"No; I was never in Africa."
"Never in Africa?"
"Never."
"Well, then, why did you say you had been there?"
On another occasion—I think at Savannah—a gentleman called upon me, introducing his two grandchildren, who were anxious to see Peter Parley. The girl rushed up to me, and kissed me at once. We were immediately the best friends in the world. The boy, on the contrary, held himself aloof, and ran his eye over me, up and down, from top to toe. He then walked round, surveying me with the most scrutinizing gaze. After this he sat down, and during the interview took no further notice of me. At parting he gave me a keen look, but said nothing. The next day the gentleman called and told me that his grandson, as they were on their way home, said to him,—
"Grandfather, I wouldn't have anything to do with that man; he ain't Peter Parley."
"How do you know that?" said the grandfather.
"Because," said the boy, "he hasn't got his foot bound up, and he don't walk with a crutch!"
On my arrival at New Orleans I was kindly received, and had the honors of a public welcome. The proceedings were gratifying to me; and, even if they stood alone, would make amends for much misunderstanding and opposition.