Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1914-10-08

MIN as any OJfleT llluldI1S OF the
north would have done; but the baby
was bewildering problem.
Thou art Yellow Hair" she said
Of thy locks. But how came the lit
is the mother? 2"
"The little one" Lorimer echoed
in surprise.
Eyes, the uash that laid in thy
arms as thou camest here-that was
perishing also with hunger until
put him to my breast?"
He put his hands to his forehead
wearily and thought for moment
"Yes," he replied at length. II re.
member that there was little baby
"a tiny one that cried in my arms
as bore him."
But how came he to be with thee,
and where is the mother, who must
be crazed with misery for her loss ?"
Il know nothing Of the mother"
answered Lorimer. 81 remember
now that / picked up child lying
beneath tree; but I cannot tell
what were my thoughts, for was
very faint with long travelling"
yet the mother!" insisted Atuk's
wife.
81 saw nothing of any woman" he
went on. at seems to me that pit
led the little lost thing and took it
with me-"
His puzzled look indicated that he
had nothing else to say, owing to the
confusion of his brain.
yet / know that Ameou would
never have abandoned her childw
exclaimed the Nascaupee, woman.
"Ameou's childw he cried. "How
can it be her child and thus also my
own?"
His hands began to tremble with
sudden palsy of emotion. He
looked at the woman hungrily, as if
begging her for enlightenment.
But she ran to her tent and
brought back the little child. 1t was
sleeping soundly, content with fos-
ter-mother's care.
"Now look thou and see" she
cried, handling the baby with loving
care.
She pushed back the little beaded
cap.
"Look, Yellow Hair, at the fluffy
down that is on the headw she said.
mo, do not touch him yet or he will
awaken. Those little hairs will fall
soon to make room for others, but
they are well-nigh of as sunlit- a
color as thine own.
"And the little face! In moment
! will show thee my own baby, who
is also very beautiful, and thou
shalt see how much lighter is the
skin Of this one. The eyes, more
over, as thou shalt see when he
wakens, are very dark; but they are
not brown, for they show blue like
the color Of very deep water.
"Who else could have a child, born
but maybe half a moon ago, with
such hair and eyes? tell thee, Yel-
low Hair, it must be the child Ameou
was awaiting when last / saw her,
and in whom she had so much hope
and pride. And, also it must be
thine own"
The man stared at her with a Gu
rious sense Of happiness that came
to him gradually as his brain began
to work more clearly. Then he fell
on his knees before the woman, who
sat on log close to the fire with the
precious burden in her arms.
"My own little son." he said in
very low voice, as if this also might
have been some wild illusion that
had come to him during the time Of
his striving to reach Tshemuak, and
which he could scarcely believe. "My
own baby-the son of Ameou, on
whose breast he should be lying now!
o woman, hast thou really taken my
own baby to thy heart? But, then,
where is Ameou?"
He looked at the two Indians with
a pitiful, inquiring expression, and
bitter. salt tears began to gather in
his eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he re-
preached them. "There is some
thing you have been keeping from
me. She must surely have died, for
she was the gentlest soul on earth
and would have clung to her child as
fiercely as mother of the whelps of
wolves.
"She must be dead, but I cannot
tell why the baby was all alone in
the woods. Had she been living she
would have fought to get it back and
searched for it day and night. She
must be deadw
For some time he remained very
still, sitting on the ground with his
head nearly down to his knees, over
come with grief Which in his weak
ness he hao no power to restrain.
The mother-woman beside him
looked at him pityingly, for she
shared his belief.
But soon he arose and seemed to
have greater control Of his limbs
than before.
"I thank thee for taking care Of
my little son." he told the woman
hoarsely. ~ will be able to show
my gratitude for that which thou
didst for him and for me. But now
/ must think for time and be alone
with my sorrow, which is more bit
ter than all the pain l endured since
/ came out of the White Rapids"
He took big stick, one of several
that were cut handy for hanging
pots and pans, and moved away into
the thick wood. Atuk would have
followed him, but the wife inter
fered.
"Let him go for time and stand
face to face with his grief. Perhaps