After all, he was glad when the conference broke up. He was tired of standing stiffly, and the air of the room was heavy; and the Indians, when they neither ate nor played with trumpets, but just sat stolid, were a bit stupid. He scuffed softly but impatiently at the rear of the train, as the company filed forth; the Governor and the King, side by side, went first, and then, all in some semblance of order, the Indian warriors and the English leaders and soldiery.
Outside, a guard of honor formed about the Governor and his guest, and gave them fitting escort to the brook; but Miles remained behind and roused the envy of his mates, with an account of what he had seen, till, in fickle fashion, they forsook him at the coming of a second guest, Quadequina, the brother of Massasoit, who, in his turn, would have a taste of English hospitality. He could not, however, compare in dignity and importance with Massasoit; he was just a tall, comely young savage, who liked English biscuit and strong waters, but liked the English muskets so little that his hosts good-naturedly laid them aside. Massasoit was not cowardly like that, Miles assured his comrades; Massasoit was every inch a king, and it was a mighty honor to have been in the same room with him.
Quadequina had been but a short time gone, and the long shadows were filling the river valley with a grayness, when back across the brook, quite unruffled by his long detention, came Master Edward Winslow. His fellow-colonists might be glad to see him, and he to return unscathed to them, but he carried it laughingly. He was all sound, save that he was uncommon hungry,—Miles, following admiringly, caught a scrap of his speech to Captain Standish,—the Indians had tried to buy the armor off his back and the sword from his side, and he knew not but he might have sold them for a mess of pottage, only he saw no such savory viand among the savages, nor anything, indeed, but groundnuts.
Now that Master Winslow was returned, the colonists released the Indians whom they had held as hostages for him, and sent them away. Save only Samoset and Squanto, no Indians were suffered to remain in the settlement, but the rumor went that King Massasoit and all his people had encamped for the night on the wooded hill across the brook, so a strict watch was set.
"Do you think there will be fighting yet?" Miles questioned Giles, as they walked home to supper. "Quadequina was afeard of our muskets. I take it, we could beat those Indians."
"To be sure, there'll be no fighting," answered Giles, as he tucked his drum under one arm in a professional way. "We've struck a truce with the savages."
Later, at supper, Miles heard it all explained. This was a dolorous meal, for the meat had been devoured by his Majesty, Massasoit, and Mistress Hopkins was ill-tempered and rated Miles for running away that afternoon, and, to add to her discomfort, Samoset came blandly to sup with his old entertainers. "This has been an ill day such as I wish never to see the like of again," fretted the poor woman.
"It is a happy day for our colony," said Master Hopkins gravely. "Do you not realize, Elizabeth, that we have this afternoon made a peace with our heathen neighbors that, by the will of Heaven, shall prove lasting? King Massasoit has covenanted that none of his people shall do us harm as we go abroad; and, if he be attacked, we shall aid in his defense, or if other tribe of savages assail us, he shall do us the like service. Yea, the hand of Providence has been with us this day. Yesternight it was all menace; but to-night we can hope for peace."
Miles, in his place at table, looked at Samoset, very solemn in his funny shirt and hat, and, blinking sleepily at the candle, took little concern for the earnestness of Master Hopkins's words. He scarcely realized that this was almost the second founding day of New Plymouth; but he did know that he had stood within arm's reach of King Massasoit, an exploit of which no other boy in the colony could boast; and, when he went to bed, he dreamed all night of red and blue and green Indians.