Dick's Desertion by Marjorie Pickthall — Read

From that time onwards throughout the winter, Peter Many-Names was never more than a few miles away from the homestead. He did a flourishing business with the Collinsons in the way of small game and so forth, and appeared to think he had come upon a land of plenty, so many were the meals with which kindly Mrs. Collinson supplied him. Soon the farmer began employing him in small jobs about the fences and farm buildings, which, for some dark reason of his own, Peter condescended to do, and to do well. He was too proud to be dishonest, and he was never there when he was not wanted; so that after a few weeks the inmates of the homestead looked for his silent presence as a matter of course. Mr. Collinson was interested in him -- in his quaint English, his stately ways, his swiftness, and his untiring activity -- and said that he belonged to none of the tribes which occasionally visited that neighbourhood, but that he was probably an outcast from some northern tribe, who, separated from his people for some reason, and caring little to take up with others, fended for himself, and lived his own proud, lonely life. And the shrewd farmer was probably as nearly right as might be.

After a time it seemed to Dick that he never left the house to go to his work about the farm without seeing the dark face and the cold grey eyes which had grown so familiar to him. And by degrees Peter's tongue became loosened, and he told tales in his odd, sing-song English which sent Dick about his tasks with wide, dreamy eyes and ears that heard not. Dick feared the Indian as he might have feared all his temptations embodied in a human form; but he went about with him, and listened hungrily to his stories, feeling fascinated and attracted in spite of this wise fear. He did not realise what a great influence that strong savage nature was gaining over his own.