“Oh!” said Mary, “if he is my poor brother, my heart will burst to see him thus—a wild savage.”
“How old are you, Mary?” asked Glenn.
“Nineteen,” said she.
“Your brother, then, has been lost thirteen years. He may yet be restored to you—re-taught our manners and speech—bless his aged father’s declining years, and merit sister’s affection.”
“Oh! Mr. Glenn! is he then alive? is this he?” cried Mary.
“No, child!” said Roughgrove, “do not think of such a thing, for you will be most bitterly disappointed. Your brother was white—look at this Indian’s dark face!”
Glenn approached the chief, extending his hand in a friendly manner. It was frankly grasped. He then gently drew the furs aside and exposed the young man’s shoulder. It was as white as his own! Roughgrove, Mary, and all, looked on in wonder. The young chief regarded it with singular emotions himself. He seemed to associate it in some manner with the ring he held, for he glanced from one to the other alternately.
“Did Mary wear that ring before the child was lost?” asked Glenn.
“No,” replied Roughgrove, “but her mother did.”
“I believe he is your son!” said Glenn. “Mary,” he continued, “have you any trinkets or toys you used to play with?”