was gone, without having taken farewell of her kind benefactress.

A few years after, Susan Cooper,--no longer "pretty Susan," for time and
grief had done their work--heard, late one night, a hurried knock, which
was repeated several times before she could open the door, each time
more loudly than before. She called to ask who it was at that late hour
of night. A few hurried words in Iroquois was the reply, and Susan
congratulated herself on having spoken before unbarring the door. But,
on listening again, she distinctly heard the same voice say,
"Quick--quick!" and recognized it as the Indian woman's voice she had
nursed. The door was instantly opened, when the squaw rushed into the
hut, seized Susan by the arm, and made signs to her to come away. She
was too much excited to remember then the few words of English she had
picked up when living with the white woman. Expressing her meaning by
gestures, with a clearness peculiar to the Indians, she dragged rather
than led Susan from the hut. They had just reached the edge of the
forest when the wild yells of the Indians sounded in their ears. Having
gone with Susan a little way into the forest, her guide left her. For
nearly four hours she lay there, half dead with cold and terror, not
daring to move from her place of concealment. She saw the flames of the
dwelling, where so many lonely hours had been passed, rising above the
trees, and heard the shrill "whoops" of the retiring Indians. Nero, who
was lying by her side, suddenly rose and gave a low growl. Silently a
dark figure came gliding among the trees directly to the spot where she
lay. She gave herself up for lost; but it was the Indian woman, who came
to her, and dropped at her feet a bag of money, the remains of her late
husband's savings. The grateful creature knew where it was kept; and
while the Indians were busied examining the rifles and other objects
more interesting to them, had carried it off unobserved. Waving her arm
around to show that all was now quiet, she pointed in the direction of