white folk."

"No, it's always been the Indian way. They have a song or a
prayer for most every big event, sunrise, sunset, moonrise, good
hunting, and another for when they're sick, or when they're going
on a journey, or when their heart is bad."

"You astonish me. I had no idea they were so human. It carries me
back to the temple of Delphi. It is worthy of Cassandra of Ilion.
I supposed all Indians were just savage Indians that hunted till
their bellies were full, and slept till they were empty again."

"H'm," rejoined Rolf, with a gentle laugh. "I see you also have
been doing some 'hair-trigger, steel-trap, cocksure jedgin'.'"

"I wonder if he'd like to hear some of my songs? "

"It's worth trying; anyway, I would," said Rolf.

That night, by the fire, Van sang the "Gay Cavalier," "The
Hunting of John Peel," and "Bonnie Dundee." He had a fine
baritone voice. He was most acceptable in the musical circles of
Albany. Rolf was delighted, Skookum moaned sympathetically, and
Quonab sat nor moved till the music was over. He said nothing,
but Rolf felt that it was a point gained, and, trying to follow
it up, said:

"Here's your drum, Quonab; won't you sing 'The Song of the
Wabanaki?'" But it was not well timed, and the Indian shook his
head.