he party were soon assembled in the family
room on the upper floor, doing justice to an excellent meal, of which
most of them stood much in need.

"Let me wash that horrid stuff off your face, darling, before you sit
down," said Miss Trim to Tony.

The boy was about to comply, but respect for the feelings of his Indian
father caused him to hesitate. Perhaps the memory of ancient rebellion
was roused by the old familiar voice, as he replied--

"Tonyquat loves his war-paint. It does not spoil his appetite."

It was clear from a twinkle in Tony's eye, and a slight motion in his
otherwise grave face, that, although this style of language now came
quite naturally to him, he was keeping it up to a large extent on
purpose.

"Tonyquat!" exclaimed Mrs Ravenshaw, aghast with surprise, "what does
the child mean?"

"I'll say Tony, mother, if you like it better," he said, taking his
mother's hand.

"He's become a redskin," said Victor, half-amused, half-anxious.

"Tony," said Miss Trim, whose heart yearned towards her old but almost
unrecognisable pupil, "don't you remember how we used to do lessons
together and play sometimes?"

"And fight?" added Cora, with a glance at Ian, which caused Elsie to
laugh.

"Tonyquat does not forget," replied the boy, with profound gravity. "He
remembers the lessons and the punishments. He also remembers dancing on
the teacher's bonnet and scratching the teacher's nose!"

This was received with a shout of delighted laughter, for in it the
spirit of the ancient Tony was recognised.

But Ian Macdonald did not laugh. He scarcely spoke except when spoken
to. He seemed to have no appetite, and his face was so pale from his
long illness that he had quite the air of a sick man.

"Come, Ian, why don't you eat? Why, you look as white as you did after
the grizzly had clawed you all over."

This remark, and the bear-claw collar on the youth's neck, drew forth a
question or two, but Ian was modest. He could not be induced to talk of
his adventure, even when pressed to do so by Elsie.

"Come, then, if _you_ won't tell it I will," said Victor; and thereupon
he gave a glowing account of the great fight with the bear, the
triumphant victory, and the long illness, which had well-nigh terminated
fatally.

"But why did you not help him in the hunt?" asked Elsie of Victor, in a
tone of reproach.

"Because he wouldn't let us; the reason why is best known to himself.
Perhaps native obstinacy