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Updated: May 4, 2025
Perhaps the memory of ancient rebellion was roused by the old familiar voice, as he replied "Tonyquat loves his war-paint. It does not spoil his appetite." It was clear from a twinkle in Tony's eye, and a slight motion in his otherwise grave face, that, although this style of language now came quite naturally to him, he was keeping it up to a large extent on purpose.
"Tonyquat knows that what Ian says of his white father is true," said the boy. At the name Tonyquat, which was the only word of the sentence he understood, Petawanaquat cast a look of affection on Tony, while his father and the others burst into a laugh at the child's sententious gravity. But Tony maintained his Indian air, and gazed solemnly at the fire.
"Tony," said Miss Trim, whose heart yearned towards her old but almost unrecognisable pupil, "don't you remember how we used to do lessons together and play sometimes?" "And fight?" added Cora, with a glance at Ian, which caused Elsie to laugh. "Tonyquat does not forget," replied the boy, with profound gravity. "He remembers the lessons and the punishments.
Before going to rest the Indian smoked an extra pipe, and then said "Tonyquat is a brave boy!" "Yes," answered Tony, with an air of gravity quite equal to that of his red father. The few months he had been in captivity had indeed wrought an almost miraculous change in the child. His ideas were much more manly.
Even his speech had lost its childish lisp, and he had begun to express himself somewhat in the allegorical language of the American Indian. Under the influence of a will stronger than his own he had proved himself an apt scholar. "Tonyquat is a boy who keeps his word?" continued the other, with a keen glance. Tony turned his large eyes full on the Indian.
Unlike ordinary seed, it bore fruit during the winter, and that fruit ripened into action in the spring. "Tonyquat," said the red man one morning, after much of the snow had left the ground, "your Indian father intends to start on a long journey to-morrow." "Petawanaquat," replied Tony, "your white-faced son is ready to follow."
I do believe I see the smoking-box. But for the bushes we might see the chimneys of Willow Creek." Tony's excitement was great, but the effect of his late training was seen in the suppression of all feeling, save that which escaped through the eyes. Paint and charcoal concealed the flush on his cheeks effectually. "Tonyquat sees," he replied.
The red man having been reconciled to his old enemy, had remained at Red River, partly to assist him, partly to see the end of the flood, and partly to be near his friend Sinclair and his adopted son Tonyquat. From the latter he could not tear himself away.
The paleface was very earnest. He spoke much of Jesus. He told the story of His love, His sufferings, His death. He spoke of little else. When he was gone I asked Jesus to forgive me. He forgave. Then I was glad, but I looked at Tonyquat and my spirit was troubled. Then it was that I heard the voice of the Great Spirit.
Tony was most emphatic in his denial of entertaining any such desire, and declared with his wonted candour that he loved Petawanaquat and Meekeye next to his own father and mother. "If this be so," returned the Indian, "Tonyquat must be dumb when the white men speak to him. He must know nothing. His voice must be more silent than the waters of a lake when the wind is dead."
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