ing her gaze for a moment. "Mother is
with them!"

The children dashed across the Plains, in wild delight to escort their
mother home. Her friends gathered about and with the children still
clinging to her heard how the Captain had seen a feathery blue smoke some
four miles from the Plains and, approaching it, had found that the
Indians were cooking their breakfast behind the protection of their
captives, who were tied to the trees. The soldiers suddenly rushed upon
the Indians, who escaped. However, the plunder and, best of all, the four
prisoners were safely brought back.

Since then many a bedtime story by the hearth-fire has been told of that
spot, which to this day is known as Breakfast Hill.

THE STRAWBERRY FIELDS OF EXETER

On a June afternoon in 1697, the silent forests about the little village
of Exeter felt an almost imperceptible stir of life, for through it there
stealthily crept an Indian chief, followed by one and then another of his
frightful band. Each dressed in tawny skins like the creatures of the
wood and with adornment of feathers from the very birds, they seemed but
a part of the forest life. No smoke of the camp fire floated through the
green boughs, for in utmost secrecy these Indians took concealed
positions to spring, in the early morning, upon the unguarded inhabitants
of the town before they were astir.

Now it happened on that same afternoon while the sun shone alluringly
upon the open fields, Patience Nutter dropped her wearisome patchwork and
looked out of the window. A speck of red in the grass outside the house
caught her attention. Her stint was not finished by several squares, yet
the temptation of that strawberry was too great. Laying aside her work,
she stepped out and popped the luscious red berry into her mouth. Beyond
it she found a cluster of berries ripe and juicy. Step by step she was
led into the open field fairly riotous in its growth of nodding red
strawberries. It seemed as if she could not pick them fast enough.

"Patience!" came a call from the house. The little girl turned to see her
mother in the doorway, holding up the unfinished piece of patchwork.
Reluctantly she returned.

"Mother," she cried, as she entered the house, "will you go with me for
some berries after I have finished my sewing? The field is full of them."

"Yes, child, we need some for supper. While you are sewing, I will step
into Mrs. Wiggin's, for she will be glad to know that the berri