The mutual glance sufficed to renew the confidence our
heroine was very reluctant to relinquish, while it awakened afresh
all of Peter's parental concern in the welfare of the interesting
young woman at his side.
"But this feeling has left you, Peter, and you no longer wish
Bourdon's scalp," said Margery, hastily. "Now he is my husband, he
is your son."
"Dat good, p'raps," answered the Injin, "but dat not a reason,
nudder, Blossom. You right, too. Don't want Bourdon scalp any
longer. Dat true. But don't want ANY scalp, any more. Heart grow
soft--an't hard, now."
"I wish I could let you understand, Peter, how much I rejoice to
hear this! I have never felt afraid of you, on my own account,
though I will own that I have sometimes feared that the dreadful
cruel stories which are told of your enmity to my color are not
altogether without truth. Now, you tell me you are the white man's
friend, and that you no longer wish to injure him. These are blessed
words, Peter; and humbly do I thank God, through his blessed Son,
that I have lived to hear them!"
"Dat Son make me feel so," returned the Indian, earnestly. "Yes,
juss so. My heart was hard, till medicinepriest tell dat tradition
of Son of Great Spirit--how he die for all tribes and nations, and
ask his fader to do good to dem dat take his life--dat won'erful
tradition, Blossom! Sound like song of wren in my ear--sweeter dan
mocking-bird when he do his bess.
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