ieve you lied. I believe you have perjured yourself and sent
your soul to endless torment," answered Charles Stevens. John was a
cunning rascal and thought to give him a proof positive of the powers of
witchcraft. He fell down in a fit, and Charles applied his cane to him
until he ran howling away effectually cured, while Charles, disgusted
with the black-skinned African, left him and hurried out of the village.

Charles Stevens' favorite walk was across the brook and among the great
old oak trees beyond. His mind was greatly harassed and, like all great
minds when perplexed, sought solitude. He went farther and farther into
the woods and sat down upon a large stone. The recent trial of Goody
Nurse, her conviction and execution moved his soul. He could not
understand how people, civilized and enlightened, could be so deceived
by what, to him, was so apparent.

Charles knew that all were not dishonest in their belief. He even
believed that some of the actors in this tragedy were sincere, but had
been over-persuaded by Mr. Parris, whom he set down as the prime mover
in it all.

He sat for a long time, much longer than he supposed, reflecting on the
past, and planning for the future, when he was startled by hearing
footsteps coming toward him. He raised his head, and saw a young Indian
brave, with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders, carrying a bow in
his hand. His head was ornamented with a bunch of feathers, and his face
was painted with all the gorgeous hues of savage barbaric art. He
recognized Charles Stevens, for, advancing toward him with a smile, he
extended his hand saying:

"My white brother is not happy. What has made him sad?"

The Indian was a good judge of human character, and in the face of the
young white man he read a look of sorrow.

"The white men of Salem are very wicked, Oracus," said Charles. "Not
only are they wicked to their red brothers, but to their white brothers,
as well. They have taken the old and helpless, the weak and forlorn,
and put them to death."

The young savage folded his arms across his massive chest and stood for
a long time in silence. His eyes were upon the ground, and his stolid
features were without show of emotion. His people had suffered wrongs at
the hands of the white men; but in this one he had ever found an
earnest, true friend.

There existed between Charles and the brave a bond of brotherhood as
enduring as life. The young chief inquired what had been done a