In the small, uncarpeted study of La Lorraine a new book was planned and begun.  For the story’s setting the author’s mind turned to the far-away, new home-country, and early frontier life in Connecticut.  There he brought the transatlantic Puritan and the North American Indian together—­the strong, stern Puritan family affection in close contact with the red-man’s savage cruelty, dignity, and his adoption of a white child.  A fair-haired little girl is torn from her mother and cared for by a young Indian chief, once a captive in the white settlement.  Years pass over the bereaved family, when an Indian outbreak restores the lost child to her parents’ roof as “Narra-Mattah,” the devoted wife of a Narraganset warrior-chief, and the young mother of his little son.  This book draws a strong picture of pure family devotion; even the old grandfather’s heart, beneath his stiff Puritan garb, beats an unforgettable part.  Sorrow for the lost child gave the story its name—­“The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish” (then thought to mean in the Indian language, “Place of the Whip-poor-will")and it has been said to describe the settlement of the Fenimore family in America.

[Illustration:  NARRA-MATTAH.]

Many and interesting were their excursions.  One was to Interlachen, with its glimpse of the Jungfrau, and the Lauterbrunnen valleys “full of wonder and delight.”  At Lauterbrunnen they walked to the famous Falls of Staubbach, which Cooper describes and explains as meaning “Torrents of Dust.”

[Illustration:  CONNECTICUT EMIGRANTS.]

As the summer had fled autumn winds began to whistle through the lindens of La Lorraine, and the snow began to fall upon its pretty garden, warning the author to fly south with his fledglings and their mother before the Alpine passes were closed by real winter.  Cooper resigned the consulate at Lyons, which was given him solely “to avoid the appearance of going over to the enemy” while abroad.  A carriage and two servitors were engaged.  One of these, Caspar, had his soldiering under the first Napoleon, and many were the camp tales he had to tell in a way to please his employers.  At the old town of Alstetten, with painted wooden houses at the foot of the Am Stoss, they arrived, more than ready for breakfast, which was somewhat delayed because, said Cooper, “our German was by no means classical; and English, Italian, and French were all Hebrew to the good people of the inn.”  It was “easy to make the hostess understand that we wished to eat,—­but what would we eat?  In this crisis I bethought me of a long-neglected art, and crowed like a cock.  The shrill strain hardly reached the ear of the good woman before it was answered by such laughter as none but village lungs could raise.  William—­an admirable mimic—­began to cackle like a hen.  In due time we had a broiled fowl, an omelette, and boiled eggs.”  At another place where they stopped for mid-day luncheon Cooper writes:  “We asked for a fruit-tart, and—­odors and nosegays!—­they gave us one made of onions, which they thought very good fruit in its way, and we ate exactly as much as we wished.”