Once our fathers own these lands of New York State. Once the Iroquois were great people. Their council fires burn from Hudson on east to Lake Erie on west, from rising to setting sun. Then White man come. He ask for small seat size buffalo skin. He take larger and larger one, till Indian have but small place to sit.
Now we have little left but stories of our fathers. They, too, will soon be lost and forgotten, but a voice has come to speak for us. Yeh sen noh wehs—the one who tells the stories—will carry these stories of our fathers to Paleface. She will help White man to understand Indian, Indian to be understood. She will have all men brothers.
Indian's heart is glad that Yeh sen noh wehs, our white friend, has come to us. She have good eyes. She see right. She like things Indian. She try to preserve them. Our old men and women tell her the stories told them, many, many moons ago, when little children.
Yeh sen noh wehs write down these stories so our children and our children's children may read and know them; and so Paleface Children may learn them also. Indian tell these stories to his children to make them good and brave and kind and unselfish. May they teach Paleface Children how they should do.
Again we say, Indian is glad to have some one speak for him. He is glad to have some one write down the great and beautiful thoughts in Indian's mind and heart. We have spoken. Na ho.
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