CAMP HAMPERFORD.

Just here they made a striking picture in the moon-
light of the grand old forest. Phil had sprung to
his feet, and was standing close to the Indian maiden’s
side, one end of his gun resting on the ground, yet
firmly held in both hands. Sampson crouched
“couchant,” ready for a deadly spring at a half-
instant’s notice — aye, and what a spring it would
have been-——while a few yards off stood the motion-
less figure of Nomantic.

But the scene remained in tableau but for a
moment; for suddenly from the Indian girl herself
came a cry half of joy, half of pain; and in another
moment she was clasped in her own father’s arms.

He had thought that all must by this time be
over; and unable longer to control his bitter grief
and longing, had stolen out to see if his darling
young princess were indeed dead, and waiting to be
made ready for her burial.

No words could express his astonishment, when,
on nearing the spot, he saw her not only still alive,
but reviving.

Lifting her as though she were a child, and grunt-
ing forth some strange sounds meant for thanks to
Phil, who with rare presence of mind handed him
the bottle containing what remained of Davy’s lucky
“ginger,” he. strode with his daughter back to the
camping grounds but a short distance away.

But as the sturdy old Indian started away, the
pretty creature turned her face towards Phil with a
look in her starry eyés he never quite forgot. Touch-
ing her pale lips with her slender finger-tips, she
waved her own sweet thanks, and half-bashfully
Phil smiled and waved back a sort of “by-by.”

When half-way back Phil met the entire Camp
Hamperford, turned out “to rescue him,” as Harry
Ford remarked. They explained that a dismal howl
from Watch had awakened them, and then they dis-
covered his “nowhereness.” It was a long and
exciting story to which the boys listened; but there
was still an hour or two left before sunrise, and the
camp again slept soundly.

Home was reached safely that afternoon. There
were exciting tales to be told that evening in the
three households; and it would have done any one
good to have witnessed Davy’s unbounded satisfac-
tion at the part he had played in ¢ke event of the
trip.

It was on the third morning after the arrival home,
that Mr. Hamlin awoke Phil at an early hour, telling
him a message had been sent him during the night,

’ kind Pale Face, and Star Eyes work um saddle.

I51

and he must arise and attend to the matter at once,
adding that Mike was somewhere in the garden, and
would tell him about it.

There was something mysterious about his father’s
manner, and on expressing the opinion to Davy
during his hurried dressing, Davy said yes, he thought
so too. ‘

Phil hurried down-stairs, burst out of the back
door, bounded like a squirrel through the garden to’
find Mike, when lo and behold! there at the stable
door, firmly fastened and secured, patiently stood a
lovely snow-white pony, with wampum saddle curiously
embroidered, and bridled and stirruped in style en-
chanting.

Going up to the graceful creature Phil saw that
an enormous piece of yellowish white paper had
been folded and pinned to the saddle. Taking it
down he read with considerable difficulty, what some
more enlightened “Red Face” had been coaxed or
hired to prepare, for the “ undersigned ” could
neither read nor write:

“We brake camp terday and speed the far West,
With forrests full of thanks we send him poney to
May
Great Spirrit spred loving wings over deer yung Pale
Face. We take with us him gift of good fire warter,
and saved the loved yung squar.

“Cuier Nomantic >< [his mark.]
“Star Eves = [her mark.” ]

Back sped Phil to the house, his face radiant and
his eyes aflame. He rushed over the stairs and into
his room just as the little crippled brother had
finished the slow task of dressing.

“Oh, you duck of a Davy,” he cried, “what do
you think now! Why, that blessed old Injine, Noman-
tic, you: know—the old chief, you know—has sent us
that darling little white saddle and wampum pony —
why, what the mischief am I saying! he has sent us
that dear little white pony, wampum saddle, and all
the fixin’s! You needn’t say you don’t believe it now,
it’s true as this world, and there’s a great big lump in
my throat most choking me too!” for great fifteen-
year-old Phil was actually almost sobbing with delight
and excitement.

That night when Joe Fanshaw dashed up to the
post-office, he informed half of Parrisville that the
Indians of Nomantic’s tribe had decamped—started
for the far West.