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 continued the priest; "I wonder thou hadst the heart to keep him for thy prey, he is so beautiful a creature."

Robert's nostrils were tickled by the crisp fragrance of the roasted trout.

"I am too busy in smelling the fish, and shall soon be in tasting it, I hope, to care much for its markings," cried Robert. "Don't let the good food get cold, father."

"Thou art hungry indeed, Robert," answered the priest; and making no further delay, he asked the blessing, without which Robert would not have dared to touch a crust of his bread. The two friends sat down side by side on a rough bench, and the dusky child served them silently.

"We do not often feast like this, do we, my boy?" said the priest kindly.

The child shook his head, still speechless.

"Whose son is this?" asked Robert; "he must be a stranger, since he will not speak before me."

"Yes; thou hast never seen him before," returned the missionary. "The fact that my Indians refuse to enter into conversation with strange white people is not without a sad significance," he added; "they have been so abused by the dominant—I cannot call it the superior—race, that they suspect all of its children who fall in their way. This boy here knows, young