Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1925-09-16

Yet ! know that Ameou would
never have abandoned her child"
exclaimed the Nascaupee woman.
"Ameou's child" he cried. Glow
can it be her child and thus also my
own ?"
His hands began to tremble VIII
a sudden palsy OF emotion. He
looked at the woman hungrilv, as if
begging her for enlightenm -
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 seew 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 head" 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
color as thine own.
"And the little face! In a moment
l 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 2e 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? 1 tell thee, Vel
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 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 CT Ameou, on
whose breast he should be lying now
0 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-
thing you have been keeping from
me. She must surely have died, for
she was the gentlest soul on earth
i oh fn how oh &c
fiercely as mother of the whelps of
wolves.
"She must be dead but l cannot
tell why the baby was all alone in
the woods. Had she been living she
would have fought to get it back an1
searched for it day and night. She
must be dead!'
For some time he remained very
still, sitting on the ground with his
head nearly down 20 his knees, over
come with grief which in his weak
ness he hao no power to restrain.
The mother-woman beside him
looked at lim pityingly, fer she
shared his belief.
But soon he arose and seemed to
have greater control of his limbs
than before.
81 thank thee for taking care Of
nv little son." he told the woman
hoarselv. 81 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 | endured since
| came out Of the White Rapids"
He took a 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 a time and stand
face to face with his grief. Perhaps
he will talk to his Manitou, as do
some % Ike white men, and be COM
forted. He will not go far, and it
will be easy to bring him back after
a time"
Lorimer, indeed, went but short
distance away. He sat down Imply
on the first convenient fallen tree.
Atuk had promised to take him in
his canoe to Tshemuak-that very
aftern OIL as soon as he had finished
gathering his smoked fish that
could not be left out of doors, for the
weather was becoming squally and
the rain was not far off.
But what cared Lorimer? Tshe-
muak, Many Beaver Lake, or the
peaceful fields and hedgerows of his
own land were ali alike to him now.
There was nc happiness any
where. The world was altogether
too hard. He remem oered an old
Oriental saying-that it was better
to lie than to Stand, to sleep than
merely lie, to be dead than sleeping.
He had no other desire than sur
cease from his pain, and ne wished
that his Dram might become so
dulled as to make thought impossi-
bic. If only the ability to feel could
leave him now, as it had for a time
in the great White Rapids!
(To Be Continued.)
The word listeners in" should not