a _dear old one_. We did not understand him then. Big
Otter understands him now. So shall it be in the great hereafter--
things that are dark now shall be light then. But Weeum could not leave
his wife and child, and we would not let him take them away. Sometimes
Weeum spoke mysteries. One day he said to me, `Brother, I _must_ go to
the far south to see the dear old one. I will take my wife and child,
and will return to you again--if the great Master of Life allows. If,
however, I die or am killed, Waboose will reveal all that is in Weeum's
heart. She cannot reveal it now. She will not even understand until a
_good_ pale-face visits your tribe.' Weeum said no more. He left the
mind of Big Otter dark. It is no longer dark. It is now clear as the
sun at noon. The `good pale-face' is here (pointing to me as he spoke),
and the `dear old one' is before me."

He paused a moment at this point, and then, with an evident effort to
suppress emotion, added,--"Weeum was drowned, soon after the day he
spoke to me, while trying to save life. Since then there has been no
sun in the sky for Big Otter."

The poor old mother listened to this speech with intense interest and
deepening emotion, but I could see that the tears which flowed over the
wrinkled cheeks were tears of gladness rather than of sorrow. It could
scarcely at that time come as news to her that her son was dead, but it
did come as a gladsome surprise that her wilful Willie had not only
found the Saviour himself--or, rather, been found of Him--but that he
had spent his latter days in striving to bring others to that great
Source of blessedness.

Being too much overcome to speak, she submitted to be led away into the
cottage by the comely matron, who had been a keen and sympathetic
observer of all that passed. Of course Eve accompanied them, for
Weeum's mother refused to let go her hand, even for a moment, and Big
Otter and I were left outside alone.

"Come," said I, vaulting into my saddle, "you and I will go and have a
gallop, my friend, and see the land, for I mean to dwell here and would
strongly advise you to do the same."

"Waugh!" exclaimed the Indian, as he leaped on the back of his steed,
and followed me.

"You see," said I, as we rode along, followed by the admiring gaze of
the village children--for, accustomed though they were to savages, they
had never seen so grand an Indian as Big Otter on so magnificent a
horse--"you see, they will re