“Yes,” replied the old man; and seizing upon the thought, he unlocked the trunk that contained them, and put them on.
“Where’s mother?” suddenly asked the young chief.
“Oh, she’s dead!” said Mary.
“Dead? I know better!” said he, emphatically.
“Indeed she is, brother,” repeated Mary, in tears.
“When did she die?” he continued, in a musing attitude.
“A long time ago—when you were away,” said she.
“I wasn’t gone away long, was I?” he asked, with much simplicity.
“Oh, very long—we thought you were dead.”
“He was a very bad Indian to steal me away without asking mother. But where’s father? Is he dead, too?” he continued, lifting his eyes and beholding Roughgrove attired in a suit of velvet, and wearing broad silver knee buckles. “Father! father!” he cried, eagerly clasping the old man in his arms.