representatives of that white sagamore, that wizard pow-wow, or however
you call him, that he was the disappearing Englishman, why, a good case is
made out. Do you feel no interest in such a prospect?"

"Very little, I confess," said Septimius.

"Very little!" said the grim doctor, impatiently. "Do not you see that, if
you make good your claim, you establish for yourself a position among the
English aristocracy, and succeed to a noble English estate, an ancient
hall, where your forefathers have dwelt since the Conqueror; splendid
gardens, hereditary woods and parks, to which anything America can show is
despicable,--all thoroughly cultivated and adorned, with the care and
ingenuity of centuries; and an income, a month of which would be greater
wealth than any of your American ancestors, raking and scraping for his
lifetime, has ever got together, as the accumulated result of the toil and
penury by which he has sacrificed body and soul?"

"That strain of Indian blood is in me yet," said Septimius, "and it makes
me despise,--no, not despise; for I can see their desirableness for other
people,--but it makes me reject for myself what you think so valuable. I
do not care for these common aims. I have ambition, but it is for prizes
such as other men cannot gain, and do not think of aspiring after. I could
not live in the habits of English life, as I conceive it to be, and would
not, for my part, be burdened with the great estate you speak of. It might
answer my purpose for a time. It would suit me well enough to try that
mode of life, as well as a hundred others, but only for a time. It is of
no permanent importance."

"I'll tell you what it is, young man," said the doctor, testily, "you have
something in your brain that makes you talk very foolishly; and I have