* "I have finished."
"But, Tawannears," I cried, as he dropped gracefully to the floor, "you forget that I am a Christian! My religion tells me nothing of a land whence the dead may be recovered. Think, brother, you were schooled in the natural sciences by the missionaries. How can you credit this—this myth. 'Tis true I have heard you tell it before, and I forebore to question because I would not add to your sorrow. But now I may not pass it by in silence. Forgive me, brother, if my words hurt you. I strive to speak with a straight tongue, as brothers should."
He lifted tranquil eyes to mine from his seat on the bearskin.
"My brother does not hurt Tawannears," he said. "A straight tongue cannot hurt. Brothers often disagree. It is true that the missionaries taught me as you say. It is true that I have read the Bible. The missionaries are good men. The Bible is a good Book. There is wisdom in it. But the men who wrote it did not even know that the Indians existed. They had never heard of this country. How, then, brother, could they know what the Great Spirit devised for the Indian? No, Ormerod, I think that the Great Spirit who made the world, who put the salt water in the ocean, which men use only for travel, and fresh water in the rivers, where men go to drink, may well have created a different after-world for the Indian than for the white man."
"Nay," I insisted, overwrought by this mingling of superstition and rare friendship coming on the heels of my mental anguish. "The soul that leaves the body is bodiless. It cannot be touched or seen. Remember, Tawannears, the Great Spirit sent His Son to dwell awhile with the white men, to give His life for the saving of mankind. Yet He said naught of this belief of yours."
Tawannears smiled scornfully.
"That is why I reject your religion, brother. It cannot be complete if it does not include the Indian, for the Indian has a soul as has the white man. But I say again: I promise nothing. I shall seek. Hawenneyu, and Tharon the Sky-holder, will decide if it is best for me to find—as for you, also. Life, brother, is a search. Religion is a struggle. I seek for what I love. I struggle for truth and justice. And I believe that the Great Spirit thinks of the Indian as often as he does of the white man."
Master Burnet tapped his cane on the floor.
"You waste time, Ormerod," he said testily. "My father was a bishop, and I have had enough of religion in my life to know that Godly debates are endless. Let be, prithee! For myself, I care not whether Tawannears be right or wrong. Yet the longer I live, the less sure I am of what is and is not. This continent is so incredibly gigantic that it may contain wonders our work-a-day minds have never dreamed on. A Land of Lost Souls! Well, why not? There were miracles in Judea. Why not in this wonderland? But hist! Bishop Gilbert, my father, hath just turned in his grave. I will ha' done. I am no casuist or Scots catechist, forever probing the chances of salvation. Nay, nay! I have heard many creeds in my time, but I have yet to hear one that surpasses Tawannears'."
I chuckled, despite myself.