“You are eighteen years old?”
“As nearly as I know.”
“And you know nothing of your people?”
“You are among them.”
“You mean these dirty, idle savages?”
“Yes. They are all the friends I have ever known, except Bradford, the teachers and pupils at the mission school—and yourself.”
“You haven’t the faintest recollection of your parents—your childhood home?” he persisted.
“Sometimes,” she answered chokingly, “I dream of lying as a babe in the arms of a fair-haired, blue-eyed woman, and seeing her smile down at me. But that is all—it is but a dream.”
“Has Tenskwatawa always been kind to you?”
“Kind and deferential.”