The Moccasin Maker | Page 8

door was
noiselessly opened and a lad of seventeen, lithe, clean-limbed, erect,
copper-colored, ran swiftly down the steps, lifted his hat, smiled, and
assisted the ladies to alight. The boy was Indian to the finger-tips, with
that peculiar native polish and courtesy, that absolute ease of manner
and direction of glance, possessed only by the old-fashioned type of red
man of this continent. The missionary introduced him as "My young
friend, the church interpreter, Mr. George Mansion, who is one of our
household." (Mansion, or "Grand Mansion," is the English meaning of
this young Mohawk's native name.)
The entire personality of the missionary seemed to undergo a change as
his eyes rested on this youth. His hitherto rather stilted manner relaxed,
his eyes softened and glowed, he invited confidence rather than
repelled it; truly his heart was bound up with these forest people; he
fairly exhaled love for them with every breath. He was a man of
marked shyness, and these silent Indians made him forget this
peculiarity of which he was sorrowfully conscious. It was probably this
shyness that caused him to open the door and turn to his young wife
with the ill-selected remark: "Welcome home, madam."
Madam! The little bride was chilled to the heart with the austere word.
She hurried within, followed by her wondering child-sister, as soon as
possible sought her room, then gave way to a storm of tears.
"Don't mind me, Liddy," she sobbed. "There's nothing wrong; we'll be
happy enough here, only I think I looked for a little--petting."

With a wisdom beyond her years, Lydia did not reply, but went to the
window and gazed absently at the tiny patch of flowers beyond the
door--the two lilac trees in full blossom, the thread of glistening river,
and behind it all, the northern wilderness. Just below the window stood
the missionary and the Indian boy talking eagerly.
"Isn't George Mansion splendid!" said the child.
"You must call him Mr. Mansion; be very careful about the Mister,
Liddy dear," said her sister, rising and drying her eyes bravely. "I have
always heard that the Indians treat one just as they are treated by one.
Respect Mr. Mansion, treat him as you would treat a city gentleman.
Be sure he will gauge his deportment by ours. Yes, dear, he is splendid.
I like him already."
"Yes, 'Liza, so do I, and he is a gentleman. He looks it and acts it. I
believe he thinks gentlemanly things."
Elizabeth laughed. "You dear little soul!" she said. "I know what you
mean, and I agree with you."
That laugh was all that Lydia wanted to hear in this world, and
presently the two sisters, with arms entwined, descended the stairway
and joined in the conversation between Mr. Evans and young George
Mansion.
"Mrs. Evans," said the boy, addressing her directly for the first time, "I
hoped you were fond of game. Yesterday I hunted; it was partridge I
got, and one fine deer. Will you offer me the compliment of having
some for dinner to-night?"
His voice was low and very distinct, his accent and expressions very
marked as a foreigner to the tongue, but his English was perfect.
"Indeed I shall, Mr. Mansion," smiled the girl-bride, "but I'm afraid that
I don't know how to cook it."
"We have an excellent cook," said Mr. Evans. "She has been with

George and me ever since I came here. George is a splendid shot, and
keeps her busy getting us game suppers."
Meanwhile Lydia had been observing the boy. She had never seen an
Indian, consequently was trying to reform her ideas regarding them.
She had not expected to see anything like this self-poised,
scrupulously-dressed, fine-featured, dark stripling. She thought all
Indians wore savage-looking clothes, had fierce eyes and stern, set
mouths. This boy's eyes were narrow and shrewd, but warm and kindly,
his lips were like Cupid's bow, his hands were narrower, smaller, than
her own, but the firmness of those slim fingers, the power in those
small palms, as he had helped her from the carriage, remained with her
through all the years to come.
That evening at supper she noted his table deportment; it was correct in
every detail. He ate leisurely, silently, gracefully; his knife and fork
never clattered, his elbows never were in evidence, he made use of the
right plates, spoons, forks, knives; he bore an ease, an unconsciousness
of manner that amazed her. The missionary himself was a stiff man,
and his very shyness made him angular. Against such a setting young
Mansion gleamed like a brown gem.
* * * * *
For seven years life rolled slowly by. At times Lydia went to visit her
two other married sisters, sometimes she remained for weeks with a
married brother, and at