But the interesting room was the corn room, or the Indian storehouse. Here the corn was sorted according to color—blue and red and yellow—and laid on the stone floor. In one corner of the room were three hollow stones and a big stone to be held in the hands and used for grinding corn.
As Peggy was interested in this and the room was not large, she walked over toward the place, leaving Bettina for the moment alone. However, standing near were Mrs. Burton and Ralph Marshall, Gerry Williams and Vera.
But Bettina was not talking to any one of them and was a few feet away.
At once the Indian youth turned and walked up to her.
“Have I offended you, Miss Graham?” he asked. “I thought you were my friend and the thought gave me pleasure. But of late you do not speak to me. You do not care to listen to the legends and songs of my people, which you once said you enjoyed. If you are weary I do not wish to trouble you, but if I have given you cause for anger I desire to ask pardon.”
There was nothing in what the Indian said to make one embarrassed or unhappy; his manner was perfectly respectful and courteous, yet Bettina found herself blushing hotly. She realized that the others, even if they were not listening, could not fail to hear. And she wondered what her Camp Fire guardian would think of the situation.
But Bettina was not a coward, nor was she ever wilfully unkind. Indeed, she had an unusual gentleness and sweetness and did not like to wound.
“No, you have not offended me and I am still interested in what you used to tell me,” she answered with quiet friendliness, “only it is not possible that I should listen to you any more.”
Whatever the young man’s feelings at Bettina’s reply, he gave no sign, and she moved across the room and stood pretending to look at a crude drawing in bright colors which was painted on the wall.
Her back was turned to the rest of the party.