Thus, though she had beheld, with a feeling almost amounting to despair, the departure of her parents and dear little brother, and had for a long time resisted every attempt at consolation, preferring even death to a life of separation from all she loved, yet time, as it ever does, brought its soothing balm, and she at length grew contented and happy.

From her activity and the energy of her character, qualities for which she was remarkable to the latest period of her life, the name was given her of The Ship under full sail.

* * * * *

The only drawback to the happiness of the little prisoner, aside from her longings after her own dear home, was the enmity she encountered from the wife of the Big White Man.  This woman, from the day of her arrival at the village, and adoption into the family as a sister, had conceived for her the greatest animosity, which, at first, she had the prudence to conceal from the observation of her husband.

It was perhaps natural that a wife should give way to some feelings of jealousy at seeing her own place in the heart of her husband usurped by the child of their enemy, the American.  But these feelings were aggravated by a bad and vindictive temper, and by the indifference with which her husband listened to her complaints and murmurings.

As she had no children of her own to engage her attention, her mind was the more engrossed and inflamed with her fancied wrongs, and with devising means for their redress.  An opportunity of attempting the latter was not long wanting.

During the absence of the Big White Man upon some war-party or hunting-excursion, his little sister was taken ill with fever and ague.  She was nursed with the utmost tenderness by the Old Queen; and the wife of the chief, to lull suspicion, and thereby accomplish her purpose, was likewise unwearied in her assiduities to the little favorite.

One afternoon, during the temporary absence of the Old Queen, her daughter-in-law entered the lodge with a bowl of something she had prepared, and, stooping down to the mat on which the child lay, said, in an affectionate accent,—­

“Drink, my sister, I have brought you that which will drive this fever far from you.”

On raising her head to reply, the little girl perceived a pair of eyes peeping through a crevice in the lodge, and fixed upon her with a very peculiar and significant expression.  With the quick perception acquired partly from nature and partly from her intercourse with this people, she replied, faintly,—­

“Set it down, my sister.  When this fit of the fever has passed, I will drink your medicine.”

The squaw, too cautious to use importunity, busied herself about in the lodge for a short time, then withdrew to another, near at hand.  Meantime, the bright eyes continued peering through the opening, until they had watched their object fairly out of sight; then a low voice, the voice of a young friend and playfellow, spoke: