Chapter 30 - Page 2

loss, and the view of her desolation produced
a healthful influence on his own feelings; his reason telling him
how much deeper lay the sources of grief in a young wife, who was
suddenly and violently deprived of her husband, than in himself.

"Dew-of-June," he said solemnly, but with an earnestness which
denoted the strength of his sympathy, "you are not alone in your
sorrow. Turn, and let your eyes look upon a friend."

"June has no longer any friend!" the woman answered. "Arrowhead
has gone to the happy hunting-grounds, and there is no one left to
care for June. The Tuscaroras would chase her from their wigwams;
the Iroquois are hateful in her eyes, and she could not look at
them. No! Leave June to starve over the grave of her husband."

"This will never do -- this will never do. 'Tis ag'in reason and
right. You believe in the Manitou, June?"

"He has hid his face from June because he is angry. He has left
her alone to die."

"Listen to one who has had a long acquaintance with red natur',
though he has a white birth and white gifts. When the Manitou of
a pale-face wishes to produce good in a pale-face heart He strikes
it with grief; for it is in our sorrows, June, that we look with
the truest eyes into ourselves, and with the farthest-sighted eyes
too, as respects right. The Great Spirit wishes you well, and
He has taken away the chief, lest you should be led astray by his
wily tongue, and get to be a Mingo in your disposition, as you were
already in your company."

"Arrowhead was a great chief," returned the woman proudly.

"He had his merits, he had; and he had his demerits, too. But June
you are not desarted, nor will you be soon. Let your grief out --
let it out, according to natur', and when the proper time comes I
shall have more to say to you."

Pathfinder now went to his own canoe, and he left the island. In
the course of the day June heard the crack of his rifle once
or twice; and as the sun was setting he reappeared, bringing her
birds ready cooked, and of a delicacy and flavor that might have
tempted the appetite of an epicure. This species of intercourse
lasted a month, June obstinately refusing to abandon the grave of
her husband all that time, though she still accepted the friendly
offerings of her protector. Occasionally they met and conversed,
Pathfinder sounding the state of the woman's feelings; but the
interviews were short, and far from frequent. June slept in one
of the huts, and she laid down her head in security, for she was
conscious of the protection of a friend, though Pathfinder invariably
retired at night to an adjacent island, where he had built