much alone. An Indian would have told me that it was the _Un a games-
suk_--the spirit-fairies of the rock and stream. These beings enter far
more largely, deeply, and socially into their life or faith than elves or
fairies ever did into those of the Aryan races, and I might well have
been their _protege_, for there could have been few little boys living,
so fond as I was of sitting all alone by rock and river, hill and
greenwood tree. There are yet in existence on some of this land which
was once ours certain mysterious walls or relics of heavy stone-work,
which my friend Eben C. Horsford thinks were made by the Norsemen. I
hope that they were, for I have read many a saga in Icelandic, old
Swedish, and Latin, and the romance thereof is deep in my soul; and as my
own name is Godfrey, it is no wonder that the god Frey and his Freya are
dear to me. In my boyhood--and it may be still the case--the "Injuns"
got the credit of having built these mysterious works.

Not far from Holliston is Mendon, where I had an uncle, Seth Davenport,
who had a large, pleasant, old-fashioned New England farm, which was more
productive than my grandfather's, since there were employed on it sixteen
men, three of whom were Natick Indians of the old local stock. There
were many of them when my mother was young, but I suppose that the last
of the tribe has long since died. One of these Indians, Rufus Pease, I
can recall as looking like a dark-ruddy gypsy, with a pleasant smile. He
very was fond of me. He belonged to a well-known family, and had a
brother--and thereby hangs a tale, or, in this case, a scalp-lock.

"Marm" Pease, the mother of Rufus, had on one occasion been confined, and
old Doctor--I forget his name--who officiated at the birth, had been
asked to give the infant a name. Now he was a dry wag, of the kind so
dear to Dr. Holmes, and expressed much gratification and gratitude at
such a compliment being paid to him. "He had long been desirous," he
said, "of naming a child after his dear old friend, Dr. Green." So the
name was bestowed, the simple Indians not realising for some time after
the christening that their youngest bore the name of Green Pease. Whether
he was ever called a duck, I know not.

Everything about Uncle Seth and Aunt Betsy was, as I remember,
delightfully comfortable, old-fashioned, and in a way beautiful. There
was their daughter Rebecca, who was pretty and gentle, so that several
wild birds came every