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excellent interpreters."
"We heard much at Fort Pitt and Fort Henry about the danger, as well as
uselessness, of our venture," Jim continued. "The frontiersmen declared that
every rod of the way was beset with savage foes, and that, even in the
unlikely event of our arriving safely at the Village of Peace, we would then
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be hemmed in by fierce, vengeful tribes."
"Hostile savages abound here, of course; but we do not fear them. We invite
them. Our work is to convert the wicked, to teach them to lead good, useful
lives. We will succeed."
Jim could not help warming to the minister for his unswervable faith, his
earnest belief that the work of God could not fail; nevertheless, while he
felt no fear and intended to put all his heart in the work, he remembered with
disquietude Colonel Zane's warnings. He thought of the wonderful precaution
and eternal vigilance of Jonathan and Wetzel men of all men who most
understood Indian craft and cunning. It might well be possible that these good
missionaries, wrapped up in saving the souls of these children of the forest
so full of God's teachings as to have little mind for aught else, had no
knowledge of the Indian nature beyond what the narrow scope of their work
invited. If what these frontiersmen asserted was true, then the ministers'
zeal had struck them blind.
Jim had a growing idea of the way in which the savages could be best taught.
He resolved to go slowly; to study the redmen's natures; not to preach one
word of the gospel to them until he had mastered their language and could
convey to their simple minds the real truth. He would make Christianity as
clear to them as were the deer-trails on the moss and leaves of the forest.
"Ah, here you are. I hope you have rested well," said Mr. Zeisberger, when
at the conclusion of this long recital Nell and Kate came into the room.
"Thank you, we feel much better," answered Kate. The girls certainly looked
refreshed. The substitution of clean gowns for their former travel-stained
garments made a change that called forth the minister's surprise and
admiration.
"My! My! Won't Edwards and Young beg me to keep them here now!" he
exclaimed, his pleased eyes resting on Nell's piquant beauty and Kate's noble
proportions and rich coloring. "Come; I will show you over the Village of
Peace."
"Are all these Indians Christians?" asked Jim.
"No, indeed. These Indians you see here, and out yonder under the shade,
though they are friendly, are not Christians. Our converts employ themselves
in the fields or shops. Come; take a peep in here. This is where we preach in
the evenings and during inclement weather. On pleasant days we use the maple
grove yonder."
Jim and the others looked in at the door of the large log structure. They
saw an immense room, the floor covered with benches, and a raised platform at
one end. A few windows let in the light. Spacious and barn-like was this
apartment; but undoubtedly, seen through the beaming eyes of the missionary,
it was a grand amphitheater for worship. The hard-packed clay floor was velvet
carpet; the rude seats soft as eiderdown; the platform with its white-oak
cross, an altar of marble and gold.
"This is one of our shops," said Mr. Zeisberger, leading them to a cabin.
"Here we make brooms, harness for the horses, farming implements everything
useful that we can. We have a forge here. Behold an Indian blacksmith!"
The interior of the large cabin presented a scene of bustling activity.
Twenty or more Indians bent their backs in earnest employment. In one corner a
savage stood holding a piece of red-hot iron on an anvil, while a brawny brave
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wielded a sledge-hammer. The sparks flew; the anvil rang. In another corner a
circle of braves sat around a pile of dried grass and flags. They were
twisting and fashioning these materials into baskets. At a bench three Indian
carpenters were pounding and sawing. Young braves ran back and forth, carrying
pails, rough-hewn boards and blocks of wood.
Instantly struck by two things, Jim voiced his curiosity:
"Why do these Indians all wear long hair, smooth and shiny, without
adornment?"
"They are Christians. They wear neither headdress, war-bonnet, nor
scalp-lock," replied Mr. Zeisberger, with unconscious pride.
"I did not expect to see a blacksmith's anvil out here in the wilderness.
Where did you procure these tools?"
"We have been years getting them here. Some came by way of the Ohio River;
others overland from Detroit. That anvil has a history. It was lost once, and
lay for years in the woods, until some Indians found it again. It is called
the Ringing Stone, and Indians come from miles around to see and hear it."
The missionary pointed out wide fields of corn, now growing yellow, and
hillsides doted with browsing cattle, droves of sturdy-limbed horses, and pens
of fat, grunting pigs all of which attested to the growing prosperity of the
Village of Peace.
On the way back to the cabin, while the others listened to and questioned
Mr. Zeisberger, Jim was silent and thoughtful, for his thoughts reverted to
his brother.
Later, as he walked with Nell by the golden-fringed stream, he spoke of Joe.
"Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surely he will
return to us when he has satisfied his wild craving for adventure. Do you not
think so?"
There was an eagerness that was almost pleading in Jim's voice. What he so
much hoped for that no harm had befallen Joe, and that he would return he
doubted. he needed the encouragement of his hope.
"Never," answered Nell, solemnly.
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