“Want to get in my boat, Anne?” asked the boy.
Before Anne could answer the squaw with a strong sweep of her paddle had sent the canoe some distance from the boat, while Nakanit called back some word to Amos, evidently of warning not to follow them. But Anne turned her head and called “Amos! Amos!” For the scowling faces of her companions frightened her, and she wished herself safely in Amos’s boat.
The breeze had now died away, and Amos was soon left some distance behind. Anne did not dare turn her head to see if he were following the canoe, which was now moving ahead rapidly as the Indians swiftly wielded their paddles.
“Go to Brewster,” announced the squaw after a little silence.
Anne, huddled up in her wet clothes, frightened and unhappy, nodded her head in answer. Then, remembering that the squaw had bidden her to sit still, and that her jump had upset the canoe, she ventured to say: “I’m sorry I jumped.”
The squaw’s scowl disappeared, and she gave a grunt of approval, and then, evidently, repeated Anne’s words to Nakanit, for the Indian girl smiled and nodded. Anne began to realize that they were really kind and good-natured, and that she had no reason to be afraid.
“I was surprised to see Amos,” she continued.
The squaw nodded again, and repeated, “Go to Brewster.”
Anne could now hear the sound of the oars, and knew that Amos was rowing toward them. The paddles began to move more swiftly, and the sound of the oars grew more indistinct. Anne realized that Amos could not keep up with the canoe. But she was sure that he would follow them, and it made her feel less uneasy.
“Amos is a good boy,” she explained to the squaw, but there was no response. “I’d like to tell him that you’ve been good to me,” continued Anne.