w; the anvil rang. In another corner a circle of braves
sat around a pile of dried grass and flags. They were twisting and
fashioning these materials into baskets. At a bench three Indian
carpenters were pounding and sawing. Young braves ran back and
forth, carrying pails, rough-hewn boards and blocks of wood.

Instantly struck by two things, Jim voiced his curiosity:

"Why do these Indians all wear long hair, smooth and shiny, without
adornment?"

"They are Christians. They wear neither headdress, war-bonnet, nor
scalp-lock," replied Mr. Zeisberger, with unconscious pride.

"I did not expect to see a blacksmith's anvil out here in the
wilderness. Where did you procure these tools?"

"We have been years getting them here. Some came by way of the Ohio
River; others overland from Detroit. That anvil has a history. It
was lost once, and lay for years in the woods, until some Indians
found it again. It is called the Ringing Stone, and Indians come
from miles around to see and hear it."

The missionary pointed out wide fields of corn, now growing yellow,
and hillsides doted with browsing cattle, droves of sturdy-limbed
horses, and pens of fat, grunting pigs--all of which attested to the
growing prosperity of the Village of Peace.

On the way back to the cabin, while the others listened to and
questioned Mr. Zeisberger, Jim was silent and thoughtful, for his
thoughts reverted to his brother.

Later, as he walked with Nell by the golden-fringed stream, he spoke
of Joe.

"Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surely
he will return to us when he has satisfied his wild craving for
adventure. Do you not think so?"

There was an eagerness that was almost pleading in Jim's voice. What
he so much hoped for--that no harm had befallen Joe, and that he
would return--he doubted. He needed the encouragement of his hope.

"Never," answered Nell, solemnly.

"Oh, why--why do you say that?"

"I saw him look at you--a strange, intent glance. He gazed long at
me as we separated. Oh! I can feel his eyes. No; he will never come
back."

"Nell, Nell, you do not mean he went away deliberately--because, oh!
I cannot say it."

"For no reason, except that the wilderness called him more than love
for you or--me."

"No, no," returned Jim, his face white. "You do not understand. He
really loved you--I know it. He loved me, too. Ah, how well! He has
gone because--I can't tell you."

"Oh, Jim, I hope--he loved--m