of the dignity of his office, he commenced his brief tale, with a
solemnity that served to heighten its appearance of truth.

"Listen, Hawkeye, and your ear shall drink no lie. 'Tis what my fathers
have said, and what the Mohicans have done." He hesitated a single
instant, and bending a cautious glance toward his companion, he
continued, in a manner that was divided between interrogation and
assertion, "Does not this stream at our feet run towards the summer,
until its waters grow salt, and the current flows upward?"

"It can't be denied that your traditions tell you true in both these
matters," said the white man; "for I have been there, and have seen
them; though, why water, which is so sweet in the shade, should become
bitter in the sun, is an alteration for which I have never been able to
account."

"And the current!" demanded the Indian, who expected his reply with that
sort of interest that a man feels in the confirmation of testimony, at
which he marvels even while he respects it; "the fathers of Chingachgook
have not lied!"

"The Holy Bible is not more true, and that is the truest thing in
nature. They call this up-stream current the tide, which is a thing soon
explained, and clear enough. Six hours the waters run in, and six hours
they run out, and the reason is this: when there is higher water in the
sea than in the river, they run in, until the river gets to be highest,
and then it runs out again."

"The waters in the woods, and on the great lakes, run downward until
they lie like my hand," said the Indian, stretching the limb
horizontally before him, "and then they run no more."

"No honest man will deny it," said the scout, a little nettled at the
implied distrust of his explanation of the mystery of the tides; "and I
grant that it is true on the small scale, and where the land is level.
But everything depends on what scale you look at things. Now, on the
small scale, the 'arth is level; but on the large scale it is round. In
this manner, pools and ponds, and even the great fresh-water lake, may
be stagnant, as you and I both know they are, having seen them; but when
you come to spread water over a great tract, like the sea, where the
earth is round, how in reason can the water be quiet? You might as well
expect the river to lie still on the brink of those black rocks a mile
above us, though your own ears tell you that it is tumbling over them at
this very moment!"

If unsatisfied by the philosophy