of the white water-lily—"Listen! Pashemet has no sister, and his mother has gone long ago to the Spirit Land. Pashemet is alone in his wigwam—he has no mother, no sister."
"And I, too," said Alice, answering him in his own strain—"I, too, am the last of my people. I have no father, no brother—I, too, am alone. But see," she said kindly, "I will be your sister, and I will choose you for my brother." Stooping to the cool water which rippled at her feet, she dipped her hand in it, and laid it on the dusky brow of the youth beside her. "Oh, Pashemet! my brother, I baptize you 'the Fir-tree.'"
Calm, grave, and unsmiling, the Indian boy imitated her graceful action, and as he sprinkled the bright drops over her long, flowing, chestnut curls, he murmured gravely—"Oh, Alice! my sister, pure and beautiful! I baptize thee 'the Water-lily.'"
Laughingly Alice's flower-like head bent beneath the mimic shower, but from that moment, as if by tacit consent, they always recognized the assumed bond, and addressed each other by these endearing or fanciful names.
