“But you must not seek your husband in that dress. The Shawnees are enemies to the people you seek; to go in their costume would be dangerous. Mary, see to this; one of your sister Jane’s dresses will answer. Take the poor stranger into the cabin and prepare her for the journey.”
With gentle hospitality Mary led the young Indian away. Fortunately, the old lady had gone down to the spring to dampen some cloth she was whitening there, and, as we have seen, Jane was rambling upon the opposite shore with her lover.
The missionary was right, Jane’s dresses fitted Tahmeroo very neatly, and fifteen minutes after she entered the little bedroom, arrayed in her own gorgeous raiment, she came forth as pretty a country girl as one would wish to see; carrying her own clothes tied up in a little bundle, for she could not be persuaded to leave them behind.
“But you will come back again,” said Mary, with tears in her eyes, as they once more stood by the missionary under the cedars.
“Or sleep,” said Tahmeroo, pointing to the earth with a significant gesture; “for when the corn shoots green you will call for help, and Tahmeroo will keep her ears open.”
“But the distance is great—you will perish on the way.”
“Farewell! Tahmeroo must follow her heart. She has her rifle, and knows how to shoot. Son of the Great Spirit, lay your hand once more upon her head; it will give me courage.”
She bowed her head before the missionary, and he lifted his eyes to heaven, full of devout pity for that poor creature, who had been so hardly tried.
“Farewell!”
Without a word more, Tahmeroo turned from the spot, sprang into her canoe, and pushed it out of the cove, a few vigorous strokes of her lithe arms sending it far up the river.