ancy themselves of importance."

Nick, now, came slowly back, after having examined the recent changes
to his satisfaction. He stood a moment in silence, near the table, and
then, assuming an air of more dignity than common, he addressed the
captain.

"Nick ole _chief_" he said. "Been at Council Fire, often as
cap'in. Can't tell, all he know; want to hear about new war."

"Why, Nick, it is a family quarrel, this time. The French have nothing
to do with it."

"Yengeese fight Yengeese--um?"

"I am afraid it will so turn out. Do not the Tuscaroras sometimes dig
up the hatchet against the Tuscaroras?"

"Tuscarora man kill Tuscarora man--good--he quarrel, and kill he enemy.
But Tuscarora warrior nebber take scalp of Tuscarora squaw and
pappoose! What you t'ink he do dat for? Red man no hog, to eat pork."

"It must be admitted, Nick, you are a very literal logician--'dog won't
eat dog,' is our English saying. Still the _Yankee_ will fight the
Yengeese, it would seem. In a word, the Great Father, in England, has
raised the hatchet against his American children."

"How you like him, cap'in--um? Which go on straight path, which go on
crooked? How you like him?"

"I like it little, Nick, and wish with all my heart the quarrel had not
taken place."

"Mean to put on regimentals--hah! Mean to be cap'in, ag'in? Follow drum
and fife, like ole time?"

"I rather think not, old comrade. After sixty, one likes peace better
than war; and I intend to stay at home."

"What for, den, build fort? Why you put fence round a house, like pound
for sheep?"

"Because I intend to _stay_ there. The stockade will be good to
keep off any, or every enemy who may take it into their heads to come
against us. You have known me defend a worse position than this."

"He got no gate," muttered Nick--"What he good for, widout gate?
Yengeese, Yankees, red man, French man, walk in just as he please. No
good to leave such squaw wid a door wide open."

"Thank you, Nick," cried Mrs. Willoughby. "I knew you were _my_
friend, and have not forgotten the gold-thread."

"He _very_ good," answered the Indian, with an important look.
"Pappoose get well like not'ing. He a'most die, to-day; to-morrow he
run about and play. Nick do him, too; cure him wid gold-thread."

"Oh! you are, or were quite a physician at one time, Nick. I remember
when you had the smallpox, yourself."

The Indian turned, with the quickness of lightning, to Mrs. Willoughby,
whom h