REGINALD HOLDS A CONVERSATION WITH THE MISSIONARY.
Reginald still kept his eyes on the opening through which Prairie–bird had disappeared into the tent, as though they could have pierced through the canvasss that concealed from his view its lovely inhabitant: his feelings were in a state of confusion and excitement, altogether new to him; for if, in his European travels, he had paid a passing tribute of admiration to the beauties who had crossed his path, and whom his remarkable personal advantages had rendered by no means insensible to his homage, the surface only of his heart had been touched; whereas now its deepest fountains were stirred, and the troubled waters gushed forth with overwhelming force.
He was recalled to himself by the voice of the missionary, who, without appearing to notice his abstraction, said, “My son, if you choose that we should prolong our walk, I am ready to accompany you.” If the truth must be told, Reginald could at that moment scarcely endure the presence of any human being: he felt an impulse to rush into the woods, or over the plain, and to pour forth in solitude the torrent of feelings by which he was oppressed; but he controlled himself, not only because he really felt a respect for the good missionary, but also because he hoped through him to obtain some information respecting the extraordinary being who had taken such sudden possession of his thoughts: he replied, therefore, that he would willingly accompany him, and they took their way together along the banks of the streamlet, alternately observing on the scenery and surrounding objects.
This desultory conversation did not long suit the eager and straightforward character of Reginald Brandon; and he changed it by abruptly inquiring of his companion, whether he knew any thing of the history and parentage of Prairie–bird.
“Not much,” replied Paul Müller, smiling; “she was with this band of Delawares when I first came to reside among them: if any one knows her history, it must be Tamenund; but he keeps it a profound secret, and gives out among the tribe that she was sent to him by the Great Spirit, and that as long as she remains with the band they will be successful in hunting and in war.”
“But how,” inquired Reginald, “can he make such a tale pass current among a people who are well known to consider the female sex in so inferior and degraded a light?”
“He has effected it,” replied the missionary, “partly by accident, partly by her extraordinary beauty and endowments, and partly, I must own, by my assistance, which I have given because I thereby ensured to her the kindest and most respectful treatment, and also endeavoured, under God’s blessing, to make her instrumental in sowing the seed of His truth among these benighted savages.”
“Let me understand this more in detail,” said Reginald, “if the narration does not trouble you.”
“Her first appearance among the Delawares, as they have told me,” said the missionary, was as follows:—“Their prophet, or Great Medicine–man, dreamt that under a certain tree was deposited a treasure, that should enrich the tribe and render them fortunate: a party was sent by order of the chief to search the spot indicated; and on their arrival they found a female child wrapped in a covering of beaver–skin, and reposing on a couch of turkey–feathers: these creatures being supposed to preside peculiarly over the fate of the Delawares, they brought back the child with great ceremony to the village, where they placed her under the care of the chief; set apart a tent or lodge for her own peculiar use; and ever since that time have continued to take every care of her comfort and safety.”