“Sit down by my feet, my child,” he said to Gretchen, or in words of this meaning.  “I have been thinking what it is that makes the music in the violin.  Let us talk together, for something whispers in the leaves that my days are almost done.”

“Let me get the violin and play to you, father; we are alone.”

“Yes, yes; get the music, child, and you shall play, and we will talk.  You shall sit down at my feet and play, and we will talk.  Go, my little spirit.”

Gretchen brought her violin, and sat down at his feet and tuned it.  She then drew her bow, and threw on the air a haunting strain.

“Stop there, little spirit.  It is beautiful.  But what made it beautiful?”

“My bow—­don’t you see?”

Gretchen drew her bow, and again lifted the same haunting air.

“No—­no—­my girl—­not the bow—­something behind the bow.”

“The strings?”

“No—­no—­something behind the strings.”

“My fingers—­so?”

“No—­no—­something behind the fingers.”

“My head—­here?”

“No—­something behind that.”

“My heart?”

“No—­no—­something behind that.”

“I?”

“Yes—­you, but something behind that.  I have not seen it, my girl—­your spirit.  It is that that makes the music; but there is something behind that.  I can feel what I can not see.  I am going away, girl—­going away to the source of the stream.  Then I will know everything good is beautiful—­it is good that makes you beautiful, and the music beautiful.  It is good that makes the river beautiful, and the stars.  I am going away where all is beautiful.  When I am gone, teach my poor people.”

Gretchen drew his red hand to her lips and kissed it.  The chief bent low his plumed head and said: 

“That was so beautiful, my little spirit, that I am in a haste to go.  One moon, and I will go.  Play.”

Gretchen obeyed.  When the strain died, the two sat and listened to the murmuring of the waters, as the river glided down the shelves, and both of them felt that the Spirit of Eternal Goodness with a Father’s love watched over everything.

The old chief rose, and said again: 

“When I am gone to my fathers, teach my poor people.”  He added:  “The voice of the good spirits ask it—­the All-Good asks it—­I shall go away—­to the land whence the light comes.  You stay—­teach.  You will?”

“Yes,” said Gretchen—­a consciousness of her true calling in life coming upon her, as in an open vision—­“I will be their teacher.”

The old chief seemed satisfied, and said:  “It is well; I am going away.”

Much of the chief’s talk was acted.  If he wished to speak of a star, he would point to it; and he would imitate a bird’s call to designate a bird, and the gurgle of water when speaking of a running stream.  He spoke Chinook freely, and to see him when he was speaking was to learn from his motions his meaning.