the Sunshine and Love! You do well to call me back. Let the dead rest. You are the living. I will remember only you," and she laid the little one against her heart. "Gaspar, too, Other Mother," suggested the loyal little maid. But Gaspar was quite able to speak for himself. "No decent white person would wish the old to die!" he exclaimed, hotly. "There was a grandmother at our Fort, and she was the best loved, the best cared for, of all the women. That is what a white boy thinks, even if he is an Indian's prisoner!" "Ugh! So? You are an odd youth, Dark-Eye. As timid as a wild pigeon one minute, and the next--flouting your chief's sister." "I don't mean that, Wahneenah. I--I only--I don't just know what I do mean, except that it seems cowardly to wish the old should die. If you should grow very, very old some day, and Kitty and I should not be--be nice to you, then you would understand what I feel, if I cannot say it rightly." Wahneenah laughed.