Then would the apostle call to him an Indian boy, one of his scholars, and show him the manuscript, which had so puzzled the learned Englishmen.
"Read this, my child," said he, "these are some brethren of mine, who would fain hear the sound of thy native tongue." Then would the Indian boy cast his eyes over the mysterious page, and read it so skilfully, that it sounded like wild music.

It seemed as if the forest leaves were singing in the ears of his auditors, and as if the roar of distant streams were poured through the young Indian's voice.

Such were the sounds amid which the language of the red man had been formed; and they were still heard to echo in it.
The lesson being over, Mr.Eliot would give the Indian boy an apple or a cake, and bid him leap forth into the open air, which his free nature loved.

The apostle was kind to children, and even shared in their sports, sometimes.

And when his visitors had bidden him farewell, the good man turned patiently to his toil again.
No other Englishman had ever understood the Indian character so well, nor possessed so great an influence over the New England tribes, as the apostle did.