sand dollars for my
work another year. I must have a house. I would want you to take charge of
it. _But_--your tongue?"

"O Master Mann, I'll give up my tongue! I'll just work, and be still. If
an Injun will give up his revenge, an' it's his natur', ought not I to
give up my tongue? When I can't help scoldin' I'll just sing hymns."

Mr. Mann gazed into the faces of the Indians. The warm sunlight fell upon
them. There was a long silence, broken only by the scream of the eagles in
the sky and the passing of flocks of wild geese. Then one of the Indians
rose and said:

"Umatilla has gone to his fathers.

"Benjamin has gone to his fathers. We shall never see Young Eagle's plume
again!

"Boston tilicum, be our chief. We have come to school."

Mr. Mann turned to Gretchen. Her young face was lovely that morning with
sympathy. He said in a low voice:

"You see _our_ work in life. Do you understand? Will you accept it?"

She understood his heart.

"I will do whatever you say."

* * * * *

In 1859 a great Indian Reservation was established in what is known in
Oregon as the Inland Empire of the Northwest. It contained about two
hundred and seventy thousand acres, agricultural land and timber-land. The
beautiful Umatilla River flows through it. The agency now is near
Pendleton, Oregon. Thither the Umatillas were removed.

Marlowe Mann went there, and Gretchen as his young wife, and in their home
Mrs. Woods for many years could have been heard singing hymns.

Their home stood for the Indian race, and the schoolmaster and his wife
devoted themselves to the cause of Indian education. Through the silent
influence of Mr. Mann's correspondence with the East, Indian civilization
was promoted, and the way prepared for the peaceful settlement of the
great Northwest.

Gretchen taught the Indians as long as she lived. Often at evening, when
the day's work had been hard, she would take her violin, and a dream of
music would float upon the air. She played but one tune at last as she
grew serenely old. That tune recalled her early German home, the Rhine,
her good father and mother, and the scenes of the great Indian Potlatch on
the Columbia. It was the _Traumerei_.

Her poetic imagination, which had been suppressed by her foster-mother in
her girlhood, came back to her in her new home, and it was her delight to
express in verse the inspirations of her life amid these new scenes, and
to publish th