The legend of Wonalansett; a tale of the White Hills ..

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THE

Legend of Wonalansett

A TALE

OF

THE WHITE HILLS

II

PRICE 35 CENTS

BOSTON

NEWTOWNE PUBLISHING CO.
19 14

Hn

V-

E99

COPYRIGHT 1893

BY

CHARLES H. GLIDDEN

eOPti^WiHT OrfiOt

AUG 3 191*

JUL 16 1914

THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

I.

The events recorded in this legend belong far
back in the dim past. I heard the story as it
fell from the lips of a wrinkled old squaw in the
White Hills, who sold beaded and braided
baskets, and who claimed to be a direct descend-
ant of the Penacook Indians. She told it as it
had been handed down in the tribe for more than
five hundred years. No history has chronicled
the acts set forth in the story of the old squaw;
only in the traditions of the red men do they
find a place.

In that shadowy age of which the legend treats
the land was supremely fertile. It bore wonder-
ful harvests of golden maize and rich fruits,
and the waters were full of fish, while in the
forests the deer were as plentiful as sparrows.
The seasons were not as severe, and the blasts
of winter bit less keenly. The waters of Winne-
pesaukee rose higher then, for they had not cut
for themselves so deep a channel through the
outlet at Aquidaukenash (The Weirs), and

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

the silver waves swashed on many a meadow
where now the yellow corn ripens in the sun.
The waters of the lake covered the valleys far
back, diked by a low line of hillocks which have
now in many places disappeared. Mighty
forests waved their tall plumes in the summer
breezes, and the maize rustled in the September
wind.

In those days of long ago the Penacooks
were the principal tribe of Indians dwelling
beside the Winnepesaukee. The braves of this
people ranged from the entrance to the White
Hills, to the Atlantic. Their wigwams were
scattered about the lake, along the sunny mead-
ows of the Merrimac, and northward to the
confines of the Agiacooks.

Beside the Winnepesaukee at Aquidaukenash
the Penacooks were encamped. This was the
favorite fishing ground of the tribe, and here
they delighted to pass many days of the summer
months. Passaconaway was sachem of the
tribe, and his only son, the pride of his declining
years, was Wonalansett. To Passaconaway
the braves of all the region from the sacred
White Hills to the Piscataqua yielded a willing

4

THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

submission. He was mighty in war, and wise
in time of peace. Under him the land of the
Penacooks prospered. The harvests were plen-
teous in the fertile meadows, and the corn
grew to unusual size. Even the fierce Mo-
hawks, who dwelt away to the westward
in the wild Adirondacks, had ceased to molest
them, and there was peace on every hand.
Many times in the past Passaconaway had
led his warriors against the Mohawks encroach-
ing upon his domains, and driven them back
to their wigwams and council fires in the Adi-
rondacks. They feared him as they feared no
other foe, and they were wont to say that he was
in league with some spirit which gave mysterious
power to his arm, and made him proof against
their weapons.

Wonalansett was a brave young man, and in
him his father lived his years over again. He
loved the beautiful Mineola, the eldest daughter
of the old chief Chocorua, and the aged sachem
smiled upon their affection. The form of Mine-
ola was straight and graceful as the willow, and
in her eyes there dwelt a world of tenderness.

Rimmon was the youngest daughter of Cho-

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

corua. She, too, was lithe and graceful, but
though she was beautiful, Mineola surpassed
her in loveliness. A long time Wonalansett
had loved the gentle Mineola, even from the
days when as children they had played together
on the shores of the beautiful Winnepesaukee.
And even as he loved her, so Mineola loved the
young brave; and Rimmon loved him also.

The days of Passaconaway were fourscore
years and ten. Old age had set its seal upon
him. The fountains of his youth were dried
up and slowly his strength ebbed away. His
pulse grew weak and feeble, and he felt that he
was about to die. And so he sent for Wonalan-
sett and told him that, like the aged oak rocked
by a thousand storms, so he must soon fall
and lie prostrate in the forest.

