d very marvellous.

But that night the power of this same slender Indian mother was
brought vividly before her when, unintentionally, she overheard
young George say to the missionary:

"I almost lost my new title to-day, after you and the ladies had
left the Council."

"Why, George boy!" exclaimed Mr. Evans. "What have you done?"

"Nothing, it seems, except to be successful. The Council objected
to my holding the title of chief and having a chief's vote in the
affairs of the people, and at the same time being Government
interpreter. They said it would give me too much power to retain
both positions. I must give up one--my title or my Government
position."

"What did you do?" demanded Mr. Evans, eagerly.

"Nothing, again," smiled the young chief. "But my mother did
something. She took the floor of the Council, and spoke for forty
minutes. She said I must hold the positions of chief which she had
made for me, as well as of interpreter which I had made for myself;
that if the Council objected, she would forever annul the chief's
title in her own family; she would never appoint one in my place,
and that we proud, arrogant Mohawks would then have only eight
representatives in Council--only be on a level with, as she
expressed it, 'those dogs of Senecas.' Then she clutched her
broadcloth about her, turned her back on us all, and left the
Council."

"What did the Council do?" gasped Mr. Evans.

"Accepted me as chief and interpreter," replied the young man,
smiling. "There was nothing else to do."

"Oh, you royal woman! You loyal, loyal mother!" cried Lydia to
herself. "How I love you for it!"

Then she crept away just as Mr. Evans had sprung forward with both
hands extended towards the young chief, his eyes beaming with
almost fatherly delight.

Unconsciously to herself, the English girl's interest in the young
chief had grown rapidly year after year. She was also unconscious
of his aim at constant companionship with herself. His devotion to
her sister, whose delicate health alarmed them all, more and more,
as time went on, was only another royal road to Lydia's heart.
Elizabeth was becoming frail, shadowy, her appetite was fitful, her
eyes larger and more wistful, her fingers smaller and weaker. No
one seemed to realize the insidious oncreepings of "the white man's
disease," consumption, that was paling Elizabeth's fine English
skin, heightening her glorious English color, sapping her delicate
English veins.