"Where do you live?" she asked.
The Indian jerked her gray head toward the north. "Big Woods."'
"But that's twenty miles. It must take you a long time to walk it.
Poor thing!"
The squaw shrugged her shoulders. Lydia stared at the toothless, trembling old mouth, hideous with wrinkles, then at the gnarled and shaking old hands.
"Haven't you any one to take care of you?"
"All sick—boy sick—man sick—girl sick. All time sick, all time nothing to eat."
"But won't some other Indian make you a garden, a little one?"
Again the squaw shrugged her shoulders. Her apron was full now. She produced a string from inside her waist and tying the apron up bag-like, she slung it over her shoulder. Then she gave Lydia a keen glance.
"Friend," she said, briefly, and turning, she tottered painfully out of the gate.
Followed by Adam, Lydia walked thoughtfully out upon the little pier Amos had built. They had no boat, but Lydia fished and dived from the pier. It was hard to understand how the Indians with all their rich pine land could be so poor. She resolved to ask her father and Levine about it and turned a somersault into the water. She swam about until tired, then turned over on her back to rest. Lying so a shadow drifted across her face and she raised her head. A gray birch bark canoe floated silently beside her. In it, in a gray bathing suit, sat Charlie Jackson.