“Yes. Oh, let me get them!” she replied, and running to a corner of the room where her father’s chests and trunks had been placed, she produced a small drum and a brass toy cannon. “He used to play with these from morning till night,” she continued, placing them on the floor. She had not taken her hand away from them, before the young chief sprang to her side and cried out—
“They’re mine! they’re mine! they’re William’s!”
“What was the child’s name?” asked Glenn, quickly.
“William! William!” cried Mary. “It is my brother! it is my poor brother William!” and without a moment’s hesitation she threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed upon his breast!
“The poor, poor child!” said Roughgrove, in tremulous tones, embracing them both, his eyes filled with tears.
“Sister! sister!” said the youth, gazing in partial bewilderment at Mary.
“Brother, brother! I am your sister!” said Mary, in tones of thrilling tenderness.
“But mother! where’s mother?” asked the youth. The father and sister bowed their heads in silence. The youth, after clinging fondly to Mary a few minutes, started up abruptly and looked amazed, as if waking from a sweet dream to the reality of his recent dreadful condition.
“Brother, why do you look so coldly at us? Why don’t you press us to your heart?” said Mary, still clinging to him. The youth’s features gradually assumed a grave and haughty cast, and, turning away, he walked to the stool he had occupied, and sat down in silence.
“I will win him from the Indians,” said Mary, running after him, and sitting down at his side.