University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
THE LONE INDIAN.

But Captain Brown was wide awake.

He loaded up his gun.

And then pursued the loving pair—and overtook them about
half-way to the parson's, when Reuben and Phœbe

Started upon a run.

I said the clock struck twelve. Hastily quitting the abode of
mirth, I buttoned up my coat, took the veil off of my hat, and
started past Congress Spring toward the Indian encampment—
the haunts of the wild savages in the hill. A fearful storm
brooded over the forest, and the wind howled among the trees.
I read that sentence in a book. A lone Indian woman met me
at the door of her tent. She welcomed me with a cold, haughty
look, and then she asked me if I would buy a basket. I handed
her five cents. Her manner softened, and she burst into tears—
then, turning her clear eye upon mine, she asked me if I would
tell her the story of my life. I said I would.

My mother was a Livingstone—a cold,
proud woman, entirely devoted to the
world and its fashions. She was poor.
My father was a Perkins, a haughty,
overbearing man. He was poor also.
Thirty-six summers ago they met—at
Saratoga—at the Union Hotel. Wm.
Leland introduced them. He told Miss
Livingstone that Mr. Perkins was worth
untold millions. Then he told Mr. Perkins
that Miss Livingstone owned twelve
blocks on Bleeker street. This was a li—bel. My father's

cold heart melted. Wm. Leland has introduced eight hundred
unhappy people in the same manner since. The Lelands do not
believe in punishment after death. I was the only fruit of their
ill-assorted union. I inherited my father's and mother's estates.
I am as proud as they, and I boast of my poverty.

“What do you think of my story, child of the forest?” I asked.

The warm-hearted Indian remained a moment sitting—then
she started up and asked for ten cents more. As soon as she
saw the money a tear dropped from her eye, and she commenced
telling me the story of her tribe and Congress Spring. It was
thus: