R. M. Ballantyne,
The Pioneers
“ Only one figure, that of an old woman, remained in a half-reclining position, but she was motionless, and they thought her dead also. This, however, was not the case. The flood of light which streamed in on her appeared to rouse her, for she raised her grey head, and, gazing anxiously at the figures which darkened the entrance of the lodge, asked in a tremulous voice: “Is that you, my son?”“No, mother, but it is a friend,” said Swiftarrow, who understood her language.“A friend,” repeated the old woman, shaking her head slowly, “I don’t want a friend. The Master of Life is my friend. ”
