"Grandfather, tell me about the Indians," said little Annie Daniel, as she climbed upon the arm of a large rocking chair in which Mr. Abel Daniel was sitting, dreaming of the past with its many varied experiences. The person thus addressed had even now reached his fourscore years and ten, yet his mind was keenly alert, his carriage erect and his immaculate dress revealed the "Gentlemen of the old school." Washington County, Georgia, was proud to claim so distinguished a son, so valiant a hero and such a cultured gentleman. Capt. Daniel had survived three noted wars; the "War of 1812," the Indian and the Mexican, in all of which he had been a true soldier and had won honor for his home and native state. His gallant service in the wars with the British and the Mexicans interested the grown people. How he helped General Gaines and his men capture the little village in Clay County on the banks of the Chattahoochee, which is now called Fort Gaines and drive the Indians back into Florida, always delighted the young boys and his lullabies sung in the Indian language pleased little Annie, but tonight she begged for a real Indian story.

"Well, dear, I shall tell you of one which relates to my own life and is really a great part of it," said grandfather. "After helping to expel the Indians from our borders, I decided to go live with them for a time in order to learn their crafts and become better acquainted with a people whom I believed to be honest and loyal."

"Having crossed the border and tied my handkerchief to a leafy branch and waived it aloft as a flag of truce, they quickly responded and gave me a most cordial welcome. During the seven years of my stay with them, I was known as the 'White Man' and treated as some superior being. The best of all they possessed was at my command and they counted nothing too dear that would add to my pleasure. I was made a sharer in all their hunting and fishing sports, having been presented with one of their very best ponies.

"All went well until one day I discovered that the Chief was plotting a marriage between me and his beautiful daughter. As a marriage dowry he would present us with several barrels of specie, thus showing in what esteem he held me. I could never think of marrying this Indian maiden so I at once began to plan my escape. The next day I rode my pony as far as possible, taking my gun along as a pretense of hunting, but returned the following day with my game. After letting my pony rest a day I started out a second time to test her strength still further. This time I stayed two days and two nights and decided my pony was equal to any undertaking. After a second rest we started out the third time and made a safe flight across the line to my own people.

"Before reaching the old homestead a neighbor had informed me of my father's death and my mother's total blindness. The dear old soul was seated on the porch as I rode up; near her was a water bucket over which was hanging a long handled gourd. Just as her feeble hands reached out for the gourd, I handed it to her, saying; 'Here it is, mother.' She recognized my voice as that of her baby boy and fainted away. From that day I never left my aged mother, but tried to make amends for the sorrow my wanderings must have caused, by attending to her every want and making her last days as comfortable, happy and free from care as ever a loving child could.

"My Indian pony was treasured as a relic of the years spent with the Indians and my fortunate escape from the hand of his daughter.

"But my little girl is getting sleepy, so kiss grandfather good night, and he'll tell you more another time."—Mrs. Annie (Daniel) Clifton, Stone Castle Chapter, D.A.R.