“I will win him from the Indians,” said Mary, running after him, and sitting down at his side.

“Ugh!” exclaimed the youth in displeasure, and moved a short distance away.

“He’s not true grit—­I ’most wish I had killed him,” said Sneak.

“Yes, and pinch me if I don’t burn him again, if I get a chance,” said Joe.

“Silence!” said Glenn, sternly.  For many minutes not a word was spoken.  At length Mary, who had been sobbing, raised her head and looked tenderly in the face of her brother.  Still he regarded her with indifference.  She then seized the toy-drum, which with the other articles had been thrust out of view, and placed them before him.  When his eyes rested upon them; the severe and wild expressions of his features again relaxed.  The young war-chief was a child again.  He abandoned his seat and sat down on the floor beside his sister.  Looking her guilelessly in the face, an innocent and boyish smile played upon his lips.

“You won’t go away again and leave your poor sister; will you, William?” said Mary.

“No, indeed.  And when the Indians come we’ll run away and go to mother, won’t we, Mary?” said the youth, in a complete abandonment of time and condition.

“He is restored—­restored at last!” exclaimed Roughgrove, walking across the room to where the brother and sister sat.  The youth sprang to his feet, and darted a look of defiance at him.  “Oh! wretched man that I am! the murderous savages have converted the gentle lamb into a wolf!” Roughgrove then repeated his words to the youth in the Osage language.  The youth replied in the same language, his eyes flashing indignantly.  He said it was not true; that the red man was great and noble, and the pale face was a beast—­and added that he had another tomahawk and bows and arrows in his own country, and might see the day when this insult would be terribly resented.  The old man sank down on his rude seat, and gave way to excruciating grief.

“Brother William!” cried Mary, tapping the drum.  The youth cast down his eyes to where she sat, and their fierceness vanished in a twinkling.  She placed the toy in his possession, and rose to bring some other plaything she remembered.

“Sister, don’t go—­I’ll tell mother!” cried the youth, in infantile earnestness.

“I’ll come back presently, brother,” said Mary, tripping across the room and searching a trunk.

“Make haste—­but I’m not afraid—­I’ll frighten all the Indians away.”  Saying this, he rattled the drum as rapidly as possible.

“See what I’ve got, brother,” said Mary, returning with a juvenile book, and sitting down close at his side.  He thrust the drum away, and, laughing heartily, placed his arm round his sister and said:  “Mother’s got my book; but you’ll let me look at yours, won’t you, sister?”

“Yes that I will, brother—­see, this is the little old woman, and there’s her dog—­”