Ruth shook her head. “He may have some Indian blood,” she said. “I didn’t know it. But this Indian child, where did she come from? And to think her name is Eunice!”
“Eunice!” cried Reginald Latham in a strange voice. “Impossible. Why Eunice is not an Indian name!”
“But it is what Mollie called her,” protested Ruth. “And Mollie seems to know who she is.”
Reginald Latham’s face had turned white.
Ruth felt her dislike of him slipping away. He seemed very sympathetic. Mollie, Bab and Grace were hurrying along after Naki, over whose broad shoulder hung the little Indian girl. Her black hair swept his sleeve, her broken arm drooped like the wing of a wounded bird.
Once she roused herself to say. “My grandmother will not like these people to come to our tent. We live alone like the beasts in the forest.”
But Barbara, Ruth, Grace and Mollie trudged on after Naki. While silently by their side walked Reginald Latham.