From that moment the manner of Hist
lost all its irony and cool indifference, and she became the fond
caressing friend again. Throwing her arms around the afflicted
girl, she attempted to soothe her sorrows by the scarcely ever
failing remedy of female sympathy.
"Stop cry - no cry -" she said, wiping the tears from the face of
Hetty, as she would have performed the same office for a child,
and stopping to press her occasionally to her own warm bosom with
the affection of a sister. "Why you so trouble? You no make he
book, if he be wrong, and you no make he pale-face if he wicked.
There wicked red man, and wicked white man - no colour all good -
no colour all wicked. Chiefs know that well enough."
Hetty soon recovered from this sudden burst of grief, and then her
mind reverted to the purpose of her visit, with all its single-hearted
earnestness. Perceiving that the grim looking chiefs were still
standing around her in grave attention, she hoped that another
effort to convince them of the right might be successful. "Listen,
Hist," she said, struggling to suppress her sobs, and to speak
distinctly - "Tell the chiefs that it matters not what the wicked
do -right is right - The words of The Great Spirit are the words
of The Great Spirit - and no one can go harmless for doing an evil
act, because another has done it before him.
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