“One girl runs away, get lost. Joe go home no more.”
“Poor Joe, dear Joe. I had no idea of running away. But I saw somebody, that boy who was at the island this summer, and I tried to make him see me. Too late, as the man said. He has gone, and now we, too, must go somewhere. I’ll ask that nice woman. She’ll tell us, I think,” and she again sought the matron.
“Yes. I do know a good place for you, if—they’ll take you in. Meaning no harm miss, but you see, you aren’t fixed just the same, and the Indian——”
“Is it a question of clothes? It’s not the clothing makes the character, my uncle says.”
“No, miss, I suppose not. All the same they go a mighty long way toward making friends, leastways in this big city. And Indians——”
“Joe Wills is just as noble and as honest as any white man ever lived!”
“Maybe so. Indeed, I’m not denying it, but Indians are Indians, and some landladies might think of tomahawks.”
Margot’s laugh rang out and the other smiled in sympathy.
“Joe, Joe! Would you scalp anybody?”
Then, indeed, was the red man’s impassivity broken by a grin, which happily relieved the situation, fast becoming tragic.