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Updated: April 30, 2025
Thou hast seen the bright bow which shines in the skies, Narra-mattah, and knowest how one color is mixed with another, like paint on a warrior's face.
Shaking back the ringlets that had blown about her temples, the wondering female returned thoughtfully and in silence to her place. "'Tis a village of the Yengeese!" she said, after a long and expressive pause. "A Narragansett woman does not love to look at the lodges of the hated race." "Listen. Lies have never entered the ears of Narra-mattah. My tongue hath spoken like the tongue of a chief.
"Does not Narra-mattah hear her father speaking to the God of the Yengeese? Listen he is asking favor for his child!" "The Great Spirit of the Narragansett has ears for his people." "But I hear a softer voice! 'Tis a woman of the Pale-faces among her children: cannot the daughter hear?"
Go, hear his voice, and obey. Let thy mind be like a wide clearing; let all its shadows be next the woods; let it forget the dream it dreamt among the trees. 'Tis the will of the Manitou." "Conanchet asketh much of his wife; her son is only the soul of a woman!" "A woman of the Pale-faces; now let her seek her tribe. Narra-mattah, thy people speak strange traditions.
Narra-mattah loves to listen, for the words seem to her like the Wish-Ton-Wish, when he whistles in the woods." Conanchet had fastened a look of deep and affectionate interest on the wild and sweet countenance of the being who stood before him.
Years pass over the bereaved family, when an Indian outbreak restores the lost child to her parents' roof as "Narra-Mattah," the devoted wife of a Narraganset warrior-chief, and the young mother of his little son. This book draws a strong picture of pure family devotion; even the old grandfather's heart, beneath his stiff Puritan garb, beats an unforgettable part.
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