"The days of Passaconaway are nearly done,'*
he said. "He will soon join his fathers in the
dim lands of Ponemah. Many moons have
passed since first he fitted the arrow to the
string by the shores of the Winnepesaukee,
and many winters have sifted their snows in
his hair. Twenty summers has the maize rip-
ened in the meadows since the squaw of Passa-

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

conaway went to the happy hunting grounds,
and twenty summers have cast their sunlight
upon the face of Wonalansett. Like the aged
eagle when his wings are weary, Passaconaway
floats away, but when he has taken his last
flight, Wonalansett shall be sachem in place
of his father.'*

So the strength of the old sachem waned,
and one day he fell asleep. Sorrowfully the
people of his tribe laid him at rest in the dark
pine forest, and over his grave the winds sighed
through the pine branches. There the whip-
poor-will sung his mournful song, the wild
flowers blossomed, and the little brook babbled
past on its way to the lake. And Wonalansett
was now sachem in place of his father, and all
the people loved him as they had loved the
old sachem. Before Passaconaway had grown
weary with the burden of years, he had sent
for Chocorua, the old chief, and talked to him
of their children. And Wonalansett according
to the customs of the tribe, wooed Mineola;
and the time for the marriage feast was fixed.
Then there was great rejoicing throughout the
land.
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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

II.

Far away toward the blazing sunset, amid
the wild scenery of the Adirondacks, dwelt the
savage Mohawks. Reared under the shadow
of the grand old mountains, it was not strange
that they partook of the wildness and sternness
of their surroundings. They were a terror to
the Indians who dwelt near them, and they had
often blotted out whole tribes in their warlike
excursions.

Of all the Indians dwelling between the Adi-
rondacks and the sea, the Mohawks feared no
foe as they feared the Penacooks. These they
dreaded more on account of the prowess of
Passaconaway than for any other reason. And
now the news had come that Passaconaway
was dead, and his son Wonalansett was sachem
in his stead. So in the council house of the
tribe the Mohawk warriors assembled.

Pontiac, the old sachem, arose in the council,
his form straight as the gray pine in the forest,
and looking around upon his chiefs he said;

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

"Many moons have passed over the head of
Pontiac since first the fame of Passaconaway
was borne to his ears on the east wind, and many
Mohawks have since fallen by his hand, as
the trees in the forest by the crooked lightning.
Their spirits from the far-off shores of Ponemah
call upon us to be avenged. While Passa-
conaway lived the Mohawks feared him; for
he was mightier than any Mohawk, and he
loved to send his foes unsummoned to the Great
Spirit. But the Great Spirit has now called
the old sachem to himself, and in Ponemah he
chases the shadowy deer beside the murmuring
waters; and his son is sachem in his place.
The tree which grows by the wigwam of Pontiac
was a small shoot when the sunlight first fell
upon the face of Wonalansett. It may be
that his arm is not the strong arm of his father,
nor his cunning as the cunning of theold sachem.
But the spirit of Passaconaway may still hover
over the hunting grounds of the Penacooks,
and it may be that he will wreak a terrible venge-
ance upon any invader. The sachem of the
Mohawks is an old man. He is like the aged
oak in the forest through whose branches the

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

sap moves in sluggish flow. The trunk is
decaying slowly, and not long will it put
forth leaves in the springtime when the forest
is bursting with life. No longer does the old
sachem thirst for the blood of his foes, and he
longs to hear the voice of the Great Spirit
when it shall summon him to Ponemah. If the
Mohawk warriors wish to go to the hunting
grounds of the Penacooks, let young Konassa-
den lead them. But the old sachem fears
that where many shall depart few may return.
Almost he can see them lying under the shadow
of the Great White Hills, their faces upturned
to the sky in the stillness of death."

When the old man finished speaking, his
son Konassaden arose. He was tall and supple,
and with graceful gestures he spoke:

**Is the young hawk stronger than the eagle
when the parent birds have left the nest, or
will the nestlings put the king of birds to flight ?
Will the black bear flee when he chances upon
the red fox and hide himself among the cliffs
lest he be torn in pieces? The summers of
Konassaden are few. He is only a slender
sapling in the midst of a great forest. But the

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

young tree may bend to the blast which up-
roots the aged and majestic oak. The heart
of Konassaden is not the heart of a squaw, and
he knows no fear. The Great Spirit has given
his arm some of the power there is in the crooked
lightning, and many Penacooks shall fall by
his hand. If the Mohawk warriors shall follow
him, they will swoop down upon the nest of
the hawk whence the parent bird is flown, and
overcome the fledgelings that guard it. The old
medicine man of the tribe has said that Konas-
saden shall not fall by the hand of any warrior;
neither shall those who follow him to the aerie
of the hawk in the pine woods of Aquidaukenash
perish at the hands of the Penacooks."

