Peéna, the partridge, or Esther, as she was more commonly called by the whites, heard, with an exquisite delight, that the little boy; whom she had left on the steps of the house, in New York, and now discovered to be Pownal, was the son of Holden. Nothing could have happened more calculated to deepen the reverence she had long felt for the Solitary, and to convince her—though no such argument was necessary—that he was a "great medicine," or one peculiarly the favorite, and under the guardianship, of Superior Powers. She herself seemed controlled by the Manito that watched over Holden, and compelled, even unknown to herself, to guard his interests. For was it not she who had preserved the child? Was it not she who had placed him in a situation to become a great and rich man?—for such, to her simplicity, Pownal seemed to be—was it not she who had brought father and son together, and revealed each to the other? As these reflections and the like passed through her mind, a shudder of superstition thrilled her frame, and she turned her attention to the consideration of how she might best fulfill the designs of the Manito. For it will be remembered, that, although nominally a Christian, she had not wholly cast off the wild notions of her tribe, if it be, indeed, possible for an adult Indian to do so. The maxim of Horace:
"Quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem
Testa diu,"
is of universal application, nor has it ever greater force than when reference is had to ideas, connected with the terrors of an unseen world, and where the mind that entertains them is destitute of the advantages of education.
Esther, it may readily then be supposed, did not delay after their arrival, to go to see both Holden and his son. She could not behold again, and recognize the child she had preserved, in the young man who stood before her, without strong feeling, nor could Pownal look unmoved upon the gentle and timid woman, to whom he was so much indebted. Esther knew again the string of coral beads she had left upon the boy's neck, and ascribed it to the whispers of the Great Spirit, that she had allowed them to remain. She did not return from her visit to Pownal empty handed. In fact, she was loaded with as many presents, of such articles as suited her condition and half-civilized taste, as she and the boy, Quadaquina, who commonly accompanied her, could carry. It was the mode which naturally suggested itself to Pownal, as alike most pleasing to Peéna, and most calculated to impress her mind with a sense of his estimate of her services, especially as there was connected with the gifts a promise, that during his life her wants and wishes should all be supplied. Peéna now felt herself the happiest and richest of her tribe, and her heart glowed with devotion towards those who had been the means of investing her with wealth, and the consequence attached to it.
"Hugh!" ejaculated Ohquamehud, in amazement, as the squaw and her son threw down upon the floor of the cabin the rich red and blue cloths, and hats, and shoes, and other articles which Pownal had pressed upon them. The exclamation escaped involuntarily, but, with a natural politeness, the Indian asked no questions, but waited till it should please the squaw to furnish an explanation.
The sweet-tempered Peéna saw his desire, and turning to the boy, she said, in their native language, in which the three always conversed together:
"Speak, Quadaquina, that the eyes of thy father's brother may be opened."
The boy, in obedience to the command of his mother, and without looking at the Indian, tersely replied:
"They are the gifts of my white brother with the open hand, the son of the Longbeard."
Ohquamehud appeared offended, and he asked, in a sharp tone: