willing to fight no matter what position they gave him. And matters are going no better in the North. Either England and our colonies must wake up, or, ere we know it, all will be lost to the French and their Indian allies."
"What of the Indians?" put in Mrs. Morris. "Have those under White Buffalo gone over to the French?"
"White Buffalo's braves have not," answered her husband. "But the tribe is badly split up, and White Buffalo himself is nearly crazy over the matter. He says some of the old chiefs swear by the French while the younger warriors all cling to Washington. White Buffalo says that he himself will never lift a tomahawk against the English—and I feel certain he means it."
"White Buffalo is a real nice Indian," came from little Nell, who sat on the door-step playing. "Didn't he make me this doll? If they were all as good as he is I wouldn't be afraid a bit." And she hugged to her breast the crude wooden figure, the "heap big pappoose" with which White Buffalo had gained her childish confidence.
"Nor would I be afraid," came from Mrs. Morris. "But all Indians are not as kind and true as White Buffalo, and if they should ever go on the
