Looking o'er his loyal people,
Viewing all the upturned faces,
Slowly spoke the crafty Tomo,—
"I-no-see,-I-no-see-White-Girl-
With-her-golden-yellow-tresses-
Banked-in-ringlets-o'er-her-shoulders."
Then in solemn, stately accents,
Spake the chieftain, crafty Tomo,
To the Constable and Sheriff,
"Go and search my people's wigwams,
Look in all the secret places.
If you find White Girl, you catch her,
Take her to her angry father."
Then the Constable and Sheriff
Hastened to the Indian dwellings,
Eagerly they searched each wigwam,
Leaving all the contents scattered,
But they found no White Girl hidden,
Found no White Girl's shoes or clothing,
Found no tracks or trace of White Girl.
All the time the heart of Molly
Beat in silent fear and terror,
As she waited with the others,
Lest her father's hunters find her,
Lest they take her to her father.
When the anxious hunt was ended,
When the Constable and Sheriff
Had departed empty handed,
Had departed sadly homeward—
Followed by the scouts 'of Tomo,
Lest they circle and, returning,
Creep in darkness near the village,
Thinking Tomo may have tricked them,
Hoping still to find the daughter
Of the angry Peter Barber,
Then the people of the village
Put their wigwams all in order,
Sought their usual occupations
'Till the sun, all low descending,
Warned them Of the gloomy twilight,
And the coming of the darkness,
With the need of peaceful slumber.
So they ate their frugal supper,
Fish from out the Tunxis River,
Squirrels from the lonely forest—
Speaking as they ate their supper,
Oft of Molly and of Chaugham,
And the visit of the sheriff.
Whispered words of praise for Tomo,
"Mighty Tomo, Crafty Chieftain,
Always speaking words of wisdom."
When the twilight turned to darkness,
All the weary people slumbered,
Save the wary scouts who listened,
Watching through the night-time,
Watching by the Tunxis River,
Watching on the lonely hill-side.
When the twilight turned to darkness,
All the weary people slumbered,
Save the kindly Chieftain, Tomo,
At the door-way of his wigwam,
With the Narraganset, Chaugham,
Talking, planning for the morrow-
How to further aid the couple,
How to hide them ever safely,
In some lonely mountain fastness,
Where the angry Peter Barber,
Ever searching, couldn't find them—
All the time the kindly Chieftain
Listened to his scouts reporting,
From the hill-side and the river—
"Whip-poor-will" a bird was singing—
"All is well along the hill-side,"
And a loon was softly calling—
"All is well along the river."