He nodded as he replied, “Owaissa is like a bird, her eyes are so bright, her laugh is so merry.”
“I try to be,” she went on, “and I am very happy indeed. Every one is so kind to me; but sometimes I can’t help wishing very much that I could see some of my own people. I should like to know if my father is alive, and if he sometimes thinks of me. He went away when I was only ten days old: I know he could not forget his baby.”
They sat silently for a few minutes, then Virginia looked up into Iosco’s face. “You know,” she said softly, “sometimes I feel sure my father will come for me and take me away.”
Had she felt Iosco’s hand, she would have been astonished at its icy coldness, and would have wondered what made him clinch his fingers as if he were in pain. From that day a wild dread of the white man’s return haunted Iosco. An Indian never shows his emotion, so he only said quietly, “Did I ever tell Owaissa the story of Battao? It is a beautiful one from the far north, a captive of my father’s told it to me.”
“No: you never told it to me. I should like to hear it,” Virginia said, with a little sigh.
Iosco would have made an ideal picture as he sat there. His black hair was thrown back from a high forehead, beneath which two dark eyes looked out, which were remarkable for their depth and truth. He had a straight, well-cut nose, and a mouth almost severe, so firm and decided was its expression. When he smiled, one forgot the stern look, for a sweet, gentle expression transformed the face. It was a classical face, and its owner had a deep sense and appreciation of the poetry of life. Certainly they made a study for an artist,—the fair girl with her golden hair, and the graceful figure of the Indian, as he told her the quaint old Indian legend.
“Many, many moons back, in the sunny north, over towards the setting sun, lived a mighty Werowance whom they called Tyee. His lands stretch all along the beautiful sound, where fine wampum is found. This Tyee had a daughter. The name of the beautiful maid was Battao. Every one, even those far away, knew of the rich wampum and the fine furs that would belong to the man who should take Battao for his wife. Her father said she should go to no man whom she did not love, and he kept firmly to this, though chiefs of great tribes came to win her, and many from every part sought her. Battao would look at none of them.
“One day a brave warrior came, tall and handsome. Battao looked at him, trusted his brave eyes, and loved him. As they floated over the smooth waters in Battao’s swift canoe, they came to a beautiful island, where they sat on the shore and talked. And many days when the sun had gone half-way on its journey, and done its day’s baking, so that the air was as that which comes from the fire, Battao and her maidens would cross to the beautiful island, and there her lover would tell them strange stories. As they listened, the maidens sifted the soft sea-sand through their fingers, and as it fell upon the shore it formed the shape of whatever Battao’s lover was saying; there it hardened, and yet may be found, and it brings the favor of all the gods to any one who finds one of the forms and wears it in his wampum belt.”
“Oh, I should like to see some of the shapes, Iosco, wouldn’t you?” asked Virginia.
“Yes,” he said, “I should; and I should like to go to that land, it is so sunny, our captive said.”