“Let us be patient, and see,” said Glenn.

Ere long the Indian turned his eyes slowly downward, and resumed his seat mournfully and in silence.

“Oh!” said Mary, “if he is my poor brother, my heart will burst to see him thus—­a wild savage.”

“How old are you, Mary?” asked Glenn.

“Nineteen,” said she.

“Your brother, then, has been lost thirteen years.  He may yet be restored to you—­re-taught our manners and speech—­bless his aged father’s declining years, and merit sister’s affection.”

“Oh!  Mr. Glenn! is he then alive? is this he?” cried Mary.

“No, child!” said Roughgrove, “do not think of such a thing, for you will be most bitterly disappointed.  Your brother was white—­look at this Indian’s dark face!”

Glenn approached the chief, extending his hand in a friendly manner.  It was frankly grasped.  He then gently drew the furs aside and exposed the young man’s shoulder.  It was as white as his own!  Roughgrove, Mary, and all, looked on in wonder.  The young chief regarded it with singular emotions himself.  He seemed to associate it in some manner with the ring he held, for he glanced from one to the other alternately.

“Did Mary wear that ring before the child was lost?” asked Glenn.

“No,” replied Roughgrove, “but her mother did.”

“I believe he is your son!” said Glenn.  “Mary,” he continued, “have you any trinkets or toys you used to play with?”

“Yes.  Oh, let me get them!” she replied, and running to a corner of the room where her father’s chests and trunks had been placed, she produced a small drum and a brass toy cannon.  “He used to play with these from morning till night,” she continued, placing them on the floor.  She had not taken her hand away from them, before the young chief sprang to her side and cried out—­

“They’re mine! they’re mine! they’re William’s!”

“What was the child’s name?” asked Glenn, quickly.

“William!  William!” cried Mary.  “It is my brother! it is my poor brother William!” and without a moment’s hesitation she threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed upon his breast!

“The poor, poor child!” said Roughgrove, in tremulous tones, embracing them both, his eyes filled with tears.

“Sister! sister!” said the youth, gazing in partial bewilderment at Mary.

“Brother, brother!  I am your sister!” said Mary, in tones of thrilling tenderness.

“But mother! where’s mother?” asked the youth.  The father and sister bowed their heads in silence.  The youth, after clinging fondly to Mary a few minutes, started up abruptly and looked amazed, as if waking from a sweet dream to the reality of his recent dreadful condition.

“Brother, why do you look so coldly at us?  Why don’t you press us to your heart?” said Mary, still clinging to him.  The youth’s features gradually assumed a grave and haughty cast, and, turning away, he walked to the stool he had occupied, and sat down in silence.