f her friends. But when the chief seated himself in her
vicinity, and fell into one of his fits of abstraction, and the whole
party became comparatively still and hushed, the poor girl's suspense
was almost insufferable. She knew that human beings were all around
her, and yet her situation was truly pitiable and lonely. She felt
assured that if the war-party had returned in pursuit of her, the same
means which enabled them to trace their victim to the fallen trunk
would likewise have sufficed to indicate her hiding-place. Then why
should she hesitate? The yells that awakened her had not been heard
distinctly, and under the circumstances she could not believe that she
was surrounded by savages. On the other hand, if they were her
friends, why did they not relieve her? Now a sudden, but, alas!
erroneous thought occurred to her. She was persuaded that they were
her friends, but that the friendly Indian was not with them--he had
perhaps directed them where she could be found, and then returned to
his home. Might not her friends, at that moment, be anxiously
searching for her? Would not one word suffice to dispel their
solicitude, and restore the lost one to their arms? She resolved to
speak. Bowing down her head slightly, so that her precise location
might not instantly be ascertained, she uttered in a soft voice the
word "FATHER!" The chief sprang from his seat, and the party was
instantly in commotion. Some of the savages looked above, among the
twining branches, and some shot their arrows in the snow, but
fortunately not in the direction of Mary, while others ran about in
every direction, examining all the large trees in the vicinity. The
chief was amazed and utterly confounded. He drew not forth an arrow,
nor brandished a tomahawk. While he thus stood, and the rest of the
party were moving hurriedly about a few paces distant, Mary again
repeated the word "FATHER!" As suddenly as if by enchantment every
savage was paralyzed. Each stood as devoid of animation as a statue.
For many moments an intense silence reigned, as if naught existed
there but the cheerless forest trees. Slowly, at length, the tomahawk
was returned to the belt, and the arrow to the quiver. No longer was a
desire to spill blood manifested. The dusky children of the forest
attributed to the mysterious sound a supernatural agency. They
believed it was a voice from the perennial hunting-grounds. Humbly
they bowed their heads, and whispered devotions to the