"Ay, an' thou wilt."
"'T is clothes. A sailor's jerkin and breeches, a knife, a sail needle threaded with somewhat like a bowstring"—
"A deer's sinew. They still use it as our women do linen thread," said Hopkins taking it in his hand.
"And some bits of wrought iron," continued Alden turning them over.
"Ay, ay, ay, the poor fellow's chiefest treasures in his exile among the salvages," said Bradford gently.
"And still he was finding some comfort, you may well be sure," suggested Hopkins. "For it was a savage woman who laid him thus carefully to his rest, and yon package be sure is the bones of her child."
"Belike. Open it, John," said Standish briefly, and in effect the smaller package contained the same red and pungent powder encasing the bones of a little child, his head covered with a thinner thatch of the father's yellow curls, and the wrists, ankles, and neck surrounded with strings of fine white beads. Beside it lay a little bow and arrows ornamented with all the loving elaboration of Indian art.
"A boy, and his mother's darling, be she red or white, savage or Christian," said Bradford softly, as his thoughts flew to the baby boy left in Holland under charge of his wife Dorothy's parents.
"Yes," replied Standish gently. "Cover them reverently, and lay them in their grave again. God send comfort to that poor woman's heart."
"Certes they are no salvages," said Hopkins positively. "Never saw I yellow hair on any but a white man's head, nor do red men wear breeches."