"We remember her very well," said Mr. Wharton. "Her name was Wik-a-nee."
"That not _name_" replied William. "Wik-a-nee mean little small thing."
"You were a small boy when you found the pappoose on the prairie," rejoined his father. "You took a great liking to her, and said she was _your_ little girl. When she went away, you gave her your box of Guinea-peas."
"Guinea-peas? What that?" inquired the young man.
"They are red seeds with black spots on them," replied his father. "Emma, I believe you have some. Show him one."
"Haha! A-lee-lah show me Guinea-peas. Her say me give she."
"Then you know Wik-a-nee?" said his father, in an inquiring tone.
The wanderer had acquired the gravity of the Indians. He never laughed, and rarely smiled. But a broad smile lighted up his frank countenance, as he answered,--
"Me know A-lee-lah very well. She not Wik-a-nee now."
Then he became grave again, and told how he was twining the red seeds in A-lee-lah's hair, when his mother came and looked at him with great blue eyes and smiled. Most of his auditors thought he was telling a dream. But Mr. Wharton said to his oldest son,--
"I told you, Charles, that mother and son were not separated now."
William seemed perplexed by this remark; but he comprehended in part, and said,--
When asked why he had not started in search of his mother then, he replied,--
"A-lee-lah's father, mother die. A-lee-lah say not go. Miles big many. Me not know the trail. But Indians go hunt fur. Me go. Me sleep. Me dream mother come, say go home. Me ask where mother? Charles come. Him say brother."
The little basket was again brought forth, and Mr. Wharton said,--
"Wik-a-nee gave you this, when she went away; but when we showed it to you, you did not remember it."
"Me not remember"; but when Emma would have put it away, he held it fast; and that night he carried it with him to his chamber.
Some degree of restlessness had been observed in him previously to this conversation. It increased as the weeks passed on. He became moody, and liked to wander off alone, far from the settlement. The neighbors said to each other,--"He will never be contented. He will go back to the Indians." The family feared it also. But Uncle George, who was always prone to look on the bright side of things, said,--