WHEN, after a long winter in the city, Kenneth and Rose came back to the Island which was their summer home, they were eager to see all their favorite places.
On the very first morning they both wanted to visit the bathing beach and the Indian forest, the chasm and the pirate cave. They wanted to know what new wonders had sprouted in the garden of live flowers, and how much their little oak tree had grown. They wanted to see if there were any deer tracks down by the spring, and if there was still a wasp’s nest in a certain spot under the stone wall. Besides, there was the beech tree, where Rose had her summer-house; and the theatre among the rocks, where they used to speak pieces; and the post office in the hollow pine,—and a hundred other places which they loved. It was very hard to choose. But finally they decided that most they wanted to see the wigwam in the forest.
They had discovered the wigwam in the forest by accident one day last summer, and they had seen it only that once; for the very next day they went back to the city. What a pity they had not found it sooner! Kenneth and Rose could hardly wait for summer to come so that they could visit it again; it was such a lovely place in which to play Indian hunter.
This first morning was not a very good one for a walk in the woods. It was gray and misty, threatening rain before night. But the children were not going to postpone their plans on that account. Kenneth put on his Indian suit, and took his bow and arrows. Rose wore her moccasins and wampum belt. Kenneth was sure that he remembered the way to the wigwam, although it was a long distance and he had gone but once.
The forest came close to the back door of Sweetbrier Cottage, and the children entered it by the same path up which the little Prouts came every day to bring the milk. Presently they came to another path, which branched to the right. This one was very narrow and indistinct, difficult to follow even in bright sunlight, but Kenneth remembered it well.
Soon they were in the midst of the dim, gray-green forest. The trees were so thick that there was little sunshine here, even on a pleasant day. They trotted happily along, their feet crunching the dry twigs and springing on the elastic moss. How good it seemed to feel the pine needles under foot, instead of brick sidewalks and asphalt!
The path grew fainter and fainter. It wavered and branched and strayed off in every direction, as if it were not quite sure which way to go. But Kenneth seemed to know where to turn, just as Indian hunters always do. Rose thought him wonderful. She did not remember anything at all except the greenness of the moss and ferns and the brownness of the tree-trunks. On they went, farther and farther.
“I think we are almost there now,” said Kenneth at last. “I remember that old dead pine, don’t you, Rose?”
“No,” said Rose honestly. “I don’t remember. But I do think we must be almost there. It seems a long, long way.”
But when they came into the open space beyond the pine tree, there was no wigwam waiting them. Kenneth looked surprised.