THE RETURN OF THE CAPTIVES. 289 
boy in those times. Thus they passed from one to another until seven or 
eight years had elapsed, and they were grown nearly to maturity; but they 
still remained unseparated. 
At the end of this period they regained their liberty, and at once they 
set out together to return to their native valley. It was many days’ journey 
for them, for they traveled afoot, but at last they arrived in sight of the 
village wherein they were born. By some means the news of their escape 
and return had preceded them, and the parents now learned for the first 
time that their long-lost children were still alive. : 
The wanderers now approach the village. They enter, and are guided 
by friends to the paternal wigwam, for there are many changes since they 
saw the village last. Ascending the earthen dome, they go down the well- 
worn ladder in the center, and seat themselves without a word. The father 
and mother give one hasty glance at them, but no more, and not a word is 
uttered. What the exceeding great joy of their hearf&§ is, heaven and 
themselves alone know; but from all the spectator can read in their still, 
passionless faces, he would not know that they had ever borne any children, 
or mourned them for years with that great and unforgetting sorrow that 
savages sometimes know. An hour passes away, and still not a word is 
spoken, not even a single glance of recognition exchanged. "The returned 
captives sit in motionless silence, while the father and mother move about 
the lodge on their various duties. An hour and a half is gone. The 
parents turn now and then a sudden and stolen look upon their waiting 
children. Two hours or more elapse. The glances become more frequent 
and bolder. It is now perhaps three hours since the captives entered, and 
yet not a whisper. But at last all the fullness of time of savage custom 
and savage etiquette is rounded and complete. The waiting hearts of the 
aged father and mother are full to bursting. Their eyes are filled with 
tears. They turn and speak to their children by name. They rush to 
them, they fall upon their necks, and together they mingle their tears, their 
strange outcries of joy, and their sobs. 
To the reader this may seem extravagant and impossible, but, with the 
exception of a few minor particulars, it is a true story, illustrating a social 
custom of this singular race. In receiving a guest, the Konkau frequently 
19 TC 
