“And you tender-hearted women, my dear Wilhelmina, think everybody as good as yourselves.”

“Remember, Hugh, when your son, there, had the canker-rash, how actively and readily the Tuscarora went into the forest to look for the gold-thread that even the doctors admitted cured him.  It was difficult to find, Robert; but Nick remembered a spot where he had seen it, fifty miles off; and, without a request even, from us, he travelled that distance to procure it.”

“Yes, this is true”—­returned the captain, thoughtfully—­“though I question if the cure was owing to the gold-thread, as you call it, Wilhelmina.  Every man has some good quality or other; and, I much fear, some bad ones also.—­But, here is the fellow coming back, and I do not like to let him think himself of sufficient consequence to be the subject of our remarks.”

“Very true, sir—­it adds excessively to the trouble of such fellows, to let them fancy themselves of importance.”

Nick, now, came slowly back, after having examined the recent changes to his satisfaction.  He stood a moment in silence, near the table, and then, assuming an air of more dignity than common, he addressed the captain.

“Nick ole chief” he said.  “Been at Council Fire, often as cap’in.  Can’t tell, all he know; want to hear about new war.”

“Why, Nick, it is a family quarrel, this time.  The French have nothing to do with it.”

“Yengeese fight Yengeese—­um?”

“I am afraid it will so turn out.  Do not the Tuscaroras sometimes dig up the hatchet against the Tuscaroras?”

“Tuscarora man kill Tuscarora man—­good—­he quarrel, and kill he enemy.  But Tuscarora warrior nebber take scalp of Tuscarora squaw and pappoose!  What you t’ink he do dat for?  Red man no hog, to eat pork.”

“It must be admitted, Nick, you are a very literal logician—­’dog won’t eat dog,’ is our English saying.  Still the Yankee will fight the Yengeese, it would seem.  In a word, the Great Father, in England, has raised the hatchet against his American children.”

“How you like him, cap’in—­um?  Which go on straight path, which go on crooked?  How you like him?”

“I like it little, Nick, and wish with all my heart the quarrel had not taken place.”

“Mean to put on regimentals—­hah!  Mean to be cap’in, ag’in?  Follow drum and fife, like ole time?”

“I rather think not, old comrade.  After sixty, one likes peace better than war; and I intend to stay at home.”

“What for, den, build fort?  Why you put fence round a house, like pound for sheep?”

“Because I intend to stay there.  The stockade will be good to keep off any, or every enemy who may take it into their heads to come against us.  You have known me defend a worse position than this.”

“He got no gate,” muttered Nick—­“What he good for, widout gate?  Yengeese, Yankees, red man, French man, walk in just as he please.  No good to leave such squaw wid a door wide open.”