“Down the ladder she scrambled, with Seaborn in her arms, and off the canoe glided through the darkness. And that is the last sleepy little Gwen remembered until she woke the next morning with the sun shining in her face.
“She was lying in an Indian wigwam, with a fire burning in the middle of the floor, and beside it, crouching over the blaze, an old Indian squaw.
“‘My brother!’ cried Gwen, springing up; ‘where is Seaborn?’
“The old woman seemed to understand, for she grunted and pointed outside. And there, hanging from the low branch of a big tree, in company with several Indian babies, swung Seaborn.”
“Oh, didn’t it hurt?” asked Lydia, with a little shudder. “Did they hang him by the neck?”
“No, Lydia, no,” said Friend Morris, with a smile. “He was strapped in an Indian cradle, a flat board covered with skins and moss. And he seemed to like it, for he smiled and chuckled when he saw his sister.
“Gwen knew they must be in an Indian camp, for she saw many wigwams, and horses tethered about them. Already, groups of Indian squaws were at work, scraping animal skins and trimming leggings and moccasins with bright-colored beads. Little girls were going to and fro, carrying wood and water. Little brown boys ran past, with bows and arrows in their hands, off for a day’s play. Gwen was glad to see her friend, Lame Wolf, limping toward her. He said, ‘Eat! Come!’ and led the way back into the wigwam where the old squaw gave Gwen a bowl of soup.
“Then Lame Wolf lifted Seaborn down from the tree, and took them before the chief Big Bear. Big Bear listened to Lame Wolf’s story. He looked kindly at Gwen, motioned Lame Wolf to hang Seaborn on a near-by tree, where his own papoose swung in the shade, and then called to his little girl, Winonah, peeping shyly round the wigwam. She took Gwen by the hand and led her off to see her dolls.”
“Dolls?” said Polly and Lydia together. “Do little Indian girls have dolls?”
“Certainly they do. These dolls were made of deerskin, with painted face, beads for eyes, and one had a fine crop of horsehair and another one of feathers. Each doll had its cradle, too, and Gwen and the chief’s little daughter played happily together.