When they took the train to go West to Michigan, Lois and Hal were very much interested in the sleeping car. They had never seen one before, and when their father tucked them into two opposite upper berths that night, they hardly wanted to go to sleep, it was such fun to peek out at each other between the heavy curtains.
The children’s heads were still full of the subject of the Indians. They felt they were on their way to the home of the red man, and Lois said to her father:
“What would the Indians have thought of these little upstairs beds?”
Hal was leaning out into the aisle from his couch. “They’d have said ‘Wow! wow!'” he cried.
“Softly,” suggested his father. “Not only the Indians would have been surprised. Think of the first white people going slowly and patiently across the country in their covered wagons, taking weeks to travel over the distance we cover in a day. Isn’t it wonderful to live now instead of then?”
“But that was the most fun,” said Hal. “I’ve seen pictures of the Indians galloping across the plain to attack the wagons, but the men had their guns and they saved themselves and drove the Indians off.”
Mrs. Robbins had the berth underneath Harold and she looked out between her curtains.
“You know the sooner you go to sleep, children, the sooner you will see Lake Michigan,” she said.
They had always found that their mother knew what she was talking about, and they were eager to see the Indians’ lake, so they turned over in their little up-stairs beds and in a surprisingly short few minutes it was morning.
The next night they spent in another sort of little beds, only this time they were on a large steamer on a lake that stretched away as far as they could see, just like the ocean. The children could scarcely believe that those great waves were not salt.
“What would an Indian in his little canoe have thought to see a big mountain of a ship like this coming along toward him?” asked Hal.
His father shook his head. “The canoes kept near the shore, I suspect. You will see the sort of shore tomorrow.”
When they arrived at their destination the children were pleased to find a sandy beach, and the foaming surf which looked good to wade in.
They found a little log cabin waiting for them and it was nestled in pine woods on the side of a hill. Their father was busy at the wharf some time about the luggage, and when he arrived at the house he looked at the children with a laugh in his eyes but his lips very sober.
“What do you think I have just found out?” he asked when the men had brought the trunks and gone away.
The children listened eagerly. They liked this forest hill full of Christmas trees, with enough spaces in front of the cabin to look through to the blue lake, and they could hardly wait to hear what their father had to tell them.
“What is it? What is it?” they asked together.
“Have you been holding your bowls right side up all the morning? Have they, Mother?” he asked, turning to his wife, who was examining the way the little windows opened like doors.
“Yes, they have been very good children,” she returned, with her attention on the hinges and fastenings.
“Very well, then. I must tell you that there is an Indian camp here.”
The eyes of both Lois and Harold became very large. Their father looked serious.
“Are we going to stay?” asked Hal in a hushed voice.
“Is it safe?” asked Lois in the same breath.
“I think we can risk it,” said Mr. Robbins.
Hal shook his head. “We’d better each have a gun then,” he said, “because we must sleep some of the time.”
His father laughed and gave both the children a hug. “You keep your bowls right side up and you won’t need any guns,” he said. “The Indians are like other people in that. They will give you the same sort of treatment you give them.”
“See here, dear, will you?” said Mrs. Robbins to her husband. “What is the matter with this catch?”
“They had better make the windows safe,” said Hal to Lois in a low tone. His eyes were still very large. “Come out and see if we can see any smoke.”
The children went outside and peered about among the trees.
“I think Daddy seems very queer and careless about this, don’t you?” asked Lois. “They must be tame Indians.”
“They may pretend to be,” said Hal, “but I don’t see how he can trust them in the night time.”
“See here, children,” called their mother from the door, “don’t stray away until I get your play clothes out of the trunk.”
Lois and Hal went inside and quite silently changed their traveling clothes for tougher garments, then they again went out doors.
Their parents had bought the children wrist watches in leather straps before coming here, because they knew it was a wild country and it was so hard for them to remember the time of day. The father and mother were very busy now unpacking and settling the little home, so they merely reminded Lois and Hal to remember to be at home by six o’clock.
“Did you notice how near the hotel is?” asked Mr. Robbins, “Come out here.” He showed them what they had not observed: a glimpse between the thick trees of a large spreading building, built of logs just like their own little house.
“So if you get lost just ask somebody to direct you to the hotel. Understand?”
The children nodded and he went back to his work of hanging a hammock among the trees. Mrs. Robbins had come West in need of rest, and her husband intended her to live in this hammock, as much as possible.
“I think Daddy acts very queer,” said Lois as the two moved slowly away on the narrow forest path.
“This looks to me like an Indian trail,” said Hal quite gloomily.
“That is what it is, of course,” replied Lois. “The idea of Daddy saying so coolly if we get lost to ask for the hotel—and these woods full of Indians!”
“And we begged to go to the seashore, too,” responded Hal.
They held each other by the hand and moved slowly. The piney air about them was delicious, and every few steps they would get another glimpse of the light blue of the dancing waves.
“I thought you wanted to see the Indians so much, Hal, and be a ‘brave,'” said Lois at last.
He hesitated a little, but he knew that being a boy he ought to protect his sister, and he felt that she was being disappointed in him.
“Of course,” he began, “if I had a war-bonnet and a bow and arrows—but all I have to slap ’em with is a wrist watch.”
