“There are nine of them: the rest are out hunting, I suppose,” was the reply.
“And do all these chaps manage to sleep in this little hut?” asked a settler.
“A nice time they must have of it on the ground, especially when it rains,” added another, pointing up through the roof, which was open, to let out the smoke.
“But,” said the missionary, “everything is in remarkable order here. Don’t you see that each man has his place, and on the side of the lodge a snug chance to stow away or hang up his personal effects. We whites could scarcely arrange the little space with more fairness and mathematical precision, so as to make the most of the room.”
It was indeed so; and much did the callers marvel at the intelligent system that prevailed.
“Some one has had a hand in the ordering of affairs here, who has more intellect than we are accustomed to attribute to the red man;” and 179 the minister glanced at the young Indian, as if to say, “It must be due to him.”
But twilight was falling, and the villagers started on their way home. Scarcely, however, had they passed the hedge of elders and the rows of young oaks that hid the abode of the Indians from view, when from within the wigwam there went up a startling whoop and yell, mingled with derisive laughter.
Mrs. Payson stood still, pale with terror, as if expecting to see the savages rush out to massacre them. But they kept within their tent, their horrible whoopings and mockings continuing until the whites were well away.
“I do not like the sound of those yells,” said the missionary, soberly.
“O, the Indians are only amusing themselves by trying to scare the women and children,” replied Mr. Caswell, merrily.