“Segwuna, where have you been, my dear? I have missed you so much,” were the words of Mollie Greydon, when she saw Segwuna for the first time in two weeks. Segwuna was in the winding path leading to the old mill on the Wingohocking at Dorminghurst.
Segwuna turned around at the sound of Mollie’s voice, and walking toward her, put an arm around the waist of her friend and replied:
“I have been to New York selling some moccasins and leggings,” for she did not desire to let Mollie know the whole of her reasons for going to New York.
Segwuna continued spiritedly:
“While there I saw General Clinton and Major Andre. They live in such grand style,—a coach and postilion, just like General Arnold.
“Those grand people have no love for an Indian girl like me.”
“Oh, never mind, my sweetheart! I love you,” retorted Mollie sweetly, as she embraced her friend and kissed her on the cheek.
“Oh, let’s go down to the mill, Segwuna,” continued Mollie. “We can sit down and relieve our hearts to each other.”
Mollie had been much agitated ever since Mr. Barclugh’s visit to Dorminghurst. She had been affected by the very peculiar and earnest look in his eyes at the breakfast table. She had seen neither Barclugh nor Segwuna since then, and her delicate nature had dwelt upon the tender gaze in Barclugh’s eyes and thoughts of what it might mean had haunted her by day and by night. If she could have told Segwuna, she would have found relief, but Segwuna had left the same day that Mr. Barclugh had gone to New York.