It was a full moon, and as he did walk to and fro, he saw a
fair, tall man in a long black dress, standing in the light on the
lake's shore, who spake to him and called him by name.
"'Squando,' he said, and his voice was deep and solemn, like the wind in
the hill pines, 'the God of the white man is the God of the Indian, and
He is angry with his red children. He alone is able to make the corn
grow before the frost, and to lead the fish up the rivers in the spring,
and to fill the woods with deer and other game, and the ponds and
meadows with beavers. Pray to Him always. Do not hunt on His day, nor
let the squaws hoe the corn. Never taste of the strong fire-water, but
drink only from the springs. It, is because the Indians do not worship
Him, that He has brought the white men among them; but if they will pray
like the white men, they will grow very great and strong, and their
children born in this moon will live to see the English sail back in
their great canoes, and leave the Indians all their fishing-places and
hunting-grounds.
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