“The sun gilds the morning, and we are here,” said the mother, “evening comes, and we are gone.”
Earth, turning to Rolfe, quickly communicated the information obtained, and a vague impression was made on the minds of both that the maiden alluded to was she whom they sought. Rolfe was all anxiety, and repeated question after question in rapid succession for Earth to ask the mother, but he himself was now deeply interested, and addressing himself to her, continued; “Mother, if thou knowest any thing of the maiden, tell us, and make our hearts glad. She is dear to us; we seek to protect her. She had friends, they were many, they were happy, but the red men came among them, and she alone is left. Make glad our aching hearts, and accept our blessings.”
“And what shall I tell thee?” said the mother. Then forgetting the hunters, again she cried, “Oloompa! Oloompa! Oh! answer thy mother,” and she continued searching the forest.
Rolfe was now excited to the highest degree, and continued begging Earth to elicit quickly some particulars which would either dispel or confirm their suspicions.
“Let me alone, Rolfe,” said Earth, “I'm doing all I can; don't be in sich a swivet; if the gal is there, we'll git her;” then turning to the mother, he said, “Remains the maiden thou didst mention in thy wigwam still? If she does, mother! wilt thou tell us her condition?”
“Hast thou seen a deer,” said the mother, “when after a long chase it escapes the dogs? It is fatigued,—it pants,—it lies down and sleeps,—so does the maiden.”
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “the old woman says the gal is there, and that she is tired and asleep.”
“Then, oh! Earth, ask her if she is very beautiful, if her hair is light, and if she is very timid,—come, quick!”
Earth put the questions desired, and the mother replied: “Hast thou gathered the loveliest flower which blossoms on the prairies,—cast it away, and a short time after seen it again? It is still beautiful, but withered,—the maiden reminds me of that. Knowest thou the golden colour of the sands on the Wabash? The same is the colour of the hair of the pale face. Hast thou caught a bird, and felt it tremble, and its little heart beat, when thy fingers pressed it? It is timid,—even so is the maiden.”
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “I have asked the old woman.”