There, you are gone! but far away
I hear your whistle falling.
Ah! maybe it is hide-and-seek,
And that's why you are calling.
Along those hazy uplands wide
We'd be such merry rangers;
What! silent now, and hidden too!
"Bob White," don't let's be strangers.
Perhaps you teach your brood the game,
In yonder rainbowed thicket,
While winds are playing with the leaves,
And softly creeks the cricket.
"Bob White! Bob White!"—again I hear
That blithely whistled chorus;
Why should we not companions be?
One Father watches o'er us!
George Cooper
RADISSON AND THE INDIANS
The tribe being assembled and having spread out their customary gifts, consisting of beaver tails, smoked moose tongues and pemmican, one of the leading braves arose and said:
"Men who pretend to give us life, do you wish us to die! You know what beaver is worth and the trouble we have to take it. You call yourselves our brothers, and yet will not give us what those give who make no such profession. Accept our gifts, and let us barter, or we will visit you no more. We have but to travel a hundred leagues and we will encounter the English, whose offers we have heard."
On the conclusion of this harangue, silence reigned for some moments. All eyes were turned on the two white traders. Feeling that now or never was the time to exhibit firmness, Radisson, without rising to his feet, addressed the whole assemblage in haughty accents.
"Whom dost thou wish I should answer? I have heard a dog bark; when a man shall speak, he will see I know how to defend my conduct and my terms. We love our brothers and we deserve their love in return. For have we not saved them all from the treachery of the English?"
Uttering these words fearlessly, he leaped to his feet and drew a long hunting-knife from his belt. Seizing by the scalp-lock the chief of the tribe, who had already adopted him as his son, he asked: "Who art thou?" To which the chief responded, as was customary: "Thy father."