Lois started to laugh at this, but her laugh was quickly hushed and she and Hal stopped suddenly and clung more tightly together, for among the trees a dash of scarlet was visible. It was moving swiftly and came toward them.
They suddenly saw an Indian maiden on whom they gazed with all their eyes. She wore the vivid scarlet mantle with purple stripes that Lois had longed for, and a petticoat embroidered with bright beads. Her long, shining braids hung over her shoulders. Her arms bore heavy bracelets and her silent feet were shod with moccasins. She wore a brilliant hued bodice and a narrow gold band passed across her forehead.
To the children she looked all that was stately and beautiful and commanding as she moved, straight as an arrow, through the forest. They clutched each other, with beating hearts.
She caught sight of them, and turned and they saw that she carried on her arm a large light basket, containing a few smaller ones made of sweet grass.
“You like to buy some baskets?” she asked, and wonder of wonders she smiled upon them, and drew nearer.
Lois found her voice after a minute. It had seemed to be buried somewhere deep down, perhaps in her stomach—it felt queer.
“We haven’t any money,” she said, hoping the announcement would not bring down the wrath of the beautiful being.
But the stranger only nodded pleasantly.
“The little boy would like some bow and arrows, perhaps?” She fixed a bright gaze on Hal, whose knees were trying not to wobble.
“Yes, I would—” he said rather breathlessly, “some day—when—when I have some money.”
“You come, see what we have,” said the maiden, and the children, still clasping hands, followed her stately tread.
They exchanged a look. She was doubtless luring them to the camp where the braves were perhaps at the present moment doing a war dance about a fire. If they turned back, however, and refused, she might be angry; so they followed on and determined to be so polite that no one, not even Indians, could be offended with them.
They had not gone far when the canvas of a few tents came into view. A wigwam stood in the center of the group and half a dozen Indians in native dress and shining hair that hung on their shoulders were moving about.
The Indian maiden turned and gave the children another smile, and the indifference of the other Indian faces soothed their timidity. She led them to the wigwam which proved to be a show-room for the wares they had to sell. There were baskets of every shape and size, little birch bark canoes, bows and arrows, napkin rings and many other trinkets made of birch bark or sweet grass.
“I shall tell my father and mother about these,” said Lois, “I’m sure they will let us have some.”
“Have you any war bonnets?” asked Hal.
“Yes, we have, but my people keep them for festival days,” replied the Indian girl.
She spoke such good English and the other Indians, men and women, took so little notice of the children that they both decided in their own minds that there would not be any danger, even in the night.
Their guide, noticing the eagerness with which they gazed at her, invited them to her own tent.
“We never saw any Indians before,” said Hal. “We live in Boston.”
“Well, it is pleasant to travel,” replied the girl, and she led them to one of the tents and took them inside. There was a bed and a wash-stand and two chairs in it, but above all there was a delicious odor which they inhaled as if they could not get enough of it.
“That is the dried sweet grass,” said the maiden. “I make the baskets with that.” She dropped the large light basket off her arm. “I take them to the hotel every afternoon, after the ladies take their naps,” she smiled again at the children. “They feel very bright and happy then, and they buy my baskets. See how few I have brought back? Then in the mornings I work.”
“O, may we see you do it sometime?”
“Certainly you may. I am going to finish one now. There is one chair for the little girl and for the boy there is the floor.” She gave Hal one of her bright smiles as she said it, and he dropped down, watching the strange, dark being with admiring eyes. Among the men Indians he had not seen one who fulfilled his idea of a “Brave” but this maid was more beautiful than any Indian Princess he had imagined.
“Now let us know all of our names,” said the maiden as she seated herself and pulled toward her the unfinished basket, upon which she began to weave.
“My name is Harold, but they call me Hal, because my father’s name is Harold, and my mother likes to know us apart; and my sister’s name is Lois. Please tell us yours.”
The Indian girl smiled at her work. “My name is Wenonah. I went to a great school down in Virginia and there a teacher showed me the poem of Hiawatha. I have the name of his beautiful mother.”
“I like it,” said Hal promptly.
“So do I,” added Lois.
“Then we all know each other now,” said the girl. “Quick, that ship going by! Isn’t it a picture?”
They looked through the avenue of pines that led to the beach and were just in time to see the white sails of a yacht flying like a great white bird past the opening.
“We have to taste of that water to see if it truly isn’t salt,” said Lois.
“Can you swim?” asked her new friend.
“We are learning to.”
“Ah, that is good for the mothers.” Wenonah gave Hal a mischievous nod. “Little boys sometimes do not like their bath. It is too much trouble.”
Lois laughed. “How did you guess that?” she asked. “We go barefooted in summer and at night Hal always makes a fuss about washing his dusty feet.”
Hal looked rather shamefacedly down at the shoes he had not yet discarded for the season.
“I knew a boy once who felt that way. Something strange happened to him.”
The children pricked up their ears.
“Would you mind telling us about it?” asked Lois. If there were any stories under that gold band that went around Wenonah’s forehead, they were eager to have them.
“Was he an Indian?” asked Hal.
“No, he was a white boy. I’ll tell you about him.”