had caused his brow to cloud and his
face to turn dark.

"We will all go into the house," said the master. "Umatilla, will you not
honor us with a visit this morning?"

"No--me come this afternoon for the boy; me wait for him outside. Boston
tilicum, let me speak to you a little. I am a father."

"Yes, and a good father."

"I am a father--you no understand--Boston tilicum--father. I want you to
teach him like a father--not you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Father--teacher--you, Boston tilicum."

"Yes, I understand, and I will be a father teacher to your Benjamin."

"I die some day. You understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"You understand, Boston tilicum, you understand. What I want my boy to
become that I am for my boy. That you be."

"Yes, Umatilla, I believe an Indian's word--you may trust mine. I will be
to your boy what you may have him become. The Indian is true to his
friends. I believe in _you_. I will be true."

The old chief drew his blanket round him proudly.

"Boston tilicum," said he, "if ever the day of trouble comes, I will
protect you and the log school-house. You may trust my word. Indian speak
true."

The tall schoolmaster bowed.

"Nika atte cepa" (I like you much), said the chief. "Potlatch shall no
harm you. Klahyam klahhye--am!" (Good-by).

Mrs. Woods hurried homeward and tried to calm her excited mind by singing
a very heroic old hymn:

"Come on, my partners in distress,
My comrades in the wilderness,
Who still your bodies feel."

The blue skies gleamed before her, and overhead wheeled a golden eagle. To
her it was an emblem, a good omen, and her spirit became quiet and happy
amid all the contradictions of her rough life. She sat down at last on the
log before her door, with the somewhat strange remark:

"I do hate Injuns; _nevertheless_--"

Mrs. Woods was accustomed to correct the wrong tendencies of her heart and
tongue by this word "nevertheless," which she used as an incomplete
sentence. This "nevertheless" seemed to express her better self; to
correct the rude tendencies of her nature. Had she been educated in her
early days, this tendency to self-correction would have made her an ideal
woman, but she owed nearly all her intellectual training to the sermons of
the Rev. Jason Lee, which she had heard in some obscure corner of a room,
or in Methodist chapel, or under the trees.

Her early experience with the Indians had not made her a friend to the