This event troubled Malaeska, and gathering up her little property, she unmoored the boat, and made progress up the river. The child was delighted with the change, and soon lost all unpleasant remembrance of the rattlesnake. But Malaeska was very careful in the selection of her encampment that afternoon, and kindled a bright fire before she spread the tiger-skin for William's bed, which she trusted would keep all venomous things away. They ate their supper under a huge white pine, that absorbed the firelight in its dusky branches, and made every thing gloomy around. As the darkness closed over them William grew silent, and by the heaviness of his features Malaeska saw that he was oppressed by thoughts of home. She had resolved not to tell him of the relationship which was constantly in her thoughts, till they should stand at the council-fires of the tribe, when the Indians should know him as their chief, and he recognize a mother in poor Malaeska.
Troubled by his sad look, the Indian woman sought for something in her stores that should cheer him. She found some seed-cakes, golden and sweet, which only brought tears into the child's eyes, for they reminded him of home and all its comforts.
"Malaeska," he said, "when shall we go back to grandfather and grandmother? I know they want to see us."
"No, no; we must not think about that," said Malaeska anxiously.
"But I can't help it—how can I?" persisted the boy, mournfully.
"Don't—don't say you love them—I mean your grandfather—more than you love Malaeska. She would die for you."
"Yes; but I don't want you to die, only to go back home," he pleaded.
"We are going home—to our beautiful home in the woods, which I told you of.
"Dear me, I'm tired of the woods."
"Tired of the woods?"