"Don't you think if you wos to tell him that Gascoyne is yer father he would side with us?" suggested Bumpus.
"Perhaps he would. I think he would; but I dare not risk it. The easier method will be to outwit him."
"Not an easy thing for to do, I'm afraid; for he's a cute old feller. How is it to be done?" asked Bumpus.
"By telling him the truth," said Henry; "and you must tell it to him."
"Well, that is a koorious way," said Bumpus, with a broad grin.
"But not the whole truth," continued Henry. "You must just tell him as much as it is good for him to know, and nothing more; and as the thing must be done at once, I'll tell you what you have got to say."
Here the young man explained to the attentive Bumpus the course that he was to follow, and, having got him thoroughly to understand his part, he sent him away to execute it. Meanwhile he and his mother went in search of Mr. Mason, who at the time was holding a consultation with the chiefs of the native village, near the site of his burnt cottage. The consultation had just been concluded when they reached the spot, and the missionary was conversing with the native carpenter who superintended the erection of his new home.
After the morning greeting, and a few words of general conversation, Mrs. Stuart said: "We have come to talk with you in private; will you walk to Alice's tree with us?"
"Certainly, my friend; I hope no new evils are about to befall us," said the missionary, who was startled by the serious countenances of the mother and son; for he was ignorant of the close relation in which they stood to Gascoyne, as, indeed, was every one else in the settlement, excepting Montague and his boatswain and Corrie, all of whom were enjoined to maintain the strictest secrecy on the point.
"No; I thank God, all is well," replied Mrs. Stuart; "but we have come to say that we are going away."