The words of the young man aroused the
Mohawks to a thirst for conflict, and when
they went forth from the council house it had
been decided to go on the warpath to the
hunting grounds of the peaceful Penacooks.
The next morning they started. A band of
five hundred warriors strode noiselessly away
toward the dawn, hurrying eagerly on to pitch
their camp by the Merrimac and sound their
war whoop in the ears of the unsuspecting

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

Penacooks. For three days they proceeded on
their trail ; and now they were not far away from
the lake. Their scouts ascertained that the
encampment at Aquidaukenash was unguard-
ed. The warriors were away upon a fishing
expedition, and only the women and children
were there, with a few old men too infirm to
join the warriors.

Immediately they fell upon the encampment,
captured the women and children and, setting
fire to the wigwams and the council house, they
put themselves in motion toward the north.

III.

When Wonalansett and his braves returned
from their fishing trip they found nothing but
devastation where they had left order and peace.
The sachem was much disturbed for the safety
of Mineola and Rimmon and with his braves
he started in swift pursuit of the enemy. They
followed the trail along verdant valleys bordered
with lofty trees centuries old and covered with
gray moss, valleys where harebells blossomed

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

and slender willows waved above the soft green
carpet; through streams which dashed and
swirled in their mad course to the ocean; through
deep forests where the sunlight never entered
to banish the twilight gloom and drink up the
moisture; and over hills which caught the last
rays of the setting sun.

Aquidaukenash was now far away, and the
trail of the Mohawks was growing fresher.
The sun had dropped down the golden west
and was almost at the horizon. The warriors
were weary with the march, and camp was
fixed that they might rest. At early dawn
they started on the trail again, and all day
they pursued it. As the sun was going down
the scouts came in to report that the Mohawks
were in a gorge some distance ahead, and were
preparing to encamp for the night. Wonalan-
sett halted his warriors and determined upon
an immediate attack. He waited until all
was still in the Mohawk camp, and then with
his braves he crept silently along through the
forest gloom. The sentinels, wearied with their
forced marches, slept at their posts or were
unmindful of danger until it was too late to

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

give the alarm. They were silenced without
awakening the slumbering braves, and then a
dash was made for the captives, while at the
same moment the Penacook war whoop burst
out upon the air. The surprise was complete,
and the captives were easily rescued.

The war whoop of the Penacooks had hardly
ceased to re-echo in the narrow defile, when the
Mohawks, seeing that resistance was useless
and their captives were lost, under the lead of
Konassaden sprung into the stream, which at
this point was shallow near the bank, and
entering the narrow gorge cut by the river for its
passage, disappeared around one of its sharp
angles without a moment's warning. The
movement was so utterly unexpected by the
Penacooks, that before they had recovered from
their surprise the Mohawks had emerged from
the gorge some distance up the stream and were
hastening with all speed toward the north.
Far behind them they could hear the Penacooks
pursuing, but the sound soon died away, and
a silence which was oppressive succeeded.

After a short time they came to the Ammon-
oosuc, where it flowed into the Connecticut.

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

They followed the course of the former to the
northeast, unaware that they were entering the
confines of the sacred Agiacooks, where no
Penacook was ever known to tread without the
command of the medicine man of the tribe. On
every side they were surrounded by the ever-
lasting hills, and about them was the stillness
of the forest. There was to be heard neither
the chirp of the cricket nor the wail of the whip-
poor-will. The only sound was the soft foot-
fall of the Mohawk warriors as each glided
steadily on. They were aware that their pur-
suers had been left far behind, and yet, like
men whose senses are asleep, they continued
their way, instinctively, without apparent pur-
pose. The unbroken silence awed them. A
presentiment of impending danger began to
break in upon their minds. Now their course
turns to the right, and leaving the river, they
plunge into the pathless forest, where human
feet have not trod for many a day.

