at their feet. Nakwisi ran to pick it up
and the guide said she might have it, adding that such a bunch,
unbruised, sold for twenty-five cents in the city market. "Oh, how
delicious!" cried Nakwisi,' tasting the grapes and dividing them among
the girls. Mrs. Evans bought a basketful and let them eat all they
wanted. In some of the hothouses tangerines were growing, and in some
persimmons, while others were given over to the raising of roses,
carnations and rare orchids. It was a trip through fairyland for the
girls, and they could hardly tear themselves away when the time came.

"There is something else I must show you while we are in the
neighborhood," said Mrs. Evans, as they passed through Akron. "Does
anybody know what two historical things are near here?" Nobody knew.
Mrs. Evans began humming, "John Brown's Body Lies A-mouldering in the
Grave."

"What has that to do with it?" asked Gladys.

"Everything, with one of them," said Mrs. Evans.

"Did you know that John Brown, owner of the said body, was born in
Akron, and there is a monument here to his memory?"

"Oh how lovely," cried Migwan, "let us see it." So Mrs. Evans drove them
over to the monument and they all stood around it and sang "John Brown's
Body" in his honor.

"Now, what's the other thing?" they asked.

"I believe I know," said Nyoda. "Doesn't the old Portage Trail run
through here somewhere?"

"That's it," said Mrs. Evans.

Then Nyoda told them about the Portage Path of Indian days, before the
canal was built, that extended from Lake Erie to the Ohio River. "The
part that runs through Akron is still called Portage Path," said Mrs.
Evans, and the girls were eager to see it.

"Why, it's nothing but a paved street!" exclaimed Migwan in
disappointment, when they had reached the historical spot.

"That's all it is now," answered Mrs. Evans, "but it is built over the
old Portage Trail, and some of these old trees undoubtedly shaded the
original path." In the minds of the girls the handsome residences faded
from sight, and in place of the wide street they saw the narrow path
trailing off through the forest, with dusky forms stealing along it on
their long journey southward.

"It's time to strike our own trail now," said Nyoda, breaking the
silence, and they started back to the river. Every one was anxious to
make it as pleasant as possible for Hinpoha, and the jests came thick
and fast as they drove along. "Who is the best Latin scholar here?"