Betty, becoming much in earnest, was walking backward.
"'Englishman, we have no father, no friend among the white men but the King of France,'" the child went on. "'But for you, we have taken into consideration that you have ventured your life among us in the expectation that we should not molest you. You do not come to make war; you come in peace to trade with us. We shall regard you, therefore, as a brother, and you may sleep tranquilly, without fear of the Chippewas. As a token of friendship, we present you this pipe to smoke.'"
Whereupon, Betty, making a serious bow, offered her little shovel to Aunt Florence. For the moment, she actually believed herself Minnavavana, the Indian chief, though Billy's face quickly brought her back to the present.
"I am thankful to say," resumed Betty, joining in the laugh following the presentation of the shovel, "that after three hundred warriors of another tribe came and were going to make trouble, the English soldiers arrived, and the red flag of England soon floated above the fort. Then, for two years, nothing much happened, but I'm glad I wasn't here then. I wouldn't have slept a wink, I know."
"Neither should I, Betty," Aunt Florence agreed.
"Frenchy'd have been all right, though," remarked Billy. "There's the fort, Aunt Florence, straight ahead; the trail ends here. Now we will find an old cellar-hole and hunt for beads. Let me go first, Betty."
"The fort," repeated Aunt Florence, "where is it?" She saw nothing but a wilderness of wild-rose blooms.
"Oh," laughed Betty, "there's nothing left of the fort but part of the old palisades. Most of the buildings were burned the day of the massacre."
"It's unspeakably dreary, in spite of the sunshine and the roses," commented Aunt Florence, "but I do want some beads."