“I did not ask you for money,” said he, as he flung the dollars indignantly into the water.
I felt pique and shame; the latter predominated. I plunged into the pond, and dived under the surface. It was not after my purse, but my rifle, which I saw lying upon the rocks at the bottom. I gained the piece, and, carrying it ashore, handed it to him.
The peculiar smile with which he received it, told me that I had well corrected my error, and subdued the capricious pride of the singular youth.
“It is my turn to make reparation,” said he. “Permit me to restore you your purse, and to ask pardon for my rudeness.”
Before I could interpose, he sprang into the water, and dived below the surface. He soon recovered the shining object, and returning to the bank, placed it in my hands.
“This is a splendid gift,” he said, handling the rifle, and examining it—“a splendid gift; and I must return home before I can offer you aught in return. We Indians have not much that the white man values—only our lands, I have been told,”—he uttered this phrase with peculiar emphasis. “Our rude manufactures,” continued he, “are worthless things when put in comparison with those of your people—they are but curiosities to you at best. But stay—you are a hunter? Will you accept a pair of moccasins and a bullet-pouch? Maümee makes them well—”
“Maümee?”
“My sister. You will find the moccasin better for hunting than those heavy shoes you wear: the tread is more silent.”
“Above all things, I should like to have a pair of your moccasins.”
“I am rejoiced that it will gratify you. Maümee shall make them, and the pouch too.”