Then would the Indian boy cast his eyes over the mysterious page, and
read it so skilfully that it sounded like wild music. It seemed as if
the forest leaves were singing in the ears of his auditors, and as the
roar of distant streams were poured through the young Indian's voice.
Such were the sounds amid which the language of the red man had been
formed; and they were still heard to echo in it.

The lesson being over, Mr. Eliot would give the Indian boy an apple or a
cake, and bid him leap forth into the open air which his free nature
loved. The Apostle was kind to children, and even shared in their sports
sometimes. And when his visitors had bidden him farewell, the good man
turned patiently to his toil again.

No other Englishman had ever understood the Indian character so well,
nor possessed so great an influence over the New England tribes, as the
apostle did. His advice and assistance must often have been valuable to
his countrymen in their transactions with the Indians. Occasionally,
perhaps, the governor and some of the councillors came to visit Mr.
Eliot. Perchance they were seeking some method to circumvent the forest
people. They inquired, it may be, how they could obtain possession of
such and such a tract of their rich land. Or they talked of making the
Indians their servants; as if God had destined them for perpetual
bondage to the more powerful white man.

Perhaps, too, some warlike captain, dressed in his buff coat, with a
corselet beneath it, accompanied the governor and councillors. Laying
his hand upon his sword hilt, he would declare that the only method of
dealing with the red men was to meet them with the sword drawn and the
musket presented.