ed how when a child she had been rebuked
because she had taken a piece of meat in her fingers. But it was the
custom here in the wild, and she rather enjoyed it. And as she ate,
the two Indians watched her with much interest. Such a novelty did she
seem to them, that she could not refrain from smiling.

"Am I eating right?" she asked.

"A-ha-ha," the woman replied. "Babby all sam' Injun bimeby."

"Why do you call me baby? I am very big."

But the woman shook her head.

"White woman no beeg, no strong, no hunt, no feesh, no pack; all sam'
babby."

"Oh, I see," and Jean's eyes twinkled. "I know I cannot hunt, fish, or
pack. But you will teach me, will you not?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun teach babby bimeby. Sleep now."

Jean did feel drowsy, and the bed was so soft and comfortable. For a
while she watched the friendly Indians as they sat near the fire, and
talked low to each other. It all seemed like a wonderful dream--the
leaping flames, the dancing sparks, and the gentle sighing of the wind
in the tree-tops. Her thoughts drifted away to her father and Dane.
How anxious they must be about her. But the Indians would take her
home, and all would again be well. What a story she would have to tell
of her capture and experience in the wilderness. How could she ever
repay her rescuers for what they had done for her? She tried to think
of what she might give them. But her thoughts became confused, and she
drifted oft into a peaceful sleep with the problem unsettled.

Occasionally the Indians turned and watched the girl. When they saw
that she was asleep, they looked at each other and smiled. Then they
brought forth their blackened clay pipes, which they filled and
lighted. For a time they smoked in silence and contentment. At length
they began to converse softly in their own language. That they were
talking about the sleeping girl was evident, for several times they
glanced in her direction. Once Sam ceased in the midst of his talk,
leaped to his feet, and clutched an imaginary object with both hands.
He then squatted down again, and continued his tale of the tragedy that
night by the shore of the forest stream.

When he was through he rose to his feet, picked up his musket, and
looked again at the girl. He then plunged into the night and the
forest, leaving his wife to keep guard alone by the fire. The dawn of
a new day was breaking when he returned and threw two snared partridges
down upon the groun