might have made a convert of him but for the interference of an exceedingly silly young clergyman.  The Panther rather liked to hear the Bible, but I fear he was more attracted by the sound than the sense:  his favorite chapter was the story of David and Goliah.  He used to say that “Ingin religion was good for Ingin, and white religion was good for white man.”  However, he never offered the least opposition to the missionary who had settled among his people:  indeed, he rather patronized that gentleman.

He and Wyanota were excellent friends.  It was good to see the deference and respect with which the younger man treated the elder.  I always said that it was the Panther who made the match between Minny and Mr. Moore.  Their house was one of his homes, and he was a frequent guest at our own.  He petted and spoiled my two children:  he was very soft and kind to me, whom he called “Mamma,” after Wyn’s example, and he considered that my husband “understood good manners”—­a compliment which he did not pay to every one.

A dear little daughter whom we had lost had been very fond of him:  the child had died in his arms.  I was alone at the time, and the old man’s sympathy was such a comfort to me in my trouble that for his own sake, as well as for our little girl’s, he had become very dear to us.

For an Indian, the Panther might be called almost a sober character.  He was seldom drunk more than four or five times a year, and when he was, he always was very careful to keep out of the way of his white friends until he was sober, when he would lecture the young men on the evils of intemperance in most impressive fashion.  He was a good deal of an orator, possessing a voice of great sweetness and power; and though he was such an immense creature, all his movements were light and graceful as those of a kitten.  He could speak perfectly good, even elegant, English when he chose, but he did not always choose, and generally omitted the pronouns; but his voice, manner and gestures in speaking were perfectly charming when he was in a good temper.  When he was not, he was somewhat awful, but it was only under great provocation that he became savage.  In general, he was an amiable, kind, lazy creature, whom it was very easy to love.

I could not but wonder that night, as I set out the table and made the coffee, what had brought the Panther so far in such wild weather.  He did not seem like himself.  He was usually very conversable, and would chat away by the hour together, in a fashion half shrewd, half simple, often very interesting; but now he was silent and distrait.

“Carry,” said Mrs. Moore, “are there not some of Wyn’s things here yet in that old trunk in your lumber-room?”

“Yes.  Perhaps you can find something the chief can put on, and bring down a pair of the captain’s socks and slippers.”

“Oh, never mind, never mind,” said the damp giant.

“But I will mind,” said the little woman; and she went out and soon returned with the things, which she insisted he should go and put on.