said Dick, "can you see and hear me?"

"Ay; but you are not my son," said the dying woman faintly. "You are a
pale-face--you are very good--but you are not my son."

"True, mother; but see, I have brought your son back to you!--Lay your
hand on her forehead," he added in that low, stern undertone which he
had used throughout to Bighorn, who could not but obey. "Stroke her
head, look in her eyes, and speak to her."

The redman did not require to be told now. A natural impulse led him to
do as he was bid. The instant the tones of his voice struck her ear,
the old woman seemed to awaken with a start; she looked up eagerly,
caught the hand that touched her forehead, and, passing her own thin
hand up to the Indian's face, felt the scar over his eye, as if to
render herself doubly sure. Then she grasped the hand again in both of
hers, and, taking it under the blanket, pressed it to her withered
breast and held it tightly there.

But that burst of unexpected joy hastened the falling of the last few
grains of sand. For ten minutes longer they watched her as the breath
went and came more and more feebly. Then it ceased altogether, and
death sealed her eyes. But she did not release the hand of her son. He
had some difficulty in loosening that clasp of maternal love which was
stronger even than death.

After all was over, Dick seized the Indian and led him to the tree, to
which he chained him again. Then he dug a grave in the soft soil, in
which he placed the body of the old woman with gentle care. Having
covered it over he went into the woods, caught and saddled his horse,
and led him towards the wondering savage, whom he once more unbound and
set free.

"Bighorn," said Dick impressively, "you've been made to comfort and
gladden the heart o' yer old mother in her last moments. If ye was a
pale-face, ye'd thank the Great Spirit for that to the last day o' yer
life. If ye ever do come to think like the pale-faces, you'll remember
that you've to thank me for bringing ye here. Go, tell the redskins who
it is that caught ye, and what he did and said to ye."

Saying this, Dick mounted his horse and rode very slowly into the
forest, leaving the redman standing by the side of his mother's grave.

After Mary had concluded this story, which, we may remark, she related
with much fewer comments than we have seen fit to pass upon it, she and
March looked at each other for a long time in silence. Then March
suddenly exc