Meantime E. got off in the light canoe with Jake. A. waited until Gibbie rode up on his bicycle to say that it was a very dangerous business, etc., and finally that he could not come, so Jim had to take A. out, though he is no paddler.
As soon as I heard what had happened I wrote a paper to Frankie and one to Gibbie. "You will leave this place at once," and sent it to them. Only yesterday when they came up for the annual powwow they made a solemn promise to do all that I called on them for. I made them promise this, because for some time there has been a growing disposition not to do what I want done, and if I let it go on and pass over anything like this I will lose all control of the place.
I am sitting out in the sun and have thawed out while writing this. Oh, the goodness and mercy of God! A sense of it pervades my being to-day. Though I have had my small trials already this morning, they seem as nothing when I think of all His patience and long-suffering and loving-kindness to me.
Cherokee, December 28.
E. and A. seem perfectly happy to be here, and their visit is an unbroken pleasure to me. They have not got very much game, but just to paddle round the creeks or to walk over the woods gun in hand seems to revive all the happiness of their childhood.
To-day we went to Casa Bianca for the day, and went prepared for them to spend the night if they found the ducks plentiful enough to make it worth their while. When they went down into the fields, Nat paddling one and Jim the other, I started back home alone. I got here after a perfect drive and glorious sunset.
To my great pleasure I found C. here, and then began to hope the boys would not spend the night at Casa Bianca. So I was delighted when at 9:30 the dogs announced their arrival. They had shot a good many ducks, but not having a dog to fetch had not got one.
We had a delightful evening. While I was gone to-day a man had brought a bushel of oysters fresh from the sea, so I could give them a nice oyster supper.
