After Mr. Fairbanks assumed charge of the school there was no further trouble. He was a teacher of large experience, good judgment, and a happy faculty of imparting what he knew. He was not a man of extensive acquirements, but he was thoroughly versed in all the branches he was required to teach. Though he never boasted of his remarkable achievements, like his predecessor, his pupils had far greater confidence in his knowledge.

Julius learned rapidly under his care. After the winter term was over Mr. Fairbanks was induced to open a private school by those who thought the more of him from comparing him with his predecessor; and to this school Julius also was sent. But, though his progress was steady, no events of interest call for mention here. He became popular with his schoolfellows, distinguishing himself in the playground as well as the classroom. Nearly all the street phrases which he carried to the West with him dropped away, and only now and then did he betray the manner of his former life.

Having written so much to let my readers know how Julius was advancing, I pass to describe a character{163} who has something to do with my story. Though no tribe of Indians was settled near Brookville, single representatives of the race, from time to time, visited the village—occasionally with baskets of beadwork to sell, occasionally in the less honorable character of mendicant. Most were subject to the curse which civilization brought with it to these children of the forest, namely, the love of strong drink; and a large portion of whatever money they received was spent for what the Indian appropriately calls fire water.

It was on a day in the following summer that a tall Indian, wrapped in a dirty blanket, presented himself at the back door of Mr. Taylor’s house. His features were bloated, and clearly indicated his habits. His expression otherwise was far from prepossessing, and the servant, who answered his call, looked at him rather uneasily, knowing that her mistress, herself and little Carrie were alone in the house. Mr. Taylor had gone to a neighboring town and taken Julius with him, while Abner was in the fields.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Money,” said the Indian, laconically.

“I have no money,” she answered. “I will give you something to eat.”

“Want money,” repeated the Indian.

“I’ll go and ask my mistress,” said Jane.

Mrs. Taylor, on being informed of the matter, went{164} herself to the door. Little Carrie’s curiosity had been aroused, and she asked if she might go too. As there seemed to be no objection, Mrs. Taylor took the little girl by the hand, and presented herself at the door.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, of her dusky visitor.

“No; want money,” was the reply.

“I am not in the habit of giving money at the door. My husband does not approve of it,” she answered.

“Go ask him,” said the Indian.

“He is not at home,” she answered, incautiously; “but I am sure he would not be willing to have me give you any money.”

As soon as she had admitted the absence of her husband she realized her imprudence. There was a scarcely perceptible gleam of exultation in the eye of the Indian as he heard what was so favorable to his purpose. A man would be in his way, but a woman he could frighten.

“Must have money; must have two dollar,” he reiterated.

“What do you want money for?” asked Mrs. Taylor.

“Buy rum—good!”

“Then I am sure I shall give you none. Rum is bad,” said Mrs. Taylor.

“It makes Indian feel good.”

“It may for the time, but it will hurt you afterward.{165} I will give you some meat and some coffee. That is better than rum.”

“Don’t want it,” said the Indian, obstinately. “Want money.”

“You’d better give it to him, ma’am, and let him go,” said Jane, in a low voice.

“No,” said Mrs. Taylor; “Mr. Taylor is very much opposed to it. The last time I gave money he blamed me very much. If he is not satisfied with coffee and meat I shall give him nothing.”

“Ugh! Ugh!” grunted the Indian, evidently angry.

“I’m afraid of him, mamma. He’s so ugly,” said Carrie, timidly, clinging to her mother’s hand.

“He won’t hurt you, my darling,” said Mrs. Taylor.

But the Indian had caught the little girl’s words, and probably understood them. He scowled at her, and this terrified the child still more.

“Will you have some coffee?” Mrs. Taylor asked once more.

“No; rum.”

“I have no rum to give you.”

“Money.”

“Neither shall I give you money.”

The Indian emitted a guttural sound, probably indicating dissatisfaction, and turned slowly away.{166}

“I am glad he is gone,” said Mrs. Taylor. “I don’t like his looks.”

“Is he a bad man?” asked Carrie.

“I don’t know, my dear, but he likes to drink rum.”

“Then he must be bad.”

“He’s the worst lookin’ Indian I ever see,” said Jane. “I don’t want to set my eyes upon him again. He ought to be ashamed, goin’ round askin’ for money, a great, strong man like him. Why don’t he work?”

“Indians are not very fond of working, I believe, Jane.”

“If he wants money, he might make baskets.”

“Why didn’t you tell him so?”

“I was afraid to. He looked so wicked.”

So the subject was dismissed. They supposed that the Indian was gone, and that they would not hear from him again. But they had forgotten that the red man is quick to take offense, and is revengeful by nature. They did not suspect that he was even then planning a revenge which would strike anguish into the heart of all in the household.

The Indian had not gone away, as they supposed. He was still hovering about the house, though he carefully avoided observation. He had been greatly incensed at the persistent refusal of Mrs. Taylor to supply him with rum, or the means of purchasing it. Years before he had become a slave to the accursed fire water, and it{167} had become a passion with him to gratify his thirst. But it could not be obtained without money, and money was not to be had except by working for it, or by begging. Of these two methods the Indian preferred the last.

“Work is for squaws!” he said, in a spiteful and contemptuous manner. “It is not for warriors.”

But John, as he was sometimes called, did not look like the noble warriors whom Cooper describes. He was a shaggy vagabond, content to live on the alms he could obtain from the whites in the towns which he visited. As for lodgings, he was forced to lie down in his blanket wherever he could find the shelter of a tree or a forest.

The sight of the child had suggested to John a notable revenge. He could steal the little child, who had called him an ugly man—an expression which he understood. Thus he could wring the mother’s heart, and obtain revenge. There would be little danger of interference, for he knew that Mr. Taylor was away.

Mrs. Taylor and Carrie went back to the sitting-room where the mother resumed her sewing, and Carrie began to play with her blocks on the floor. Neither of them suspected that, just outside, the Indian was crouching, and that from time to time he glanced into the room to watch his chances of carrying out his plan.

By and by Carrie grew sleepy, as children are apt{168} to do in the hot summer afternoons, and when they are tired.

“Lie down on the sofa, my darling,” said her mother.

“So I will, mother,” said Carrie. “I am very hot and sleepy.”

She lay down, and her mother tenderly placed a cushion under the little, weary head.

Soon Carrie was wrapped in the deep, unconscious sleep of childhood. The Indian, with a look of satisfaction, beheld her repose, as he stole a glance through the window.

Soon Mrs. Taylor thought of a direction she wished to give Jane. Glancing at little Carrie, she left the room, knowing that the child would not miss her.

No sooner had she left the room than the Indian, who had been waiting for this, sprang in through the open window, clasped the unconscious child in his arms, whose slumber was too profound to be disturbed even by this action, and in a moment was out on the lawn, speeding rapidly away with the little girl in his arms.

Suspecting no harm, Mrs. Taylor remained absent for fifteen minutes, then returning, her first glance was at the sofa, where she had left Carrie. Her heart gave a sudden bound when she discovered her absence. But even then she did not suspect the truth. She thought the child might have waked up, and gone upstairs.{169}

“Carrie! Carrie!” she called out, in the greatest uncertainty and alarm.

But there was no answer.

She summoned Jane, and together they hunted high and low for the little girl, but in vain.

Then first a suspicion of the truth came to her.

“The Indian has carried her off!” she exclaimed in anguish, and sank fainting to the floor.{170}