all respects as their son, and taking off
from them the burdens of life: and their latter years were made happy by
religion and filial piety. After their death, the Buckinghams removed
once more to their farm upon the Susquehanna, and rebuilt their cottage,
in all respects as it was before its destruction. Soon again did the
vines clamber up the pillars, and hang in beautiful festoons from the
roof; but where was she, the beloved one, who had so wound herself round
their feelings, that death itself could not unclasp the tendrils? Joy
had vanished with her, and no portion remained for them in this life but
peace, which will ever follow the diligent discharge of duty: the hope
of happiness they transferred to that better world, where little Emily
awaited to welcome them.

What, meantime, had been her fate? On that eventful evening she lay upon
her little crib, in a darkened corner of the room, buried in the sweet
slumber of childhood and innocence. The savage yells did not disturb
her, she peacefully slept on; angels must have guarded her bed when a
fierce Indian, with bloody tomahawk in hand, rushed into the room, but
saw her not in her little nest, and returned to his comrades, reporting
that all the rest of the inhabitants had fled. Determined to do all the
mischief in their power, they set fire to the house and barns, and then
pushed off into the woods, to seek new victims in the unoffending
Moravian settlement of Guadenhutten. Little Emily was first awakened by
a suffocating heat and smoke, and by the crackling of the flames: she
screamed aloud to her father for help, and tried to approach the stairs,
but the blinding smoke and the quickly spreading fire drove her back.
Just then, a tall and noble form, arrayed in Indian garb, forced a
passage through the raging flames and among the falling rafters, and
guided by her cries, sought her chamber, caught her in his arms, and
rushed down to the outer air. Not without peril to both: the arm which
encircled her was burnt so as to bear the scar ever after, but still it
sustained its precious burden, and the little girl was unharmed, save
that some of her long golden tresses, hanging loosely behind her, were
severed from her head by the fire: hence the lock of hair that remained
unconsumed, convincing her friends of her death.

And who was her brave preserver? Towandahoc, Great Black Eagle, the
friend of the pale faces! The secret plans of his tribe had been kept
from his ea