“Pale-face has come!  Quady, Pale-face has come to you!  Look up, and take some of the nice broth which I have brought.”

Slowly he opened his eyes, and seeing the little one was by his side, he raised his hands aloft and said, “Me thank Great Spirit; me afraid Great Spirit take me home without seeing little Pale-face once more.  Me see my brothers soon; a little while, and Pale-face come to see us.  Great Spirit bless little Pale-face,” he feebly said; “she make poor Quady happy.”

With that dying blessing his spirit took its flight.  He had passed away, the last one of his kind, he who had lived a life of solitude, apart from the world, looking upon the white man as having taken from him his home, his lands, and the forests which would have been his if the white man had not, long years ago, laid them low; yes, he had breathed a blessing, with his last breath, upon the pale-face.  He who had not a brother left to bury him, had thanked God that the Pale-face had come to close his eyes; yes, it was the voice of childhood which had made his last moments happy, had pointed out the road which leads the wanderer home.

It was a scene to melt the hardest heart; that little child, scarcely as high as the rude couch, reaching up to close the eyes of him whom she should see no more.  As she sat by his side, and looked around the room where she had spent so many happy hours, a sense of loneliness crept over her.  There was the pipe which he had smoked, laid away on the little chimney-piece, and by the bed-side was the pail of broth with which she had thought to please him so much; and at the remembrance she burst into tears, and her tears fell upon the hand of him who lay sleeping.  Neptune, hearing the sad tones of his mistress, came and looked into her face; and when she took no notice of him, he crouched at her feet, and howled piteously.  And thus they found them, for the little one could not think of leaving her dear Quady there alone.  They buried him, as he had wished, by the side of his brothers; and when the Sea-flower gazed into that narrow house, so dark and still, she looked up and said, “Mother, I shall love to look at the stars oftener now, for he has gone to live among those bright and shining ones.”  Sadly did the child miss her visits to the “low home,” and when in years to come her thoughts wandered over the past, her love for the poor lone Indian had not diminished.  The stars shone brighter and brighter, even as her light was “shining unto the perfect day.”

“What little missy look up in de sky so much for?” asked Vingo, as he walked by the shore, with Sea-flower in his arms, as was his custom of a bright moonlit evening.

“O, Vingo, it is so beautiful!  I was watching those fleecy clouds, until they seemed to be little waves in which the stars were sailing upward, up, and as they looked back to us, their smile seemed to grow purer; and I think I can see Quady among them.  Don’t you see him, Vingo?”