“Oh, don’t, uncle! don’t!” exclaimed the poor boy.  “My heart will break!”

A silent patting on the head was the only answer; and Uncle George never reproached him afterward.

Neither of the distressed parents could endure the thoughts of discontinuing the search till morning.  A wagon was sent for the miller and his men, and, accompanied by them, Mr. Wharton started for the Indian trail.  They took with them lanterns, torches, and horns, and a trumpet, to be sounded as a signal that the lost one was found.  The wretched mother traversed the piazza slowly, gazing after them, as their torches cast a weird, fantastic light on the leafless trees they passed.  She listened to the horns resounding in the distance, till the tremolo motion they imparted to the air became faint as the buzz of insects.  At last, Charles, who walked silently by her side, was persuaded to go to bed, where, some time after midnight, he cried himself into uneasy, dreamful slumber.  But no drowsiness came to the mother’s eyelids.  All night long she sat watching at the bedroom-window, longing for the gleam of returning torches, and the joyful fanfare of the trumpet.  But all was dark and still.  Only stars, like the eyes of spirits, looked down from the solemn arch of heaven upon the desolate expanse of prairie.

The sun had risen when the exploring party returned, jaded and dispirited, from their fruitless search.  Uncle George, who went forth to meet them, dreaded his sister’s inquiring look.  But her husband laid his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and said.—–­

“Don’t be discouraged, Jenny.  I don’t believe any harm has happened to him.  There are no traces of wild beasts.”

“But the Indians,” she murmured, faintly.

“I am glad to hear you say that,” said Uncle George.  “My belief is that he is with the Indians; and for that reason, I think we have great cause to hope.  Very likely he saw the Indians, and thought Wik-a-nee was with them, and so went in pursuit of her.  If she, or any of her relatives, are with those hunters, they will be sure to bring back our little Willie; for Indians are never ungrateful.”

The mother’s fainting heart caught eagerly at this suggestion; and Charley felt so much relieved by it that he was on the point of saying he was sure it must have been either Moppet or a dogs’ town-meeting that lured Willie from the path he had pointed out to him.  But everybody looked too serious for jesting; and memory of his own fault quickly repressed the momentary elasticity.

Countless were the times that the bereaved parents east wistful glances over the prairie, with a vague hope of descrying Indians returning with their child.  The search was kept up for days and weeks.  All the neighbors, within a circuit of fifteen miles, entered zealously into the work, and explored prairie and forest far and wide.  At last these efforts were given up as useless.  Still Uncle George held