But who is the chief in whose footsteps they
follow without volition of their own? It is
dark and they cannot see, but he seems black
as night. Blindly they follow him and the

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

darkness grows deeper. They have no wills
but that of their leader, and he pushes straight
on. They are automatons in his hands. The
trail grows rougher and the forest is becoming
less dense. The way is steep, but they go
forward in the same hot haste. Their breath
comes quick and fast and their lips are parched
with thirst, but the grim warrior speeds on
over the uneven ground, and; they forget all
save an overpowering desire not to fall behind.
Though they follow quickly in his footsteps,
they never quite approach him. Always he is
just a little ahead of them; they cannot over-
take him. It grows lighter now, and the stars
shine out through the filmy clouds.

Now they are in a valley; and lo ! the day
has begun to break. Underneath the over-
hanging side of a mountain their leader halts.
They are spent with the toilsome march and
lie down upon the soft earth. Just as the rosy
light of dawn touches the mountain-tops, danc-
ing from peak to peak, they fall asleep. In
their troubled dreams they see once more the
Mohawk villages, their hunting grounds in the
Adirondacks, and those who are dear to them.

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

They recall the words of the old sachem when
he said he feared that where many departed
few would return.

How long they slept they knew not. Sudden-
ly they became conscious of some power which
awoke them from their dreams. They arose
affrighted and looked about them. Far above
upon the mountain they saw a sight which
congealed the very blood in their veins. A face,
awful in its majestic proportions, looked down
upon them. The eyes blazed with fire, and the
brow was stern and solemn. The sky became
dark, while the red lightnings flashed omin-
ously about that impassive countenance, and
the whole earth seemed to be shaken to its
foundations. The sun, which had begun to
slide down the western horizon, was obscured,
and twilight slowly descended upon the land.
The Mohawks fell upon their faces in terror.

"It is the Manitou !" one said, and an-
other, breathlessly. An overwhelming, super-
natural fear fell upon them all. The dark-
ness came on apace. The darker it grew, so
much the brighter became that awful face upon
the mountain. The earth rocked. The forked

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

lightnings quivered and writhed in the black
gloom like a nest of angry serpents. Every
line upon that face of flame was set and immu-
table as the features of inexorable justice. It
did not soften at the sight of the terror dis-
played by the braves; not a line relaxed. The
winds sighed mournfully through the stunted
pines. It sounded like the blended sobbing
voices of many mourners borne to them from
far away. Then the voice of the Manitou,
like the blast of a bugle, aroused them:

"Draw nearer, 0 my children, and listen to
your judgment. Ye have made war upon your
brethren, the Penacooks, and your hands are
stained with blood. The Mohawks and the
Penacooks are both children of Manitou, and
should possess the land in peace: yet ye have
warred. But it is not for this alone that the
Manitou is angry. Unsummoned ye have en-
tered into the sacred home of the Great Spirit,
and the irrevocable penalty is death. But the
Manitou is merciful. In sleep ye shall pass
away to Ponemah, and your bodies shall be
turned into bowlders upon this mountain-side;
and they shall be as a remembrance to the

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

medicine men who shall come hither to speak
to the Manitou, that in the days to come they
may tell it to his children, lest these too in
like manner should offend."

As he finished speaking there rose from the
mountain-top a song such as no man ever heard
before. It was the song which is sung only in
the presence of the Great Spirit. It thrilled
the hearts of the Mohawks as the strings of a
harp are thrilled when the hand of a master
touches them and snaps them asunder. Their
heads began to droop upon their breasts, and
they fell asleep. A mist floated over the great
face upon the mountain. When it had passed,
there was no longer to be seen fire flashing from
its eyes; the sun came out again, and the clouds
disappeared. In the place where the Mohawk
braves had stood were now to be seen only rough
bowlders of granite strewn upon the ground.
A tiny spring burst forth from the spot, and its
waters gurgled downward to the valley in a
crystal thread-like stream.

Never again would the old sachem of the
Mohawks look upon the face of his son Kon-
assaden, and never again would the Mohawk

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

warriors rally at his call. Among the cool,
dark forests of the Adirondacks the old sachem
wearily waited the coming of the young chief
who had gone forth strong and hopeful, but
who would not return. For many days there
was anxious watching in the tribe. The days
grew into months, and the months to years,
before they ceased to hope that Konassaden
and his warriors would reappear.

