perhaps, `sweet home,'" said Harry, with a sigh. "Do you
think much of home, Charley, now that you have left it?"

Charley did not reply for a few seconds; he seemed to muse over the
question.

At last he said slowly--

"Think of home? I think of little else when I am not talking with you,
Harry. My dear mother is always in my thoughts, and my poor old father.
Home? ay; and darling Kate, too, is at my elbow night and day, with the
tears streaming from her eyes, and her ringlets scattered over my
shoulder, as I saw her the day we parted, beckoning me back again, or
reproaching me for having gone away--God bless her! Yes, I often, very
often, think of home, Harry."

Harry made no reply. His friend's words had directed his thoughts to a
very different and far-distant scene--to another Kate, and another
father and mother, who lived in a glen far away over the waters of the
broad Atlantic. He thought of them as they used to be when he was one
of the number, a unit in the beloved circle, whose absence would have
caused a blank there. He thought of the kind voice that used to read
the Word of God, and the tender kiss of his mother as they parted for
the night. He thought of the dreary day when he left them all behind,
and sailed away, in the midst of strangers, across the wide ocean to a
strange land. He thought of them now--_without_ him--accustomed to his
absence, and forgetful, perhaps, at times that he had once been there.
As he thought of all this a tear rolled down his cheek, and when Charley
looked up in his face, that tear-drop told plainly that he too thought
sometimes of home.

"Let us ask Redfeather to tell us something about the Indians," he said
at length, rousing himself. "I have no doubt he has had many adventures
in his life. Shall we, Charley?"

"By all means.--Ho, Redfeather! are you trying to stop the wind by
looking it out of countenance?"

The Indian rose, and walked towards the spot where the boys lay.

"What was Redfeather thinking about?" said Charley, adopting the
somewhat pompous style of speech occasionally used by Indians. "Was he
thinking of the white swan and his little ones in the prairie; or did he
dream of giving his enemies a good licking the next time he meets them?"

"Redfeather has no enemies," replied the Indian. "He was thinking of
the great Manito, [God] who made the wild winds, and the great lakes,
and the forest."

"And pray, good Redfeather, what did your tho