ept to
the idol because his people did--that he dared not cross them, but that
after these ten years of your talking with him, he himself believed in
the white man's Christ."

"Oh, Wampum, if I could only believe that! If I could, I would die
happy. Who told you this glorious thing?" cried the encouraged
missionary.

"A Delaware boy," replied Wampum, "but when he told me he spat, like a
snake does venom. He said he and all the tribe hated Single-Pine, for
listening to you."

For a moment the missionary was silent, then he arose, the dawn of a
majestic hope in his face. "They may hate him," he said, "but they will
follow him. He is most powerful. They dare not rebel where he leads. If
we have won Single-Pine to Christianity, we have won the whole tribe,
Wampum. You have never failed me yet; will you stand by me now? Will you
help me in this great work?"

"I will help you, sir," replied the boy, his young face glowing with
zeal.

"But," hesitated the missionary, "remember, it is dangerous. They are a
fierce, savage tribe, these Delawares. Suppose--" and the good man's
voice ceased. He thought of his wife and his two baby girls. Then he
shuddered.

Wampum seemed to catch that thought, and instantly a strange inspiration
lighted up his wonderful dark face. He set his strong white teeth
together, but kept his determination to himself.

As they prepared to leave the Mission house, Wampum hung back a little,
and when Mr. Nelson was not looking, he slipped into the woodshed, got
the axe, and adroitly hid it under the wagon-seat. He told himself that
in case of trouble he would at least have some weapon with which to
defend the missionary's life, and fight for his own. Had the man of
peace known this, he would have remonstrated, but Wampum, although a
Christian, had good fighting Indian blood in his veins, and had no such
horror of battle. He was like one of the old Crusaders, ready to fight
for his faith, even if the fighting had to be done with an axe.

Long before they reached the Delaware Line, they could hear the sounds
of feasting and dancing. It was growing dark, and the great heathen
ceremonies were at their height. Many a time had the good old missionary
attended these dances, always putting in a word for Christianity
whenever he saw a fitting opening, always hoping that the day would
come when the hideous idol would be laid low, and these darkened souls
brought to the Light of the World. But to-night he felt