"I met another man that was a prisoner, got away afterwards; and saw children at different times, girls and boys, both, that they'd stole away from their folks and adopted. And I saw a white woman a few weeks ago, that's been with 'em for years, and is married to an Injun; got a family of pappooses."
In reply to further questions he went on to describe the situation of the Indian village where he had seen this woman, but could give no description of her, except that she was very much tanned, dressed like the squaws, and had scarcely a more civilized look than they.
"I hope she's no kin o' yours?" he remarked, looking keenly at his questioner.
"No; I never had friend or relative taken by them," Kenneth answered, "though our family were pioneers, and several of them lost their lives by the Indians."
"Humph! then I reckon you hain't no love for 'em either?"
"Not so much as I ought to have, I'm afraid."
"How's that? Can't say as I see any call to love 'em at all."
"They are human creatures, and Christ died for them as well as for the white man. Doubtless they are equally dear to Him," Kenneth answered, with gentle gravity, fixing a kindly look upon his rough companion.
"Well, now, that may be," the man returned thoughtfully. "Fact is, I've never paid much attention to those things. Minister, are ye?"
"No; a doctor."