“No, dear; not here. Not anywhere, I fear, that will ever result in permanent good. At least, the time is not yet ripe for that part of your dreaming to come true.”
“But think of Wahneenah. She is teachable and there is none more noble. Yet she is an Indian.”
“She is one, herself. In all her race I have seen none other like her. There is Black Partridge, too, and Gomo, and old Winnemeg. They are exceptions. But, my love, there are, also, the Black Hawk and the Prophet.”
He did not add his opinion, which agreed with that of the wisest men he knew, that Illinois would know no real prosperity till the savages, which disturbed its peace, were removed from its borders. For she loved them, hoped for them, believed in them; even though her own common sense forced her to agree with him that the time was not ripe then, if it ever would be, for their civilization. So he held his peace and soon they were at home.
“Heigho! There are lights in our cabin. Hear me prophesy: Mother Mercy has come over with a roast for our supper and Mother Wahneenah has quietly set it aside to wait until her own is eaten. Ho there within!” he called merrily. “Who breaches our castle when its lord is absent?”
Mercy promptly appeared in the doorway. She was greatly excited and hastily led them to the rear of the house, pointing with both hands to an animal fastened behind it.
“There’s your fine Indian for you! See that?”
“Indeed I do!” laughed Kitty. “An ox, Jim, isn’t it? with the Doctor’s saddle on his back and his botanizing box, and—What does it mean? I knew he was absent-minded, but not like this.”
“Absent-minded. Absent shucks! That’s Osceolo—that is!” in a tone of fiercest indignation. “He’s such a crooked log he can’t lie still.”