Elias Rody was wonderfully self-possessed.
He smiled, shrugged his shoulders, grasped the Seminole’s hand, and with a wave of his own seemed to dismiss the subject from his thoughts.
Nay, more, he presented the old warrior with a beautifully inlaid rifle, a bale of broad-cloth, and a keg of powder.
“Come, come,” said he speaking in the friendliest tone, “don’t let a mere whim of mine affect such a friendship as ours. You must accept these things—mere trifles. Your taking them will prove that you harbour no unkindness towards me or mine.”
Thus pressed, Oluski accepted the presents.
The governor smiled covertly as the old chief departed.
Nelatu had recovered from his wound; he daily spent hours in company with Warren, and there was no lack of diversion for the white youth or his red-skinned companion.
Their canoe darted through the blue waters of the bay, or stole dreamily along the river’s current.
Their rifles brought down the wild fowl upon the sea, or the quail and partridge upon the land.
Their fishing-rods and spears furnished many a dainty dish.