“Dat good, p’raps,” answered the Injin, “but dat not a reason, nudder, Blossom.  You right, too.  Don’t want Bourdon scalp any longer.  Dat true.  But don’t want any scalp, any more.  Heart grow soft—­an’t hard, now.”

“I wish I could let you understand, Peter, how much I rejoice to hear this!  I have never felt afraid of you, on my own account, though I will own that I have sometimes feared that the dreadful cruel stories which are told of your enmity to my color are not altogether without truth.  Now, you tell me you are the white man’s friend, and that you no longer wish to injure him.  These are blessed words, Peter; and humbly do I thank God, through his blessed Son, that I have lived to hear them!”

“Dat Son make me feel so,” returned the Indian, earnestly.  “Yes, juss so.  My heart was hard, till medicinepriest tell dat tradition of Son of Great Spirit—­how he die for all tribes and nations, and ask his fader to do good to dem dat take his life—­dat won’erful tradition, Blossom!  Sound like song of wren in my ear—­sweeter dan mocking-bird when he do his bess.  Yes, dat won’erful.  He true, too; for medicine-priest ask his Manitou to bless Injin, juss as Injins lift tomahawk to take his life.  I see’d and heard dat, myself.  All, won’erful, won’erful!”

“It was the Spirit of God that enabled poor Amen to do that, Peter; and it is the Spirit of God that teaches you to see and feel the beauty of such an act.  Without the aid of that Spirit, we are helpless as children; with it, strong as giants.  I do not wonder, at all, that the good missionary was able to pray for his enemies with his dying breath.  God gave him strength to do so.”

Margery spoke as she felt, earnestly, and with emphasis.  Her cheeks flushed with the strength of her feelings, and Peter gazed on her with a species of reverence and wonder.  The beauty of this charming young woman was pleasing rather than brilliant, depending much on expression for its power.  A heightened color greatly increased it, and when, as in this instance, the eyes reflected the tints of the cheeks, one might have journeyed days in older regions, without finding her equal in personal attractions.  Much as he admired her, however, Peter had now that on his mind which rendered her beauty but a secondary object with him.  His soul had been touched by the unseen, but omnipresent, power of the Holy Spirit, and his companion’s language and fervor contributed largely in keeping alive his interest in what he felt.

“Nebber know Injin do dat,” said Peter, in a slow, deliberative sort of way; “no, nebber know Injin do so.  Always curse and hate his enemy, and most when about to lose his scalp.  Den, feelin’s hottest.  Den, most want to use tomahawk on his enemy.  Den, most feel dat he hate him.  But not so wid medicine-priest.  Pray for Injin; ask Great Spirit to do him all ‘e good he can; juss as Injin was goin’ to strike.  Won’erful—­most won’erful dat, in my eyes.  Blossom,