him in his
search from one as curious as himself, Fuller turned aside, and,
instead of descending to the spot where Peter had the boat ready for
his reception, he crossed a pleasant meadow, in the direction of the
tree.

Several times did our traveler stop to gaze on that immovable form. A
feeling of superstition came over him when he saw that not the smallest
motion, nor relief of limb or attitude, was made for the ten minutes
that his eye had rested on the singular and strange object. At he drew
nearer, however, the outlines became more and more distinct, and he
fancied that the form was actually naked. Then the truth became
apparent: it was a native of the forest, in his summer garb, who had
thrown aside his blanket, and stood in his leggings, naked. Phidias
could not have cut in stone a more faultless form; for active,
healthful youth had given to it the free and noble air of manly but
modest independence.

{Phidias = a very famous Greek sculptor of the 5th century B.C.}

"Sago," said Fuller, drawing near to the young Indian, who did not
betray surprise or emotion of any sort, as the stranger's foot-fall
came unexpectedly on his ear, using the salutation of convention, as it
is so generally practiced between the two races. The Indian threw
forward an arm with dignity, but maintained his erect and otherwise
immovable attitude.

{Sago = a term of greeting, as Cooper believed, among American Indians}

"Oneida?" demanded Fuller, while he doubted if any young warrior of
that half-subdued tribe could retain so completely the air and mien of
the great forests and distant prairies.

"Seneca," was the simple answer. The word was uttered in a tone so low
and melancholy that it sounded like saddened music. Nothing that Fuller
had ever before heard conveyed so much meaning so simply, and in so few
syllables. It illuminated the long vista of the past, and cast a gloomy
shadow into that of the future, alluding to a people driven from their
haunts, never to find another resting-place on earth. That this young
warrior so meant to express himself--not in an abject attempt to extort
sympathy, but in the noble simplicity of a heart depressed by the fall
of his race--Fuller could not doubt; and every generous feeling of his
soul was enlisted in behalf of this young Indian.

"Seneca," he repeated slowly, dropping his voice to something like the
soft, deep tones of the other; "then you are in your own country, here?"

"My count