“Ah! bress de Lord, but it am good as a small bible to hear dat chile talk;” was heard in a suppressed voice, as it went stable-ward.

Day after day passed, and that little one was often seen, attended by old Nep, or in the arms of the faithful Vingo, on her way to the low home over the commons, much to the horror of sensitive mothers, who shook their heads and said, “she is a strange child.”  Never was Sea-flower happier than when she might be allowed to go and see the Indian; and it was indeed a strange sight to see that red man, the only representative of a departed tribe, gazing upon the little one, as she talked to him of Jesus and his word.

The autumn of the year had come.  It was one of those soul-stirring days in October, which cannot fail to arouse the most thoughtless mind to a sense of the wonderful works of creation.  The Sea-flower had gone to the “low home over the commons.”  Hand in hand, that red man and the tender child, they went their way, to where he pointed out the graves of his people; there were no stones, not a mound to mark the spot.  Why was there need of any?  He alone knew the place; none others had cared to know, until now, when the number of his days had well-nigh been told, this little child, of a summer’s day, had breathed upon those ice-bound springs, till they had broken their bands, and were gliding on in the bright sun-light, smoothly on,—­on, forever.  There did the Indian lay him down, where he would have them bury him; and there, for the first and last time, did he breathe a prayer over the graves of the departed, to that Great Spirit, whom he had been taught was the one great Father of all.

“Mother, poor Quady is not so strong as he used to be; when he pounds the corn, to make nice cakes for me, his hands tremble, and I notice he takes all the broth which you send to him, for he says he has no appetite for anything else.”

It was a holiday.  A great display of military had arrived from the continent.

“Sea-flower, you will see the beautiful horses, and the epaulets, the white plumes, and the shining swords, but they need not think to turn your brain with all their splendor.”

“Brother Harry, I should like to see all those splendid things, but I had much rather go and see Quady to-day; it is several days since I have been there, and we have such good times!  I love to talk with him so well.”

“You strange little creature, you can go to see the Indian any time.”

“Yes, but some how I feel as if I would like to go to-day.  I know he will like to see me;” and the child was soon on her way to the “low home,” with Nep, who carried the pail of broth.  As she drew near, she saw that Quady was not sitting at his door, as he usually did, to watch for her, but instead, the door was closed, and everything around was still; nothing was heard, save the breakers as they dashed upon the shore.  Opening the door, which was never fast, she saw before her, the form of poor Quady, stretched upon the rude bed, and as he tossed to and fro, in an uneasy slumber, he muttered the words,—­“pale-face—­gone.”