"Wonder what they meant by that?" said Hinpoha to Migwan. They soon found out. At the last blaze the path dipped into dense woods. From all sides rose a cloud of mosquitoes which settled on every exposed portion of their persons and stung viciously. "Ooo, wow!" they cried, breaking into a run and brushing the mosquitoes off with branches. Before they entered the next woods they stripped the bark off a fallen birch log and made leggings of it, tying them on with their handkerchiefs.
Migwan made up a song as they went along and taught it to
Hinpoha. The tune was "Solomon Levi:"
"Oh, we are Winnebagos and our color is the Red,
Over the hills and down the dales we go wherever we're led,
We follow the blazes through the wood like hounds upon the hunt,
We keep our feet upon the path and our faces to the front!
Oh, Winnebagos! 'Bagos, tra la la la,
Oh, Winnebagos! 'Bagos, tra la la la la la la,
Oh, we are Winnebagos and our color is the Red,
Over the hills and down the dales we go wherever we're led!"
"I suppose you'll be a great poet when you grow up," said
Hinpoha, stooping to pick a cluster of ripe strawberries.
Migwan sighed. "No, I'll never be a great poet," she answered, "but I may be able to write stories in time, if I learn enough about composition."
"What college are you going to?" asked Hinpoha.
"I'm not going at all," said Migwan seriously. "You know, since father died we have had to live very carefully, and high school is all mother can do for me. I have to go to work as soon as I graduate."
"It's too bad," sympathized Hinpoha. "You ought to go to college more than any of us. Here am I, with no more brains than a rabbit, going to Smith. It isn't fair. Can't you work your way through and go anyhow?"
Migwan shook her head. "You see, we will need the money I earn to send Betty and Tom to high school."