“Because I think it will be better to finish the story as we return. It grows late, and I wish to gather some little remembrance.”
From various parts of the ruins he now selected something to carry with him, and was loading Basil and Luke with similar trophies, who appeared to place little value on them, as they dropped some at every step. At length they returned to the boat, in which they deposited the cumbrous relics, and left the shore. But a new object excited the curiosity of Egerton, and, with a look of entreaty, he turned to his friend.
“You have been very patient and kind, dear Frank, and now we are in the boat, let us go a little further up the river! That point above must be the spot on which stood the wigwam of Wiccónsat.”
“You will find it a difficult matter to prove that,” returned Frank, “however, we will go.”
“It’s a good place for fishing,” said Basil, “and we have a line.”
The first object that struck their view on landing at the point, was a collection of half decayed boards.
“See here! conviction strong!” cried the delighted Egerton.
“Nonsense,” said Frank, “they are the remains of some old fishing hut or flat boat. Indian wigwams are not made of boards.”
“How incredulous you are,” returned his friend. “Surely the melancholy chief had been long enough among white men to adopt their materials.”
“Very well, shall we load the boat with them as relics?”