aid gaily. "Do you know anything
about the Seminoles? No? Well, then, let me inform you that a Seminole
rarely speaks to a white man except when trading at the posts. They are
a very proud people; they consider themselves still unconquered, still
in a state of rebellion against the United States."

"What!" exclaimed Hamil, astonished.

"Yes, indeed. All these years of peace they consider only as an armed
truce. They are proud, reticent, sensitive, suspicious people; and there
are few cases on record where any such thing as friendship has existed
between a Seminole and a white man. This is a genuine case; Coacochee is
really devoted to dad."

The guides and the wagon had now arrived; camp was already in the
confusion and bustle of unloading equipage and supplies; picket lines
were established, water-jars buried, blankets spread, guns, ammunition,
rods, and saddles ranged in their proper places.

Carter unsheathed his heavy cane-knife and cut palmetto fans for
rethatching where required; Eudo Stent looked after the horses; Bulow's
axe rang among the fragrant red cedars; the Indian squatted gravely
before a characteristic Seminole fire built of logs, radiating like the
spokes of a cart-wheel from the centre which was a hub of glowing coals.
And whenever it was necessary he simply shoved the burning log-ends
toward the centre where kettles were already boiling and sweet potatoes
lay amid the white ashes, and a dozen wild ducks, split and skewered and
basted with pork, were exhaling a matchless fragrance.

Table-legs, bench-legs, and the bases of all culinary furniture, like
the body of the camp, were made out of palmetto logs driven into the
ground to support cedar planks for the tops.

And it was seated at one of these tables, under the giant oaks, pines,
and palmettos, that Shiela and Hamil ate their first camp-repast
together, with Gray and his father opposite.

Never had he tasted such a heavenly banquet, never had he dreamed of
such delicacies. Eudo Stent brought panfuls of fried bass, still
sizzling under the crisp bacon; and great panniers woven of green
palmetto, piled high with smoking sweet potatoes all dusty from the
ashes; and pots of coffee and tea, steaming and aromatic.

Then came broiled mallard duck, still crackling from the coals, and
coonti bread, and a cold salad of palm cabbage, nut-flavored,
delectable. Then in the thermos-jugs were spring water and a light
German vintage to mix with it. And a