IV.

The golden maize was ripening in the mead-
ows, the brown leaves floated softly to the
ground, and the wood pigeons tried their
wings by long flights for the journey south-
ward. The martins had already flown, and
diving loons were making preparations for
their annual migration.

New wigwams graced the shores of the Winne-
pesaukee at Aquidaukenash, from which the
smoke curled lightly upward and then slowly
vanished beyond the thick forest. Peace had
once more folded her wings over the tribe, and
the heart of Wonalansett was glad.

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

Happy days to Mineola were those which
followed the rescue and return to Aquidauken-
ash, as she sat in the wigwam of Chocorua, her
father, and wove her bridal gear.

But one there was in whose face no gladness
shone. Rimmon, sitting by the side of her
sister, watched Wonalansett and Mineola in
their joy, and no smile lighted up her face,
but instead a look of pain and sorrow settled
down upon it, for she too loved the young
sachem of the Penacooks. In their own happi-
ness neither Mineola nor Wonalansett noticed
the sadness and silence of Rimmon. Often in
those days she would roam alone in the dark
pine forests and listen to the winds sighing
through the pine needles, which seemed to
whisper of happier lands, where the sunlight
fell softly down upon the valley and the mount-
ain-top, like a smile of the Great Spirit. She
would listen to the languid murmur of the
wavelets on the shore of the lake, and fancy
they told in undertones of Ponemah, where the
aching heart would be at rest.

One day in the harvest time, when the mead-
ows waved with golden maize, Wonalansett

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

led Mineola to his own wigwam, and there was
joy among the people of the tribe. Then there
was a feast upon the shore of the beautiful
Winnepesaukee, and all the tribe was there.
Adiwando, the old medicine man, was there with
all the rest; and when the feast was over the
smoke of the pipe went curling upward in fan-
tastic rings. The beautiful waters of the lake
spread out before them, and beyond rose like
grim sentinels the immutable mountains.

"Show us, 0 Adiwando, the future of Wonal-
ansett and Mineola and the fortunes of the
Penacooks," said Chocorua.

The old man bowed his head upon his breast
and for some time was lost in meditation.
Then he waved his hand over the waters and
said:

"Look upon the bosom of the water, 0 my
people, and read what the future holdeth in
store.*'

Every eye was turned quickly toward the
lake. As they looked a white mist, as it were
a great wall, arose out of the water and, stand-
ing out like a shadowy curtain, obscured the
land beyond. Slowly and indistinctly at first

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

there appeared upon this background a vision
which held spellbound every one. Upon the
vapory curtain was seen a smiling land, where
harvests rustled in the wind; peaceful villages
with their graceful wigwams, and children at
play; golden maize and grapes of wonderful
size; peaceful rivers meandering through green
meadows, and cool forests where wild roses
grew among soft mosses.

Then the scene changed. They saw a great
mountain whose side sloped gently to its base.
Upon one side, which was bathed in light,
they saw two forms beginning the ascent. They
were young and buoyant with life. As they
gayly climbed the mountain, the sun rose higher
in the east. On every hand wild flowers sprang
up, and the heavens were without a cloud.
As they moved up the slope, hand in hand, the
sunlight fell upon them gently, while soft
breezes played lovingly in their dark locks.
Now they have reached the crest of the moun-
tain, and the sun is in the zenith. Slowly, then,
they go down on the other side. As they passed
along one could see that the forms were getting
feeble, the step weak, and that they leaned upon

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

each other for support. The sun went gliding
down the western sky, and the base of the moun-
tain already lay in shadow. The last beams
shone caressingly upon the two forms at the
foot of the mountain, where a wide sea laved
the coast with its sparkling tide. Far away
its waters stretched beyond the reach of human
vision, and lapped the boundless shores of
Ponemah. Near the shore, lightly rocking up-
on the waters, was fastened a canoe. Feebly
the two embarked, and it went gliding away
swiftly on the golden tide. Upon the two
fading forms fell the last reflection of declining
day, like a farewell word, until, passing out of
sight, they neared the unseen shores beyond.

