Mollie kissed Eunice.
The child looked at her curiously. “Why do you do such a strange thing to me?” asked Eunice.
Mollie was amazed. “Don’t you know what a kiss is, Eunice? I kissed you because I am fond of you.”
Eunice laughed gleefully. “Indians do not kiss,” she declared. “But I like it.”
“Shall I ask the other girls to come in?” Mollie inquired. “My two friends, Ruth and Grace, are waiting in the hall. They wish to see you.”
Eunice nodded. “I like to see you while grandmother is away,” she confided. “Grandmother says it is not wise for me to talk so much. But it is hard to be all the time so silent as the Indians are. Some days I have talked to the wild things in the woods.”
Ruth dropped a bunch of red roses on Eunice’s bed.
The child clutched them eagerly. “It is the red color that I love!” she cried in delight.
“Eunice,” Ruth asked, “do you remember your father and mother?”
Eunice shook her head. “I remember no one,” she replied. “Long ago, there was an old Indian man. He made canoes for me out of birch bark. He was my grandmother’s man—husband, I think you call him in your language.”