Then they strolled away, with several other beady-eyed youngsters, into the weeds on the outskirts of the camp, where Miles tried his skill at shooting. Though in England he had often handled a bow, here the best showing he could make set the little Indians laughing; and when the owner of the bow, taking it from him, shot an arrow and fetched down a pine cone from a tree many feet distant, Miles understood their merriment at his awkwardness.
But then he stepped up to a young sumach, and, pulling out his whittle, hacked off a small branch in a manner to make his new friends marvel; so, each party respectful of the other's arts, they were speedily on a sound enough footing to race away together to the river bank.
On the shore, half in water and half on land, lay three Indian boats, light, tricky things, all built of birch bark. Miles had never seen such craft, so he set to examining them, but his new comrades splashed into the water. On the sunny beach it was hot, but across the stream, whither they swam, the trees that pressed close to the margin darkened the shallows with a deep green, so cool and tempting that Miles, dusty with travel, longed to bathe in it too.
In the end he flung off his clothes, and prepared to join in the splashing, when his Indian acquaintances paddled shoreward to study his garments. Miles suffered the youngster who had lent him the bow to try on his shoes, whereat all grew so clamorous he feared a little lest his wardrobe disappear among them, for he remembered how Thievish Harbor took its first name from the pilfering habits of the Indians. Fortunately Trug, forsaking Dolly, arrived just then, and when he stretched his great bulk on his master's clothes, none cared to disturb them.
With his mind set at rest, Miles plunged into the tepid water, where he frolicked about with his new comrades, who swam like dogs, paw over paw, and dived in a way that bewildered him. But speedily he was doing his share in the ducking and splashing and whooping, till, before he knew it, the afternoon was half spent, and his shoulders smarted with the burning of the sun.
The little Indians followed him, when he spattered out of the river, and, with no more than a shaking of their ears, like puppies, were ready to run about, but Miles, as a penalty of civilization, had to stay to drag on his clothes. He felt chilly now, he found, and hungry too, and he guessed he and Trug were best go seek Dolly.
But when he came into the lee of Chief Canacum's wigwam, he saw there just scuffled, empty sand, so, with a big fright laying hold on him, he ran out into the straggling street and called his sister's name aloud. Just then Trug's bark told him all was well, and, hastening after the dog, he found, in the shade of a distant wigwam, a squaw weaving a mat of flags, some children sprawling, and Dolly herself, who was eating raspberries from a birch bark basket. "Why did you run away and frighten me?" Miles demanded crossly, as he flung himself on the ground beside her.
"I may go away and make friends as well as thou," Dolly answered loftily. "But you shall have some of my berries, Miles. They fetched me them, and I can eat these—" her voice sank—"because they must be clean. But their other victuals are not, I know. I watched, and the women do never wash their kettles."
Miles had no such scruples of cleanliness, so when, some two hours later, he scented the odor of cooking, he rose eagerly and, thinking on supper, sought Canacum's wigwam. There were four dark boats upon the white beach now, he saw, so he judged that a fishing party had come in.
When he passed through the low door into the wigwam, he found a fire alight and a great pot of clay hung on small sticks that were laid over it. Into the pot the drudging squaws were putting fresh fish, and acorns, and the meat of squirrels, and kernels of corn, and whatever else they had of edibles,—"a loathsome mash," Dolly whispered Miles, but he was so hungry that it did not take away his appetite.