“You are sad to-night, child,” said the father, whose manner and language usually assumed some of the gentleness and elevation of the civilized life he had led in youth, when he thus communed with this particular child; “we have just escaped from enemies, and ought rather to rejoice.”
“You can never do it, father!” said Hetty, in a low, remonstrating manner, taking his hard, knotty hand into both her own; “you have talked long with Harry March; but neither of you have the heart to do it!”
“This is going beyond your means, foolish child; you must have been naughty enough to have listened, or you could know nothing of our talk.”
“Why should you and Hurry kill people—especially women and children?”
“Peace, girl, peace; we are at war, and must do to our enemies as our enemies would do to us.”
“That's not it, father! I heard Deerslayer say how it was. You must do to your enemies as you wish your enemies would do to you. No man wishes his enemies to kill him.”
“We kill our enemies in war, girl, lest they should kill us. One side or the other must begin; and them that begin first, are most apt to get the victory. You know nothing about these things, poor Hetty, and had best say nothing.”
“Judith says it is wrong, father; and Judith has sense though I have none.”
“Jude understands better than to talk to me of these matters; for she has sense, as you say, and knows I'll not bear it. Which would you prefer, Hetty; to have your own scalp taken, and sold to the French, or that we should kill our enemies, and keep them from harming us?”
“That's not it, father! Don't kill them, nor let them kill us. Sell your skins, and get more, if you can; but don't sell human blood.”