“Have you baskets to sell?” asked Tante gently.
“Not here,” said the squaw. “But I make them. Sometimes.”
“Well, if you will bring some to us we would like to buy,” said Tante.
“Mother!” Hugh tried to catch Tante’s eyes with a warning shake of his head. But the old woman answered Tante quickly.
“Yes. I will come. Next week. You live over there?” she pointed in the right direction. “I know.” She turned upon the young men with a sudden snarl. “Why you make war-whoop? Eh?”
Dick stammered. “Oh—just for fun!” he said. There was a black look in the old woman’s eyes and she muttered something below her breath. When as suddenly she turned to go. Just then Freddie had an inspiring thought.
“Beverly is an Indian, too!” he cried, pointing at the girl. “Pocahontas was her grandmother.”
“Hush!” Dick jerked Freddie into silence.
“Pocahontas?” the old squaw repeated the name and eyed Beverly strangely. “My name Sal Seguin.” They could not tell whether or not she understood what Freddie had said. Beverly herself had nothing to say.
“Ugh!” grunted the squaw at last. “White Indian? Ugh!” Whether in disgust or pleasure, she shook her head once at Beverly. Then without another word she disappeared up the bank.