“There are traditions connected with this place,” said Bernard, “but they are fast fading away, and promise soon to be forgotten.”

“Are you acquainted with any?”

“A friend of mine has endeavored to rescue one from oblivion, but I doubt if it would interest you.”

“I am interested in everything that relates to this people.  Tell me the story now.  What more fitting place for romance!”

“A fitting place certainly, but no fitting time.  Romance would hardly mitigate the keenness of the air, or diminish the probability of taking cold, were you to stand here listening to Indian legends.  Besides, the tale is in manuscript, and I should not be able, relying on memory, to do it justice.”

“You shall read it to me this evening, where you cannot make such excuses,” she replied, taking again his arm, and resuming their walk, “by the light of candles, and near the parlor fire, where we may hear, and not feel the wind.”

“But where would be the accompaniments of the tale?  The framing I fear would spoil the picture.”

“You will have the benefit of contrast, which every great painter desires.”

“I am only too happy to please you,” he said, with a sigh.

“My almost brother, William, I knew you would not refuse me the favor.”

Conversing in this manner, they had reached a turn in the road, which led back to the village by a route different from that they had come, when they saw Esther approaching, with her son.  The boy walked in advance of his mother, who seemed to tread in his steps, while that unfailing companion of the semi-civilized red man, a dog, lounged by his side.

Quadaquina was a handsome child, of thirteen or fourteen years of age, with a perfectly oval face, and eyes deep set and keen, that glittered like a snake’s, resembling his mother, from whom he inherited his beauty.  His dress differed not from that of white boys, except that there was thrown round his shoulders a piece of coarse blue broadcloth, disposed like a shawl.  Esther had on her head a dark colored felt hat, such as is worn by laborers, from beneath which long black hair fell down upon her shoulders.  A shawl, like the boy’s, was thrown over her, a skirt, of the same material, extended half way down between the knee and ankle, and crimson leggins completed the dress.

As they came up, Faith and Bernard stopped to speak to them, and inquire after Holden.  She had been apprised of his escape, and of the visit of Pownal and Anne, but had refrained from going to his retreat in consequence of its being thought advisable to attract as little attention to it as possible.  To her inquiries Esther returned the most satisfactory answers.  Holden appeared quite contented, and was engaged in preaching to the Indians, and teaching them the principles of the Christian faith.

“Do the Indians listen to what he says?” inquired Bernard.

“They listen; Indian always listen,” said Esther, “and the wind blow the words through the ears.”