much good; Long Hair bring venison," Mrs. Jones wiped the tears from
her eyes, rejoicing more to find that there was gratitude even in an
Indian's heart, than at receiving his generous gift.

[Illustration: LONGHAIR AND HIS PRESENT. Page 186.]

CHAPTER XIV.

THE WAR-SONG.

Mrs. Payson sat sewing in her pleasant room at the hotel. Her thoughts
were far away from the checkered experiences of the frontier, for her
husband--having received by the last mail a new book from an eastern
friend--read while she plied her needle. Baby was in his crib in the
bed-room adjoining, and Fannie and Helen were whispering in a matronly
way in the corner, as with the help of mother's scissors they fitted
their dolls to new dresses. Had you looked in upon the group, you
would not realize that they constituted a pioneer missionary's family;
for the hotel building was tasteful and spacious, and if they lived
and dressed plainly, and often felt the pinchings of poverty, their
appearance betrayed no unhappiness. And then the volume had
transported the father and mother to other and brighter scenes than
those of the uncultured wilderness. The tone of the reader in its
subdued or impassioned modulations attested the interest he felt in
the volume, and the heightened color of the wife showed her sympathy
with the theme. What a magician is a book! It can cause the poor to
forget their poverty, and the wanderer in a distant land to become
oblivious of his exile.

"What was that?" exclaimed the missionary and his wife at once, as
they sprang to their feet in breathless suspense.

Again the horrible cry broke forth, seeming to come from the room
below.

At this moment the fair face of the landlady appeared, and she
said,--

"The Indians are below, and are going to sing for us. Won't you come
down and hear them?"

"Rather discordant music," answered the minister; "but I think we may
as well accept your invitation--don't you, wife?" and taking the
children with them, they descended to the dining-room. Ranged round
the long table were eight savages, and sitting back against the walls
a few boarders,--for most of the household were away. Some of the
Indians held tin pans, and on these, as an accompaniment, they beat
time with iron instruments, their heavy blows making a deafening din,
and their harsh, guttural notes, uttered in unison, made the
diabolical uproar. Mr. Payson's inspection of the performers in this
strange concert was an