and once he was wounded by a tomahawk, when they had a fight with some hostile tribe; but they treated him as well as they did their own children.  He became an expert hunter, thought it excellent sport, and forgot that he was not an Indian.  His squaw-mother died, and, not long after, the tribe went a great many miles to collect furs.  In the course of this journey they encountered various tribes of Indians.  One night they encamped near some hunters who spoke another dialect, which they could partly understand.  Among them was a woman, who said she knew him.  She told him his mother was a white woman, with eyes blue as the sky, and that she was very good to her little pappoose, when she lost her way on the prairie.  She wanted her husband to buy him, that they might carry him back to his mother.  He bought him for ten gallons of whiskey, and promised to take him to his parents the next time the tribe travelled in that direction,—­because, he said, their little pappoose had liked them very much.

“We remember her very well,” said Mr. Wharton.  “Her name was Wik-a-nee.”

“That not name” replied William.  “Wik-a-nee mean little small thing.”

“You were a small boy when you found the pappoose on the prairie,” rejoined his father.  “You took a great liking to her, and said she was your little girl.  When she went away, you gave her your box of Guinea-peas.”

“Guinea-peas?  What that?” inquired the young man.

“They are red seeds with black spots on them,” replied his father.  “Emma, I believe you have some.  Show him one.”

The moment he saw it, he exclaimed,—­

“Haha!  A-lee-lah show me Guinea-peas.  Her say me give she.”

“Then you know Wik-a-nee?” said his father, in an inquiring tone.

The wanderer had acquired the gravity of the Indians.  He never laughed, and rarely smiled.  But a broad smile lighted up his frank countenance, as he answered,—­

“Me know A-lee-lah very well.  She not Wik-a-nee now.”

Then he became grave again, and told how he was twining the red seeds in A-lee-lah’s hair, when his mother came and looked at him with great blue eyes and smiled.  Most of his auditors thought he was telling a dream.  But Mr. Wharton said to his oldest son,—­

“I told you, Charles, that mother and son were not separated now.”

William seemed perplexed by this remark; but he comprehended in part, and said,—­

“Me see into Spirit-Land.”

When asked why he had not started in search of his mother then, he replied,—­

“A-lee-lah’s father, mother die.  A-lee-lah say not go.  Miles big many.  Me not know the trail.  But Indians go hunt fur.  Me go.  Me sleep.  Me dream mother come, say go home.  Me ask where mother?  Charles come.  Him say brother.”

The little basket was again brought forth, and Mr. Wharton said,—­

“Wik-a-nee gave you this, when she went away; but when we showed it to you, you did not remember it.”