story that I told you was true."

"What! that an Injun up to Prairie du Chien was condemned to die, and
that he asked to go home and see his family all alone, and promised to
return on his honor?"

"Yes, Thomas Linken."

"And that they let him go home all alone, and that he spent his night
with his family in weepin' and wailin', and returned the next mornin' to
be shot?"

"Yes, Thomas Linken."

"And that they shot him?"

"Yes, Thomas Linken."

"Well, Johnnie, if I could believe that, I could believe anything."

"An Injun has honor as well as a white man, Thomas Linken."

"Who taught it to him?"

"His own heart--_here_. The Great Spirit's voice is in every man's
heart; his will is born in all men; his love and care are over us all.
You may laugh at my poetry, but the Great Spirit will do by Johnnie
Kongapod as he would have Johnnie Kongapod do by him if Johnnie Kongapod
held the heavens. That story was true, and I know it to be true, and the
Great Spirit knows it to be true. Johnnie Kongapod is an honest Injun."

"Then we have two honest folks here," said Aunt Olive. "Three,
mebby--only Tom Linken owes me a dollar and a half. So, Jasper, you see
that you have come to good parts. You'll see some strange things in your
travels, way off to Rock River. Likely you'll see the Pictured Rocks on
the Mississippi--dragons there. Who painted 'em? Or Starved Rock on the
Illinois, where a whole tribe died with the water sparklin' under their
eyes. But if you ever come across any of the family of that Indian that
went home on his honor all alone to see his family, and came back to be
shot or hung, you just let us know. I'd like to adopt one of his boys.
That would be something to begin a Sunday-school with!"

The company burst into another loud laugh.

Johnnie Kongapod raised his long arm and stood silent. Aunt Olive
stepped before him and looked him in the face. The Indian's red face
glowed, and he said vehemently: "Woman, that story is true!"

Sally Lincoln arose and rested her hand on the Indian's shoulder.
"Johnny Kongapod, I can believe you--Abraham can."

There was a deep silence in the cabin, broken only by Aunt Olive, who
arose indignantly and hurried away, and flung back on the mild air the
sharp words "_I_ don't!"

The story of the Indian who held honor to be more than life, as related
by Johnnie Kongapod, had often been told by the Indians at their
camp-fires, and by traveling preachers and missionaries