"You should put yours here, too, Uncle."
"Not I, my boy. I have come to stay—and my children after me."
"That reminds me of my young charge. Shall we begin to-morrow?"
"As you like. The sooner the better, I suppose. You brought books, didn't you?"
"All that I have; not many, I regret to say."
"Johnny has a spelling-book that came from Mackinac in a chest of green tea, when the vessel touched here last year. He was very anxious then to know what was inside of it, but I don't know how he feels now."
"Have you any special instructions for me?"
"No," answered Mackenzie, rising. He put his hand on the young man's shoulder and looked down into his face. "I never had much book-learning," he said, "'cause I ran away from school, but I want that my son should have it. Teach him everything you know that he can learn; it won't hurt him none. Teach him to tell the truth, to be afraid of nothing but dishonour, and to be kind to women. You look like your mother, boy."
The door opened suddenly, and the gust of wind that came in with it put out the candle and filled the room with the odour of burning tallow. "How!" grunted a stalwart Indian, in general salutation.