ng to adjust his ideas to
the new light he had received.

The boys were preparing to go out, when their Indian host suddenly
reappeared. He carried in his hand a large-sized loaf of baker's bread,
which he had procured at the village store. He was alive to the duties
of hospitality, and did not intend to let his guests go, uninvited
though they were, without a breakfast.

Though his stock of English was limited, he made out to invite the boys
to breakfast with him.

Henry would have preferred to go to the hotel, but Philip signed to him
to accept graciously the Indian's hospitality.

As the bread was fresh, they partook of it with relish, washing it down
with drafts of clear spring water.

The Indian looked on, well pleased to see the justice done to his
hospitality. He explained to the boys that he made baskets, caught fish,
and sometimes engaged in hunting, managing, in one way and another, to
satisfy his simple wants. His name was Winuca, but his white neighbors
called him Tom.

When the boys were ready to go, Philip drew from his pocket a
jack-knife, nearly new, of which he asked the Indian's acceptance.

Winuca seemed very much pleased, and shook hands heartily with his young
guests, wishing them good-by.

The boys kept on to the hotel, where they spent a few hours, taking
dinner there. Their breakfast had been so simple that they had a very
good appetite for their midday meal.

"While we are here, Henry, suppose you write to your father and relieve
his anxiety?" suggested Philip.

"Why can't you write?" asked Henry, who cherished the general boyish
distaste for letter-writing.

"Because it will be more proper for you to write. I am a stranger to
him."

"You won't be long, Philip? I shall want you to come and make me a
visit."

"Perhaps you'll be tired of me before we get to New York," suggested
Philip, with a smile.

"There isn't much chance of it. I like you better than any boy I know.
You're awful brave, too. You didn't seem to be at all scared last night
when the Indian came in."

"It was because I felt sure that any Indian to be found about here would
be harmless."

"I wish we could make a journey together some time. I'd like to go
West--"

"To kill Indians?"

"No. If they'll let me alone, I'll let them alone; but there must be a
lot of fun out on the prairies."

"Well, Henry, go and write your letter, and we can talk about that
afterward."

The letter was written and mailed, and