“It was my forefather’s name,” said the youth, proudly. “I have yet no name; but War–Eagle says I may have one soon, and I will have no other.”
“I feel sure you will deserve your forefather’s name,” said Reginald. “What does it mean in my language?”
“It means, ‘The Beloved.’”
“The youth speaks true,” murmured the guide (who, though busily engaged in rounding off a bullet with his knife, lost not a word or gesture that passed), “he speaks only truth; I knew his forefather well: a braver and a better heart never dwelt among the Lenapé.”
The boy looked gratefully at the weather–beaten hunter; and as he cast his eyes down in silence, it would have been difficult to say whether pleasure, pride, or pain predominated in their expression.
“Tell me,” resumed Reginald, “how come you to speak English like a white man?”
“The good father and Olitipa taught me.”
Reginald looked at the guide for an explanation; that worthy personage shook his head, saying, “The boy talks riddles; but they are not hard to guess. The good father must be some missionary, or priest; and Olitipa would in their tongue signify ‘pretty prairie–fowl;’ so it is probably the name of a Delaware woman—perhaps his sister.”
“Kehella là—so it is,” said the boy: “Olitipa is in your tongue ‘pretty prairie–bird,’ and she is my sister.”
“Where is Prairie–bird?” inquired Reginald, amused by the youth’s naïveté.