“Yes; and directs us on all paths—­more especially such as are for our good.”

“Bess get him to tell you path into Detroit.  Dat good path, now, for all pale-faces.”

On uttering this advice, which he did also somewhat pointedly, the Chippewa left the spring, and walked toward the kennel of Hive, where the bee-hunter was busy feeding his old companion.

“You’re welcome back, Pigeonswing,” the last cordially remarked, without pausing in his occupation, however.  “I saw that you came in loaded, as usual.  Have you left any dead game in the Openings, for me to go and back in with you?”

“You open ear, Bourdon—­you know what Injin say,” returned the Chippewa, earnestly.  “When dog get ’nough come wid me.  Got somet’ing to tell.  Bess hear it, when he can hear it”

“You’ll find me ready enough in a minute.  There, Hive, my good fellow, that ought to satisfy any reasonable dog, and I’ve never found you unreasonable yet.  Well, Chippewa, here I am, with my ears wide open—­stop, I’ve a bit of news, first, for your ears.  Do you know, Pigeonswing, my good fellow, that I am married?”

“Marry, eh?  Got squaw, eh?  Where you get him?”

“Here, to be sure—­where else should I get her?  There is but one girl in these Openings that I would ask to be my wife, and she has been asked, and answered, yes.  Parson Amen married us, yesterday, on our way in from Prairie Round; so that puts me on a footing with yourself.  When you boast of your squaw that you’ve left in your wigwam, I can boast of mine that I have here.  Margery is a girl to boast of, too!”

“Yes; good squaw, dat.  Like dat squaw pretty well.  Nebber see better.  Bess keep squaw alway in his own wigwam.”

“Well, mine is in my own wigwam.  Castle Meal is my property, and she does it honor.”

“Dat an’t what Injin mean.  Mean dis.  Bess have wigwam at home, dere, where pale-face lives, and bess keep squaw in dat wigwam.  Where my squaw, eh?  She home, in my wigwam—­take care of pappoose, hoe corn, and keep ground good.  So bess wid white squaw—­bess home, at work.”

“I believe I understand what you mean, Pigeon.  Well, home we mean to go, before the winter sets in, and when matters have a little settled down between the English and Yankees.  It isn’t safe travelling, just now, in Michigan—­you must own that, yourself, my good fellow.”

The Indian appeared at a loss, now, how to express himself further.  On one side was his faith to his color, and his dread of Peter and the great chiefs; on the other, his strong regard for the bee-hunter.  He pondered a moment, and then took his own manner of communicating that which he wished to say.  The fact that his friend was married made no great difference in his advice, for the Indian was much too shrewd an observer not to have detected the bee-hunter’s attachment.  He had not supposed it possible to separate his friend from the family of Gershom, though