CHAPTER V
KASHAQUA
Esther did not find the blue beads; and when her father came for hershe had not said a word to Faith about them.
Mr. Eldridge found his little daughter fully recovered from herillness, and in better health than when she came to the Wilderness.When she said good-bye Faith was really sorry to have her go, but shewondered a little that Esther made no mention of the beads, for Estherhad been a model visitor since her illness. She had told Mrs. Carewthe full story of the attempt to make maple candy, which the bear hadinterrupted, and she had claimed the pumpkin-shell work-box withevident delight. All these things had made Faith confident that Estherwould return the beads before starting for home, and she was sadlydisappointed to have Esther depart without a word about them.
Esther had asked Mrs. Carew if Faith might not go to Brandon, and soMrs. Carew had told the little girls of the plan for Faith to go toher Aunt Priscilla in Ticonderoga for the winter and attend schoolthere.
"Oh! But that's New York. Why, the 'Yorkers' want to take all theWilderness. I shouldn't want to go to school with 'Yorkers,'" Estherhad responded, a little scornfully.
For she had often heard her father and his friends talk of theattempts made by the English officials of New York to drive thesettlers on the New Hampshire Grants from their homes.
"'Tis not the people of New York who would do us harm," Mrs. Carew hadanswered. "And Faith will make friends, I hope, with many of herschoolmates."
It was a beautiful October morning when Esther, seated in front of herfather on the big gray horse, with the pumpkin-shell work-box wrappedin a safe bundle swinging from the front of the saddle, started forBrandon. Their way for most of the journey led over a rough trail.They would pass near the homes of many settlers, then over the lowerslopes of Mooselamoo Mountain, and skirt Lake Dunmore, and would thenfind themselves on a smoother road for the remainder of their journey.
Faith walked beside the travelers to the edge of the wood and then thetwo little girls said good-bye.
"I'll come again in the spring," Esther called back.
Faith stood watching them until the branches of the trees hid themfrom sight. The maples seemed to be waving banners of scarlet leaves,and the slopes of the Green Mountains were beautiful in the glory ofautumn foliage. The sun shone brightly, the sky was as blue as summer,and as Faith turned to run swiftly along the path to the mill shealmost wished that she too was starting for a day's journey throughthe woods. The path ran along beside the mill-stream.
It seemed to Faith that the brook was traveling beside her like a gaycompanion, singing as it went. The little girl had had so fewcompanions, none except an occasional visitor, that she had madefriends with the birds and small woodland animals, and foundcompanionship in the rippling music of the stream. There was a finefamily of yellow-hammers just below the mill that Faith often visited,and she was sure that they knew her quite well. She had watched thembuild their nest in the early spring; had seen them bring food to theyoung birds, and had sat close by the nest while the young birds madetheir first efforts to fly. She knew where a fine silver-coated foxmade its home on the rocky hillside beyond the garden-slope, and hadtold her father that "Silver-nose," as she had named the fox, knewthat she was his friend, and would lie quite still at the entrance toits hole, while she would sit on a big rock not far distant.
But Faith was not thinking of these woodland friends as she ran alongtoward the mill; she was thinking of what she had heard her father sayto Mr. Eldridge that morning. "Tell Colonel Allen the men of theWilderness will be ready whenever he gives the word," Mr. Carew hadsaid; and Mr. Eldridge had answered that it would not be long. Faithwondered what her father had meant, and if Colonel Allen would againvisit the mill. She hoped he would, for he had seemed to know allabout the woodland creatures, and had told Faith a wonderful storyabout the different months of the year. She thought of it now as shefelt the warmth of the October sunshine.
"October is stirring the fire now," she called to her father, who waswatching her from the door of the mill.
"What do you mean by that, child?" asked her father, smiling down atFaith's tanned face and bright eyes.
"'Tis what Colonel Allen told me about the months. All twelve, everyone of the year, sit about the fire. And now and then one of themstirs the fire, and that makes all the world warmer. July and August,when it is their turn, make it blaze; but the other months do not careso much about it. But once in a while each month takes its turn,"answered Faith. "That's what Colonel Allen told me."
"'Tis a good story," said Mr. Carew. "Did your mother tell you that Ihave sent word to your Aunt Priscilla about your going to her house assoon as some trustworthy traveler going to Ticonderoga passes thisway?"
"Yes, father. But I am learning a good deal at home. Mother says Iread as well as she did when she was my age. And I can figure infractions, and write neatly. I do not care much about school,"answered Faith; for to be away from her mother and father all winterbegan to seem too great an undertaking.
"Yes, indeed; your mother tells me you learn quickly. But 'tis bestfor you to become acquainted with children of your own age. And youhave never seen your cousins. Three boy cousins. Think of that. Why,your Aunt Prissy says that Donald is nearly as tall as you are; and heis but eight years old. And Hugh is six, and Philip four. Then thereare neighbor children close at hand. You will play games, and haveparties, and enjoy every day; besides going to school," responded herfather encouragingly.
Then he told her of his own pleasant school days in the far-offConnecticut village where Grandmother Carew lived; and when Mrs. Carewcalled them to dinner Faith had begun to think that it would really bea fine thing to live with Aunt Priscilla and become acquainted withher little cousins, and all the pleasant, well-behaved children thather father described, with whom she would go to school and play games.
"It is nearly time for Kashaqua's yearly visit," said Mrs. Carew. "Ihave knit a scarf for her of crimson yarn. She generally comes beforecold weather. Don't let her see your blue beads, Faith."
Faith did not make any answer. Kashaqua was an Indian woman who hadappeared at the cabin every fall and spring ever since the Carews hadsettled there. When Faith was a tiny baby she had come, bringing afine beaver skin as a gift for the little girl. She always came alone,and the family looked upon her as a friend, and always made a littlefeast for her, and sent her on her way laden with gifts. Not all theIndians of the Wilderness were friendly to settlers; and the Carewswere glad to feel that Kashaqua was well disposed toward them. Sheoften brought gifts of baskets, or of bright feathers or finemoccasins for Faith.
"I hope she will come before I go to Aunt Prissy's," said Faith. "Ilike Kashaqua."
"Kashaqua likes little girl."
Even Mr. Carew jumped at these words and the sudden appearance of theIndian woman standing just inside the kitchen door. She seemed pleasedby their warm welcome, and sat down before the fire, while Faithhastened to bring her a good share of their simple dinner. Faith satdown on the floor beside her, greatly to Kashaqua's satisfaction, andtold her about Esther Eldridge's visit, about the bear coming into thekitchen, and of how she had jumped from the window and run to the millto tell her father. Kashaqua grunted her approval now and then.
"And what do you think, Kashaqua! I am to go to my Aunt PriscillaScott, to Ticonderoga, and stay all winter," she concluded.
"Ticonderoga? When?" questioned Kashaqua, dipping a piece of cornbread in the dish of maple syrup.
"I am to go just as soon as some one goes over the trail who will takeme," answered Faith.
"I take you. I go to Ticonderoga to-morrow. I take you," saidKashaqua.