The poor old lady was deeply affected while I spoke, for of course my words confirmed at last, her long resisted fear that Willie was indeed no longer of this world.
Big Otter waited a few seconds, still holding her hand, and then, turning to me, said in his native tongue,—“Tell the pale-face mother that the sister of Big Otter was the wife of Weeum; that Big Otter loved Weeum better than a brother, and that Weeum loved Big Otter more than any man of his tribe. Every one loved Weeum the Good. He was so kind, and so brave! At first he was very fierce, but afterwards that passed away, and when Waboose began to grow tall and wise, Weeum turned soft like a woman. He spoke often to the red-men about the Great Master of Life, and he taught Big Otter to love the Great Master of Life and the name of Jesus. Often Weeum talked of going to the far south to see one whom he called a dear old one. We did not understand him then. Big Otter understands him now. So shall it be in the great hereafter—things that are dark now shall be light then. But Weeum could not leave his wife and child, and we would not let him take them away. Sometimes Weeum spoke mysteries. One day he said to me, ‘Brother, I must go to the far south to see the dear old one. I will take my wife and child, and will return to you again—if the great Master of Life allows. If, however, I die or am killed, Waboose will reveal all that is in Weeum’s heart. She cannot reveal it now. She will not even understand until a good pale-face visits your tribe.’ Weeum said no more. He left the mind of Big Otter dark. It is no longer dark. It is now clear as the sun at noon. The ‘good pale-face’ is here (pointing to me as he spoke), and the ‘dear old one’ is before me.”
He paused a moment at this point, and then, with an evident effort to suppress emotion, added,—“Weeum was drowned, soon after the day he spoke to me, while trying to save life. Since then there has been no sun in the sky for Big Otter.”
The poor old mother listened to this speech with intense interest and deepening emotion, but I could see that the tears which flowed over the wrinkled cheeks were tears of gladness rather than of sorrow. It could scarcely at that time come as news to her that her son was dead, but it did come as a gladsome surprise that her wilful Willie had not only found the Saviour himself—or, rather, been found of Him—but that he had spent his latter days in striving to bring others to that great Source of blessedness.
Being too much overcome to speak, she submitted to be led away into the cottage by the comely matron, who had been a keen and sympathetic observer of all that passed. Of course Eve accompanied them, for Weeum’s mother refused to let go her hand, even for a moment, and Big Otter and I were left outside alone.
“Come,” said I, vaulting into my saddle, “you and I will go and have a gallop, my friend, and see the land, for I mean to dwell here and would strongly advise you to do the same.”
“Waugh!” exclaimed the Indian, as he leaped on the back of his steed, and followed me.
“You see,” said I, as we rode along, followed by the admiring gaze of the village children—for, accustomed though they were to savages, they had never seen so grand an Indian as Big Otter on so magnificent a horse—“you see, they will require some time to clear up matters in the cottage, for Eve’s English, good though it be, is not perfect, and all their minds will naturally be a little confused at first. You did me good service to-day, my friend.”
“How? The speech of Muxbee is mysterious.”
“Don’t you see,” I replied, “that the speech you made to old Mrs Liston, broke the ice as it were, and told her nearly all that I had to tell. And if you knew how many anxious hours I have spent in thinking how I should best break the sad news to the poor old mother, you would better understand how grateful I am to you.”