werowance had returned his thanks to his brother and the bearers
of his gifts were just leaving when Pocahontas rushed in to her father's
lodge half breathless with eagerness.

"Father," she cried, "I pray thee grant me this pleasure. It hath grown
warm, and I and my maidens long for the cool air that abideth by the
salty water. Therefore, I beseech thee, let us go to mine uncle for a
few days' visit."

Powhatan did not answer at once. He did not like to have his favorite
child leave him. But she, seeing that he was undecided, began to plead,
to whisper in his ears words of affection and to stroke his hair till he
gave his consent. Then Pocahontas ran off to get her long mantle and her
finest string of beads and to summon the maidens who were to accompany
her. They embarked in the dugout with her uncle's people and were rowed
swiftly down the river.

At Kecoughtan they were received with much ceremony, for Pocahontas knew
what was due her and how, when it was necessary, to put aside her
childish manner for one more dignified. Opechanchanough greeted her
kindly.

"Hast thou forgiven me, my uncle?" she asked as they sat down to a feast
of the delicious little fish she always begged for when she visited him,
and to steaks of bear meat; "hast thou forgiven the arrow I shot at thee
last popanow?"

"I will remember naught unpleasant against thee, little kinswoman," he
replied as he drank his cup of walnut milk.

"Indeed I am ashamed of my foolishness," continued his niece. "I was but
a child then."

"And now?--it is but a few moons ago."

"But see how I grow, as the maize after a rain storm. Soon they will say
I am ready for suitors."

"And whom wilt thou choose, Pocahontas?"

"I do not know. I have no thoughts for that yet."

"What then are thy thoughts of?"

"Of everything, of flowers and beasts, dancing and playing, of wars and
ceremonies, of the new son of old Wansutis, of Nautauquas's new bow, of
necklaces and earrings, of old stories and new songs--and of to-morrow's
bathing."

"Fear not that thou hast yet left thy childhood behind thee," said her
uncle.

Then when the fire died down and the storyteller's voice had grown
drowsy, Pocahontas fell asleep, her arm resting on a baby bear that had
been taken away from its dead mother and that would cuddle close to the
person who lay nearest the fire.

Opechanchanough had not the same deep affection for children as that
which Powhatan showed to his sons a