my own writing. See?"

The Shawanoe nodded his head to signify that it was all clear to him.
Linden passed within the cabin, where he hurriedly wrote the few lines
that are already known to the reader, folded the paper, and wrote on the
outside:

"FREDERICK LINDEN,
Grevil."

He then handed it to Deerfoot, saying:

"There is no special hurry, and if you are in the neighborhood of
Greville, and can make it convenient to leave that at my house, it will
be a great kindness to me."

"If the Great Spirit does not will different it shall be in his hands
before the setting of three more suns, but," added Deerfoot, looking at
the superscription on the back of the paper, "has not my brother made a
mistake?"

"What do you mean?"

"When Deerfoot writes the word 'Greville,' he adds two letters more than
does my brother; perhaps, though, Deerfoot is wrong."

No pen can describe the amazement that appeared on the faces of Linden
and Bowlby. Here was a young Indian teaching a white man old enough to
be his father how to spell in the English language! Was the like ever
known?

For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke. They were sitting on the
log, while Deerfoot was standing in front of them. He held his rifle in
his right hand and the folded piece of paper in his left, while he
looked inquiringly down in the faces of the two men, whose mouths and
eyes were open, as though they could not believe the evidence of their
own senses. Finally, with a deep sigh, Linden slowly rose to his feet--

"Well, by gracious! if that don't beat every thing! Do you mean to say
that you can read _writing_? Impossible!"

[Illustration: "For a full minute neither of the hunters spoke."]

Then, as if still in doubt, he reached out and took the paper. Drawing a
stump of a lead pencil from his pocket he completed the word properly,
opened the paper, and handing it back to the Indian, said:

"Let's hear you read _that_."

"My brother writes so that any one can read his words," observed the
young Shawanoe by way of introduction, and then in a low, soft voice he
read the brief note from beginning to end.

Bowlby, who had not yet spoken, seemed unable to express his emotions.
Unable himself to read, the attainment of the Indian was almost past
belief. As the best thing, therefore, that he could do, he solemnly
reached out his hand to Linden and shook it with great earnestnes