“As she lifted her head at the sound of foot steps, the golden curls swept back from her face, and as she looked upon her father her eye filled with tears; and there was something in it that made the heart of Simon Gray tremble. Mary sprang to his arms and clinging round his neck, wept; for she thought it was almost wrong to seek another parent when she already had one who loved her so very tenderly. But at the sound of William’s footsteps on the stairs, she kissed her father, and, wiping away her tears, was all bloom and hope again; and William could not help pausing to look at her, ere he bounded to the saddle; and he thought she had never been so beautiful before. But Mary trembled so she could not spring up behind him as usual; her father was obliged to lift her; and when he felt how she trembled, he feared she was ill, and asked her to stay at home and not go to the meeting; but Mary assured him she was perfectly well; so the kind-hearted man could make no other objection, and they rode off.
“They arrived at the meeting-house before any others; and as the people began to gather to the house, Mary trembled so she could hardly keep her seat.
“One after another came in—one after another was examined; but poor Mary could not think any one of them was her mother. At last a lady came and sat nearly opposite Mary. The child’s heart bounded; she saw the same dark hair and eye—the same white brow—but, O! it had no scar!—and tears of disappointment filled her eyes. Another came; she was tall and graceful; she had dark hair and eyes, and a very fair brow. ‘That is the one! That is my mother!’ thought Mary, and she was just going to throw herself into her arms and call her mother, when the lady—who probably thought Mary very rude for staring at her so fixedly—turned quickly away with such an angry expression of countenance, that the child could hardly restrain her tears; and then the idea that the lady might be her mother, made her tremble. Others came, and were, in turn, examined; but not one of them could be compared with the picture she held in her hand—the description given by Namoina—or the image in the heart of Mary. The poor child was doomed to be disappointed; and she sat down, and leaned her head upon her hands, and thought she would never hope again.
“A low murmur, as of one in prayer, reached her ear. She lifted her eyes, almost unwillingly, and on the opposite side of the room, she saw a lady in deep mourning, kneeling before one of the rough benches, in prayer. The garb of outward grief was an unwonted sight there, and every eye was turned upon her. Yet there was a kindly expression in every face, for the people, although their own simple creed and rigid habits forbade the use of a peculiar garment as a sign of wo, could not help respecting the piety of the stranger. Mary’s heart beat wildly at the first glance, and she turned very pale, and then again her face was flushed with the fever of excited feelings. After kneeling a short time, the stranger slowly rose, and turned round upon the little assembly with a melancholy, listless air. As she did so her face turned full in Mary’s view; it was pale, and tender, and sorrowful. The child became, at once, convinced that her search was ended; in that one glance she had seen all; the tall and graceful form—the dark glossy hair—the fair, pale brow—the scar—the resemblance to the picture—all that she sought was there. She forgot every thing but that she had found her long-lost parent; she flew along the narrow aisle, and when she reached the lady just whispered, ‘Mother!’ and fell into her arms. The child had fainted.
“The strange lady seemed as much overcome as Mary. She held her closely embraced in her arms, and gazed eagerly upon her pallid features. It chanced at this moment that the miniature fell from Mary’s bosom, and the medal on which was engraved her name. The stranger looked upon them and uttered a faint scream; then she clasped the child close to her heart; and when Mary opened her blue eyes and smiled upon her, she cried out, ‘I know thee now, my daughter!—my own beloved daughter!’
“The whole congregation had gathered round with wondering looks and curious faces; and even the good minister himself, instead of going to his desk, mingled with the crowd, and seemed to enter into the spirit of the scene.
“There was one powerfully interested; William had followed Mary from her seat, wondering at her strange behavior; but from the moment when he saw that she had found her own mother, he stood with his arms folded upon his breast, the only silent one among the crowd.
“Simon Gray was immediately sent for, and it was established, beyond the possibility of doubt, that Mary had indeed found a mother, and Mrs. Wallace a long-lost daughter; and the minister offered up a solemn public thanksgiving to God for their re-union.”
The children thanked their grandmother for telling them such a very interesting story, and little Helen danced with joy, she was so glad that Mary had found her mother.
“I have one more wish to be gratified, grandmother,” said George Gray; “I should like to go to Quinsniket and see the place where Philip and his followers were sheltered, and where Namoina died.”