the little dusky hand of his bride in his, and held it out to Alice. "This is the Silver Fawn; she dwells in your brother's wigwam; she makes his nets; she trims his arrows; she weaves his wampum; she is his sunshine. Will not my sister give her a welcome too?"
"Yes, yes, indeed!" said Alice, cordially. "She is my brother's wife—she is my sister, then. I will love her;" and, taking the offered hand kindly in hers, she bent forward, and pressed a warm, sisterly kiss upon the smooth, round cheek of the dark but beautiful stranger.
"Good!" said the young husband, laconically. "The words of my sister are pleasant. See!"—and as he spoke he took their united hands in both of his own—"See, my sister! we are three, and yet we are but one."
Then, as the two graceful heads bent before him, Pashemet took a small strand of Alice's golden curls, and a strand of his wife's long, raven-black locks, and with quick, dexterous fingers braided them together, and severing the united braid with his hunting-knife, he held it up to Alice,
