She
would draw them to her bosom, and tenderly caress them; but it all
availed not, and when the month of October came, with its sere foliage
and fading flowers, Emma and Anna had grown so thin, and pale, and
feeble, from their wearing home-sickness, that they stayed all day in
the wigwam, going out only to visit Winona's grave. They drooped and
drooped, and those who saw them said, "The white children will die, and
lie down with Winona."
The Indian mother gazed on their pallid faces, and wept; she loved them,
and could not bear to part with them; but she saw they would die, and
calling her husband, she bade him convey them to the home of their
father. Many were the tears she shed at parting with them; and when they
disappeared among the thick trees, she threw herself, in an agony of
grief, upon the mats within the wigwam.
It was Sabbath noon when the children arrived in sight of their
father's house; here the Indian left them, and plunged again into the
depths of the forest. They could gain no admittance into the house, and
they hastened to the meeting-house, where they hoped to find their
parents. They reached the church; the congregation was singing;
silently, and unobserved, they entered, and seated themselves at the
remotest part of the building.
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