rd from you will make peace over all this broad land.
The paleface must honor a Christian. He can steal no Christian's
land. All the palefaces, as many as the stars of the great white
path, dare not invade the Village of Peace. For God smiles here.
Listen to His words: 'Come unto me all that are weary and heavy
laden, and I will give you rest.'"

Over the multitude brooded an impressive, solemn silence. Then an
aged Delaware chief rose, with a mien of profound thought, and
slowly paced before the circle of chiefs. Presently he stopped,
turned to the awaiting Indians, and spoke:

"Netawatwees is almost persuaded to be a Christian." He resumed his
seat.

Another interval of penetrating quiet ensued. At length a
venerable-looking chieftain got up:

"White Eyes hears the rumbling thunder in his ears. The smoke blows
from his eyes. White Eyes is the oldest chief of the Lenni-Lenape.
His days are many; they are full; they draw near the evening of his
life; he rejoices that wisdom is come before his sun is set.

"White Eyes believes the young White Father. The ways of the Great
Spirit are many as the fluttering leaves; they are strange and
secret as the flight of a loon; White Eyes believes the redman's
happy hunting grounds need not be forgotten to love the palefaces'
God. As a young brave pants and puzzles over his first trail, so the
grown warrior feels in his understanding of his God. He gropes
blindly through dark ravines.

"White Eyes speaks few words to-day, for he is learning wisdom; he
bids his people hearken to the voice of the White Father. War is
wrong; peace is best. Love is the way to peace. The paleface
advances one step nearer his God. He labors for his home; he keeps
the peace; he asks but little; he frees his women. That is well.
White Eyes has spoken."

The old chief slowly advanced toward the Christian Indians. He laid
aside his knife and tomahawk, and then his eagle plumes and
war-bonnet. Bareheaded, he seated himself among the converted
redmen. They began chanting in low, murmuring tones.

Amid the breathless silence that followed this act of such great
significance, Wingenund advanced toward the knoll with slow, stately
step. His dark eye swept the glade with lightning scorn; his glance
alone revealed the passion that swayed him.

"Wingenund's ears are keen; they have heard a feather fall in the
storm; now they hear a soft-voiced thrush. Wingenund thunders to his
people, to his friends, to t