"Goodness!" exclaimed Lydia. "How in the world you do it so quietly, I don't see."
"I saw something that looked like a wet yellow pup in the water, and stole up on it," grinned Charlie.
"Come on in. It's as warm as suds."
Charlie shot his canoe to the pier and in a moment, was floating beside Lydia. She took a deep breath, let herself sink and a moment or two later came up several yards beyond him. He did not miss her for a moment, then he started for her with a shout. A game of tag followed ending in a wild race to the pier which they reached neck and neck. Adam wept and slobbered with joy over their return.
"You certainly are a little sunfish in the water," panted Charlie, as they sat with feet dangling off the pier.
"Ought to be, I'm in it enough," returned Lydia. "Charlie, there's a poor old squaw came here to-day. What's the matter with the Indians? Why don't they work?"
Charlie turned to look at the white child, uneasily. The two made a wonderful contrast. Charlie was big and bronze and deep chested, with regular features although they were a little heavy. Lydia, growing fast, was thinner than ever but cheeks and eyes were bright.
Charlie's mouth twisted in a sneer. "Why don't they work? Why don't the whites give 'em a chance? Dirty thieves, prowling round like timber wolves. Ask Dave Marshall. Ask that gumshoeing crook of a Levine. Don't ask me."
"Levine's not a crook," shouted Lydia. "He's my friend."
The sneer left Charlie's face and he laughed. "Your friend is he, little sunfish!"