"I guess we are alone out here," suggested Betty, glancing about, as though she felt uneasy.
"Oh, no," was the cheerful reply, "down there nearer the lake I saw two sunbonnets not three minutes ago. We're all right, children; I'm not the least bit timid."
Patiently Aunt Florence continued her search for beads, encouraged by the hope of finding another place equal to the first.
"It seems strange that there should have been so many beads in one spot of earth, and so few everywhere else," she said, "but I'm not going to give up now, after such luck in the beginning."
"You'll just have to scare her to death, I guess," grumbled Billy. "Lost your beads for nothing, too."
"Trouble is," confessed Betty, moving nearer Billy and farther from her aunt, "this isn't a good place to tell Indian stories."
"Why not?"
"Because, Billy, I get scared myself. Honest and truth, I don't even like to think of such horrible things right here where they happened."
"Don't make any difference, you've got to," protested Billy. "Don't you know she said she'd stay here till dark?"
"I know it, Billy; let me see, how'll I begin. Oh, I know, Alexander Henry was in his room in the fort writing letters home. Perhaps, Billy, we are standing on the very place where his house was. He was so busy with his letters he didn't want to take the time to go down to the beach to see the canoes that had just arrived from Detroit. First thing he knew, he heard the war-whoops. Mercy, Billy! Don't scream like that again!"