“Why so grave, Robin¹?” inquired Mrs Gore², when her husband returned to the parlour after seeing Wapaw laid in a warm corner of the kitchen, and committed to the care of Larry O’Dowd.

“Molly, my dear, it’s of no use concealin’ things from you, ’cause when bad luck falls we must just face it. This Injun—Wapaw, he calls himself—tells me he has com’d here a-purpose, as fast as he could, to say that his tribe have resolved to attack me, burn the Fort, kill all the men, and carry you off into slavery.”

“God help me! can this be true?”

“True enough, I don’t doubt, ’cause Wapaw has the face of an honest man, and I believe in faces. He says some of the worst men of his tribe are in power just now; that they want the contents of my store without paying for them; that he tried to get them to give up the notion, but failed. On seeing that they were bent⁴ on it, he said he was going off to hunt, and came straight here to warn me. He says they talked of starting for the Fort two days after he did, and that he pushed on as fast as he could travel, so it’s not likely they’ll be here for two or three days yet. I’ll get ready for them, hows’ever, and when the reptiles⁶ do come they’ll meet with a warm reception, I warrant them; meanwhile, do you go and get dinner ready. We won’t let such varmints interfere⁷ with our New Year’s feast.”

While Robin’s wife went to her larder⁸, his children were in the kitchen tending the Indian with earnest solicitude⁹, and Larry was preparing a little soup for him.

“Do you like rabbit soup?” asked Nelly, kneeling beside the pallet of pine branches on which Wapaw lay.

The Indian smiled, and said something in his native tongue.

“Sure he don’t onderstan’ ye,” exclaimed Larry, as he

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