antly
recognized her. With a cry as full of joy as her own, he clasped
her close, and showered his kisses on her upturned face.

"Kitty! why, Kitty! You aren't dead, then? You are not hurt? And we
thought--oh, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"

Clinging to each other, they slipped to the ground, too absorbed in
themselves to notice anything else; while Osceolo watched them in
almost equal absorption.

But he was roused sooner than they. A hand fell on his shoulder. A
hand whose touch could be as gentle as a woman's, but was now like a
steel band crushing the very bones.

"Osceolo!"

"Yes, Black Partridge," quavered the terrified lad.

"You will come to my tepee. Alone!"

CHAPTER VII.

A THREEFOLD CORD IS STRONGEST.

"She is a spirit. I know that nothing can harm her. Yet many
things can harm me. I have no desire to suffer any further anxiety.
Therefore--this. My Girl-Child, my White Papoose, come here."

The Sun Maid reluctantly obeyed. It was the morning after her perilous
ride on the back of an untamed horse and her joyful reunion with
Gaspar, her old playmate of the Fort. The two were now just without
the wigwam of Wahneenah, sitting clasped in each other's arms, as if
fearful that a fresh separation awaited them should they once
relinquish this tight hold of one another; and it was in much the same
feeling that the foster-mother regarded them.

"But why, Other Mother? I do love my Gaspar boy. I did know him
always."

"You've known me two years, Kitty," corrected the truthful lad. "But I
suppose that is as long as you can remember. You're such a baby."

"How old is the Sun Maid--as you white people reckon ages?" asked
Wahneenah.

"She is five years old. Her birthday was on the Fourth of July. We had
a celebration. Our Captain fired as many rounds of ammunition as she
was years old. The mothers made her a cake, with sugar on the top, and
with five little candles they made themselves on purpose, and colored
with strawberry juice. Oh, surely, there never was such a cake in all
the world as they made for our 'baby!'" cried the lad, forgetting for
the moment present troubles in this delightful memory.

"Well, there are other women who can make other cakes," said
Wahneenah, with ready jealousy.

"Oh, but an Indian cake--" began Gaspar, then stopped abruptly,
frightened at his own boldness.

Wahneenah smiled. For small Kitty was swift to see the change in her
playmate's face, and her own caught, for an i