All felt it, and even old Becky had a remorseful sigh for the boy who had kept his word so well and given back her darlings safe.
They buried him where he lay; and for years the lonely mound under the great oak was kept green by loving hands. Wild roses bloomed there, and the murmur of the Long River of Pines was a fit lullaby for faithful Onawandah.
Little Things
"That's the sort I like," said Geoff, as the story ended; "Onawandah was a trump, and I'd give a good deal to know such a fellow, and go hunting with him. Got any more like it, aunty?"
"Perhaps; but it is the girls' turn now, and here is a quiet little story that teaches the same lesson in a different way. It contains a hint which some of you would better take;" and Aunt Elinor glanced around the circle with a smile that set her hearers on the alert to see who was to be hit.
"Hope it isn't very moral," said Geoff, with a boyish dislike of being preached at.
"It won't harm you to listen, and take the moral to heart, my lad. Wild horses, gold mines, and sea scrapes, are not the only things worth reading about. If you ever do half so much good in the world as the people in this story did, I shall be proud of you," answered Aunt Elinor, so soberly that Geoff folded his hands, and tried to look meekly impressed.
"Is it true?" asked Min.
"Yes. I heard 'Abby' tell it herself, and saw the silk stocking, and the scar."