“I wonder whether our old friend, Tallahassee, has forgotten us yet.”
“Why, surely he is not living yet!” exclaimed the grand-daughter in an astonished voice.
“Yes, dear, I believe he is; he certainly was alive a year ago, although he is now an old and heartbroken man. The settlement of the State by emigrants has driven him from his old haunts and from every new home as fast as he has made it, and the tribe has dwindled down to a mere handful of followers and himself; the very tender mercies of the pale face are cruel to the red man.”
“But did he own no land?”
“His tribe thought they owned it all, but the white man came and wrested it from them, and although our own Government always promised to give Tallahassee a Reservation of his own, it was never done, and now the old warrior has not even land of his own sufficient to be buried in.”
“What a shame! Is it the fault of the Government?”
“I think it is the fault of the Indian Department. I don’t think the officials had any bad intentions towards Tallahassee and his Seminoles, who have always been entirely friendly to the whites, but there was no one to urge the red man’s claim, and so the thing drifted from session to session while matters grew worse for the Indians every year. Ah! it is very true that ‘evil is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart.’ ”
“I wish George was a Senator; I would get him to press poor dear old Tallahassee’s claim,” murmured the young wife in half soliloquy, for which tender-hearted little speech the old lady kissed her affectionately as they passed indoors together.
CHAPTER III.
NOTWITHSTANDING the day’s outward sense of joyousness and rest, in the brilliant sun, softened breeze, and lovely landscape, there was trouble brewing for the peaceful New England home, and one, at least, of its inmates seemed conscious of the fact.