It was on one of these occasions that your father found me and brought me to your house, and you know the rest.
Did the Indians make that black spot on your breast? asked Tom.
I don’t know, replied Drake. It has always been there. The Indians called it big canoe. Look, Tom, and see what it looks like, said Drake, at the same time baring his bosom.
Why Drake, that is an anchor! said Tom; and sure enough, there is a big canoe; yes, and there are letters on it, like the ones in mother’s old bible. There is C. D. on the top, and E. N. on the bottom. That wan’t made by the Indians, Drake, maybe your father put that there. It don’t look like Indian work; they paint themselves, but that rubs off, but this don’t rub off. Water won’t wash it out.
No, replied Drake, the more I wash it, the plainer it gets. It seems to be under the skin.
What did they call you when you were among the Indians? asked Tom.
“Swift Foot,” replied Drake.
And why did father name you Drake, when he brought you to our house?
He said that, or something like that was my name; that it was painted on my breast.