hat afternoon and night could never be forgotten by Alice Ripley. In
a very little while she and her visitor were on the best of terms;
laughing, romping, and chasing each other in and out of doors, just as
if they were twin sisters that had never been separated from each other.

When Mrs. Ripley asked Omas for how long a time he could leave his child
with them, he said he must take her back that evening. His wigwam was a
good many miles away in the woods, and he would have to travel all night
to reach the village of his tribe.

Mrs. Ripley, however, pleaded so hard, that he consented to let his
child stay until he came back the next day or soon thereafter for her.

When he rose to go, the long summer day was drawing to a close. He spoke
to Linna in their native tongue. She was sitting on the floor just then,
playing with a wonderful rag baby, but was up in a flash, and followed
him outside.

"Wait a moment and she will come back," said Mrs. Ripley to her own
child. She knew what the movement meant: Omas did not wish anyone to see
him and Linna.

On the outside he moved to the left, and glanced around to make sure
that no person was looking that way. Then he lifted the little one from
the ground; she threw her arms around his neck, and he pressed her to
his breast and kissed her several times with great warmth. Then he set
her down, and she ran laughing into the house, while he strode off to
the woods.

But at the moment of entering them he stopped abruptly, wheeled about,
and walked slowly back toward the cabin.

Upon the return of Linna, Mrs. Ripley stepped to the front door to look
for her son. He was not in sight, but Omas had stopped again hardly
a rod distant. He stood a moment, looking fixedly at her, and then
beckoned with his free hand for her to approach.

Without hesitation she stepped off the broad flat stone and went to him.

"What is it, Omas?" she asked in an undertone, pausing in front of him,
and gazing up into the grim, painted countenance.

The Delaware returned the look for a few seconds, as if studying how
to say what was in his mind. Then in a voice lower even than hers, he
said--"You--little girl--big boy--go way soon--must not stay here."

"Why do you say that, Omas?"

"Iroquois like leaves on trees--white men, call Tories--soon come down
here--kill all white people--kill you--kill little girl, big boy--if you
stay here."

The pioneer's wife had heard the same rumors for days past.