rescued from almost certain death by the kind and generous care of
those females whose husbands and brothers thirsted for his blood.

The farmer's wife, Mary Sullivan, heard the whole as she sat hushing
her infant to rest; and from the open casement she watched the poor
Indian until she saw his form sink, apparently exhausted, to the
ground, at no great distance from her dwelling. Perceiving that her
husband had finished his work, and was slowly bending his steps toward
the stables with downcast eyes--for it must be confessed he did not
feel very comfortable--she left the house, and was soon at the poor
Indian's side, with a pitcher of milk in her hand, and a napkin, in
which was a plentiful meal of bread and roasted kid, with a little
parched corn as well.

"Will my red brother drink some milk?" said Mary, bending over the
fallen Indian; and as he arose to comply with her invitation, she
untied the napkin and bade him eat and be refreshed.

When he had finished, the Indian knelt at her feet, his eyes beamed
with gratitude, then in his soft tone, he said: "Carcoochee protect
the white dove from the pounces of the eagle; for her sake the
unfledged young shall be safe in its nest, and her red brother will
not seek to be revenged."

Drawing a bunch of heron's feathers from his bosom, he selected the
longest, and giving it to Mary Sullivan, said: "When the white dove's
mate flies over the Indian's hunting-grounds, bid him wear this on his
head."

He then turned away; and gliding into the woods, was soon lost to