of
having them on theirs.

Winged Arrow made up his mind to take the children to Charleston, where
the American army was; so, they traveled cautiously on, not meeting any
more Indians, till they reached the American camp in safety.

Robert and Nina were so glad to get among white people again, even
though they were strangers. The General was very kind, and promised to
protect them.

It was not long before Bald Eagle found them out. He really loved
Robert, and was quite determined to have him back. When he saw him
again, although he was an Indian, he almost cried for joy.

The General asked Robert if he wished to go back with Bald Eagle.
Robert put his arms around Nina and said, "No!" Bald Eagle looked very
sorrowful, but the General wouldn't let him have the children; so he
had to go away home, to his old squaw, without 'em.

Winged Arrow found kind friends who gave him some work to do, and he
and Robert and Nina lived together very happily. You never would have
guessed, had you seen Nina in her little calico dress and white apron,
with her curls hanging about her face, that she had ever made
moccasins, or worn a blanket in an Indian wigwam.

As to Robert, if your father could have heard his speeches, he wouldn't
have been sorry that "a chief" was spoiled, to make a lawyer.

A STREET SCENE.

I was taking a walk, some mouths since, when I saw a carriage driving
at a furious rate over the pavements. Inside was a woman, with a
handkerchief bound under her chin, spotted with blood, and in her lap a
little girl with her arm in a sling, and drops of blood upon her collar
and face.

The woman was pretty, spite of the blood-stained handkerchief about her
face, and was caressing the frightened girl upon her lap in such a
gentle, womanly way, that I concluded she must be her mother. On the
box, with the coachman, was a police officer. What could it all mean?

I will tell you.

Some years ago, in one of the handsomest houses in New-York, lived a
lady and her husband, and a little girl named Rosa. They had plenty of
money, plenty of servants, and, of course, plenty of friends. They had
a fine carriage and horses, and every day you might have seen Mrs.
Simon, dressed like a queen, seated upon the velvet cushions, with
black John, the coachman, upon the box, and black Peter, the footman,
standing behind, while little Rosa, as gay as a little paroquet, peered
out from her little plumed hat, laughing merrily at a