One evening the schoolmaster came to call.  He was bent upon a mission, as always.  The family gave him a seat outside of the tent, and gathered around him, and they talked until the stars came out and were mirrored in the Columbia.

One of the first questions asked by the old chief was, “Is Eagle’s Plume (Benjamin) brave?” (a good scholar).

“Yes, brave at times; he must learn to be brave always.  He must always keep his better self.  The world would be good if people would learn to keep their better selves.  Do you see?”

“Yes.”

“A chief should conquer himself first; obey the will of the Great Manitou—­do you see?”

“Yes, but how can we know his will?”

“It is his will that we be our best minds.  Forgive, and so make bad people good, and return good for bad.  Do you see?”

“Yes, boy, do you see?” (to Benjamin).

“Yes, yes, I see what white man means.  But white man do not so.  He cheat—­he kill.”

“Boston tilicum, what do you say?” asked the chief.

“White man does not follow his best heart when he cheats and kills.  It is wrong.  All men should be brothers—­see?”

“Yes, I have tried to be a brother.  I have no shed blood—­I live in peace—­like yonder river.  The stars love to shine on the peaceful river.  Benjamin will learn.  I go away when the swallows go, and no more come when the swallows bring the spring on their wings again.  Teach Benjamin to be his good self all the time; make him good here.”

All the Indian visitors who came to the place examined the violin cautiously, and the Indian hunters seemed to regard Gretchen with suspicion.  When any asked her to play for them, the old chief would answer:  “Not now, but at the Potlatch—­then it speak and you will hear; you will hear what it says.”

But, of all the people that came to the lodge, no one could have been more curious than Mrs. Woods.  She had been living in terror of the threatened events of the October feast, and yet she wished to make the Indians believe that she was indifferent to their ill-will, and that she possessed some hidden power that gave her security.

She approached the lodge slowly on the occasion of her visit, picking red whortleberries by the way.  Benjamin watched her nervous motions, and felt that they implied a want of respect, and he grew silent and looked stoical.  Gretchen went out to meet her, and brought her to the old chief.

[Illustration:  Afar loomed Mount Hood.]

It was a beautiful day, one of those long dreams of golden splendor that glorify the banks of the Oregon.  Eccentric Victor Trevette and his Indian wife were at the lodge, and the company were joined by the Rev. Jason Lee, who had come up the Columbia in the interests of the mission in the Willamette Valley.  Seattle[B] was there, from the Willamette, then young, and not yet the titular chief of Governor Stevens.[C] It was