Like a thin mist the vision melted away.
The lake lay in silver beauty at the feet of the
Penacooks, and the far-away hills glimmered
peacefully in the distance.

"Thus shall be the days of Wonalansett and
Mineola, and peace shall dwell in the land of the
young sachem," said Adiwando.

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THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

V.

For many days the tribe dwelt by the beau-
tiful water, then journeyed to the dashing
waterfalls and the fertile meadows of Amoskeag.
Chill winds blew the dead leaves hither and
thither, and white frosts nightly covered the
vales.

It was a beautiful day in October. In her
father's wigwam Rimmon sat with folded
hands, and her eyes were fixed upon the far-off
hills. Farther than the limit of the mountains
bounding the horizon her vision penetrated
that day. Farther than the sun-kissed sea,
on the wings of thought she passed, and her
eyes were wet with tears. As she gazed upon the
forests from which the foliage had been scattered
and upon the hills grown dry and brown, and
as all the pain and bitterness of her aching heart
came upon her, she wished that to such a land
as Ponemah her steps might tend. Wearily
she rose and went forth from the wigwam into
the forest. All day the hunters had been roam-
ing the woodlands in search of game, and now,

25

THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

as they returned, was heard the splash of
paddles upon the river.

Toward the golden sunset the steps of Rim-
mon turned. She climbed the steep hill to the
westward of the falls of Amoskeag. The last
rays of the sun fell on the lofty crag on which
she stood. Upon her face, which looked a
carved image of the face of sorrow, the sunset
hues cast a strange radiance. Long time she
sat beside the lofty cliff, watching the red sky
fade to gold, and then to cheerless gray. Thus
she mused, had her own life been; every joy
had faded, and only the sorrow remained.

She stood now upon the topmost edge of the
cliff, and she chanted the death song of her
race. Her voice was clear and sweet as the
song of a bird. Her eyes were filled with tears
as she took a farewell look at the river, sky, and
plain.

When she did not return they sought her
everywhere. At last at the base of the hill they
found her, and tenderly bore her to the wigwam
of Chocorua. There was grief throughout the
tribe, and Wonalansett and Mineola gazed
at her form through their tears. The old

26

THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

chief willed that Rimmon should rest in the
forest at Aquidaukenash, where Passaconaway
slept, and where he, too, wished one day to
lie. So it was that they returned to the Lake.

Chocorua was now an old man. His sorrow
made him doubly aged, and his form began to
droop, and his step lost its vigor. The cold
winds of winter chilled him, and he said to
Adiwando that the sun of Chocorua was nearly
set. And so one day the old chief folded his
hands across his breast and fell asleep.

Long years Wonalansett ruled his people
wisely and well. In all these years the tribe
prospered and grew strong. Brave sons and
comely daughters had fallen to the lot of
Wonalansett and Mineola, and their hearts
were glad. Many winters had sifted their
snows over the land since Passaconaway passed
to the Happy Hunting Grounds, and Wona-
lansett was now an old man whose form was
bent, and his end seemed near. Mineola too
was no longer young, as when in the days of
long ago she had given her love to the young
sachem by the sparkling waters of Winne-
pesaukee. But through all these years their

11

THE LEGEND OF WONALANSETT

love had grown deeper and fuller, like the
little stream which rises in far-off hills, growing
as it flows on, until at last as a broad river it
casts its wealth of waters into the wide sea.

It was sunset at Aquidaukenash, and the two
sat at the door of their wigwam, watching the
golden west. They were weary, and as they
gazed they were thinking of that scene called
up by Adiwando at their marriage feast so
long ago.

They felt that they had reached the foot of the
mountain of life. At their feet the wide ocean
rolled its resistless tide, on which they would
soon be borne away to the far-off Ponemah.

The hills grew a darker purple, and the
sighing pines made music in their ears like the
notes of some celestial harmony. Hand in
hand they listened, while the peaceful light of
love and trust illumined their faces.

In the whisper of the pines they heard
another sound, the voice of the Great Spirit,
and it called them softly to himself. The tired
eyes closed and, locked fast in each other's
arms they fell asleep, and their bark went
gliding out to sea.

THE END.

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