“Probably not around us,” Jean replied, when Polly had explained. “We have no near-by Indian villages. You know that is all done away with now, girls. You are coming to the new West. But Sally Lost Moon will know about it. She is our cook at the ranch, and is an old Shoshone squaw. Our Wyoming tribes are not as artistic as the Adirondack Indians and the Navajos, but we may find some good bead work. It was nice of her to offer, was it not, girls?”
“She is interested in us because she used to be a Calvert girl herself.”
“But, Polly,” protested Ted, suddenly, “she must be about forty. Maybe she knew Miss Diantha Calvert.”
Jean laughed.
“You girls will persist in weaving a romance and a mystery about Mrs. Sandy, and I honestly think the only trouble is her marrying a westerner against her sister’s wishes.”
“There’s more than that,” Polly declared, over the curly tousled hair of Columbia. “I’m going to find out.”
“You won’t from Mrs. Sandy,” Jean said. “She’s a Calvert, you must remember, and they never tell secrets.”
“But I’ll find out from Mr. Sandy himself,” Polly returned buoyantly.
Chicago was reached and passed almost before the girls realized it. There was the first vivid flash of the blue waters of Lake Michigan, and its flat, rockless beaches, with bunches of willow and sand-cherry trees here and there, and patches of the tall, sharp-pointed sword grass. Then they slipped into the city, and there came the rush and jostle of crowds at the changing of trains. Isabel helped her invalid girl, and Polly and Ruth were with Mrs. Timony and the babies, and Sue and Ted helped the excited old lady who wasn’t sure whether her son Dan lived at Keokuk or Osceola.
“It must be Osceola,” declared Sue, finally, “because Keokuk’s the other way.”