ardly more than a baby, and he could
not speak English. He stood about as much chance of starving to death
here as he had in the Indian camp.

When the boat landed at Winona, the soldiers gave some money to one of
the hotel porters, and told him to give the child something to eat, and
send him out into the country where there were Norwegian people. But as
soon as Peter had eaten the dinner they gave him at the hotel, he
slipped away, and went back to the river. He expected to find his
friends, the soldiers, waiting for him; but the boat had gone. Peter
was now in a strange city, without friends. Not without friends,
either, for his sisters were in this same city. But he did not think
any more of getting to his mother or his sisters. He was only thinking
of the soldiers who had been so kind to him.

When the next boat came down the river, Peter Petersen, in his little
blue uniform, marched aboard. He thought he might overtake the
soldiers, but the boatmen put him ashore again. He stood gazing after
the boat, not knowing what to do or where to go.

There stood on the bank that day a Norwegian. He was a guest at the
Norwegian hotel in the town. He heard Peter say something in his own
language, and he thought the boy must be a son of the man who kept the
hotel. So he said to him in Norwegian, "Let's go home."

It had been a long time since Peter had heard his own language spoken.
Nobody had said anything to him about home since he was taken away from
his father's cabin by the Indians. The words sounded sweet to him. He
followed the strange man. He did not know where he was going, except
that it was to some place called home. When he got to the hotel, he
went in and sat down. He did not know what else to do.

Presently the landlady came in. Seeing a strange little boy in army
blue, she said, "Whose child are you?"

Peter did not know whose child he was. Since the soldiers left him, he
didn't seem to be anybody's child. As he did not answer, the landlady
spoke to him rather sharply.

"What do you want here, little boy?" she said.

"A drink of water," said Peter.

A little boy nearly always wants a drink of water.

"Go through into the kitchen there, and get a drink," said the
landlady.

Peter opened the door into the kitchen, and went through. In a moment
two arms were about him. Peter knew what home meant then. His sister,
Matilda, had recognized her lost brother Peter in the little soldier
boy. The next day he