hour. The children arose, refreshed by their slumber, and as they
looked out upon the dusky sons of the forest, their hearts quaked
within them, and stealing silently into a corner, they awaited their
fate with pale faces.

Dove Eye stole quietly from the rock, and kindling the almost
extinguished fire, hastily prepared their simple morning meal. She
took from a deer skin knapsack, which she carried upon her back, a
neat white cloth, and repaired to the house of Mrs. Fuller, wishing
to exchange some nice dried moose meat for some new milk. Mrs. Fuller
hastily milked, and filling a large pail, Dove Eye bore it to their
place of rendezvous, and the cows went forth to crop the dewy grass.

She then awoke her husband, and soon the dusky group were partaking of
their morning repast, with evident satisfaction, after which they made
preparations to depart. They came, one after another, to get their
hunting utensils and their implements of war, from Mrs. Fuller,
telling her,

"Me no forget white squaw--me bring moose meat for white squaw."

Soon they marched away, in Indian file, and as their dusky forms
disappeared, one after another, behind the forest trees, her heart
rose in thanksgiving to God, for her preservation. Dove Eye lingered
till the rest of her tribe vanished from sight; there was sadness in
her countenance, and sadness in her voice, as she said,

"Dove Eye see white squaw no more. Dove Eye go toward the rising sun,
but Dove Eye come no more."

Mrs. Fuller pressed her hand affectionately, and commending her to the
Great Spirit, she departed to overtake her companions. The children
emerged from their hiding places, a cheerful fire burned upon the
hearth, and the weary mother prepared the morning meal for herself and
her children, with a grateful heart.

When the wandering tribe returned again towards the setting sun, Dove
Eye was not with them--she had "gone to the land where her fathers had
gone."

Years passed on--years of trial, of anxiety, and of change. The tall
forest trees gave place to cultivated fields and blooming orchards.

Roads traversed the vast country in every direction. Numerous villages
rose up, on the flourishing banks of the winding Kennebec, and its
proud waters bore many a whitened sail upon its surface.

The red men of the forest have passed away, like the withered leaves
before the autumnal gale, and the wild bear and deer are now strangers
in their secluded haunts.

The young