r bereavements, and,
charging her to cling to the consolation of the gospel, he and Tom
took their departure, the latter tenderly kissing his mother and
Robert as he bade them good by.

"You must come often and see your mother," said Mrs. McElroy,
cordially; "you know we shall be like one family hereafter; and not
only Robert and your mother will be lonesome without you, but the rest
of the children will be glad to have you join them in their
amusements and studies," to which assurance Alice and Willie looked
their approval. As the wheels of the missionary's buggy rumbled out of
the square, Mrs. Jones said with a sigh,--

"What a change has come over my flock within a few days! my husband,
and Sarah, and dear little Bub murdered by the Indians, and Charlie,
also, I suppose I must say, although there is something peculiarly
trying in the mystery that hangs over his fate."

"You do not really know, then, what became of him," observed Mrs.
McElroy.

"No; and this uncertainty is agonizing. Perhaps he was captured by the
Indians, and may be at this very moment suffering the most barbarous
treatment from them; or the dear boy may have been devoured by a wild
beast, or he may be starving in the wilderness. This suspense
concerning him is too much to bear;" and she looked anxiously out of
the window.

But the hour for dinner had arrived, and Mrs. Jones and Robert went
down with the others to dine. As they entered the dining-room, the
general directed their attention to the corner of the room; and there,
wrapped in his blanket, sat an Indian, whom Mrs. Jones, after the
first start of surprise, recognized as Long Hair.

"Mrs. Jones," said the general, "perhaps you can find out what the
red-skin wants. He isn't very communicative with me, but seems anxious
to see your Tom."

"I am glad to meet you," said Mrs. Jones, kindly, to the savage. "Have
you anything of importance to communicate?"

But Long Hair appeared as if something had gone wrong with him, and
sat in moody silence.

"Will you not speak to me, Long Hair?" asked Mrs. Jones. "You know
I've always treated you well--have I not?"

"White squaw good to Injin. Sojer say Injin lie; sojer call Long Hair
dog; tell him go way."

"Some of your men have ill-treated Long Hair, I'm afraid," said Mrs.
Jones to the general.

"Well," said the general, "I'll see that they don't do it any more;"
and, wishing to propitiate the tawny brave, he added, "perhaps Long
Hair woul