“Was it then your good heart that made you bring him back?” asked Sinclair, with a keen glance at his friend.
“No; it was the voice of the Great Spirit in Petawanaquat that made him do it. The voice said, ‘Forgive! Return good for evil!’”
“Ah; you learned these words here, and have been pondering them.”
“Petawanaquat heard them here; he did not learn them here,” returned the red man quietly. “Listen!” he continued with a sudden glow of animation on his countenance, “My brother is young, but he knows much, and is wise. He will understand his friend. In the mountains I pitched my tent. It was a lonely spot. No trappers or Indians came there, but one day in winter a paleface came. He was a servant of the Great Spirit. He talked much. I said little, but listened. The paleface was very earnest. He spoke much of Jesus. He told the story of His love, His sufferings, His death. He spoke of little else. When he was gone I asked Jesus to forgive me. He forgave. Then I was glad, but I looked at Tonyquat and my spirit was troubled. Then it was that I heard the voice of the Great Spirit. It did not fall on my ear: it fell upon my heart like the rippling of a mountain stream. It said, ‘Send the child back to his father.’ I obeyed the Voice, and I am here.”
With sparkling eyes Sinclair stretched out his right hand, and, grasping that of the red man, said in a deep voice—“My brother!”
Petawanaquat returned the grasp in silence. Before either of them could resume the conversation they were interrupted by Victor shouting from a window of the parsonage to fetch the canoe.
A few minutes later they were again on their way.