quaint the lovers
that Spikeman was in the house.

"I wish," she muttered, as she closed the door, though not so loud as
to be overheard, "that some folk were not so great friends of mine."

"Have my people given my friend anything to eat?" inquired the
Assistant, on the departure of the girl.

"Waqua is not hungry," answered the Indian. "His white brother has fed
him until he has no place for more."

"What thinks Waqua of the painted man?" asked the Assistant, observing
that the eyes of the savage wandered every now and then to the
painting.

"It is a great medicine," replied the Indian, noticing with admiration
the resemblance between it and the Assistant, (whose father's portrait
it was.) "My brother loved his father very much, and so, before he was
called to the spirit land, my brother put him on a board, even as
white men put faces in frozen water. But my brother is wiser, because
he makes his father stay on the board, instead of disappearing like
faces in frozen water."

"My brother is right," said the Assistant, not unwilling to avail
himself of an opportunity to impress on the mind of the savage the
superiority of the whites; "but he has seen little of the wisdom of
the white man. It is a light thing to put a man upon a board, though
at the same time he may be in the spirit land. It is wonderful to
Waqua, but a white child understands it. If Waqua remains the friend
of the white man, greater and more wonderful things shall he learn."

"Waqua is an Indian, with an Indian head, and he is afraid it is not
big enough to hold all these things. It makes his head ache to think
of them."

"My brother's head will grow. But will he follow me now into another
part of my dwelling?"

The Indian made a gesture of assent, and the Assistant preceding him,
the two went in the direction of the room where were Arundel and
Eveline.

Prudence, when she left Spikeman and Waqua together, had rushed in
upon the lovers to apprise them of the Assistant's presence. The proud
spirit of the young man revolted somewhat at the idea of stealing out
of the house like a felon, and a little time was spent before the
expostulations of Prudence and the entreaties of Eveline could
prevail. And when he rose to leave, some time longer was consumed in
tender leave-takings, which, though they seemed instants to the
lovers, were lengthened almost into hours to the anxious waiting-maid.
Hence it happened that when the door was opened, Arunde