“I am studying law at Yale,” he answered, surveying Gerry with a peculiar long stare he had given no one else. “It is my plan to work among my own people, but in the white man’s way.”
Before the morning had passed he had confessed to Mrs. Burton his own name. At least he made his confession looking directly at her as the official chaperon. But really he seemed less conscious of the group of girls about him than any American college fellow could have managed to be.
“Se-kyal-ets-tewa (Dawn Light). The name was a beautiful one, but small wonder the young man preferred being called by his adopted name! He smiled when he explained that it was against the better judgment of a Hopi Indian to confess his own title. A friend might tell it for him, but to speak one’s own name was to invite disaster.
Indeed, during the long morning’s talk together, Mrs. Burton was puzzled to discover how far the young man had been converted to American ideas and ideals, and how far he still believed in and preferred his own. He made no criticism of either. He merely answered a hundred inquiries from half a dozen young women for the distance of a hundred miles or more, and never lost his temper or suggested that some of the questions were absurd. Only once did he smile with slight sarcasm. In her best Boston manner Alice Ashton had asked a question not complimentary to Indian women.
“The Hopi women have always had the privilege of voting,” he replied. “I believe you will find them the original American suffragettes, since we came to this country a good many years before the Pilgrim fathers. You do not vote in Boston, I think.” And then all the party laughed except Alice, who had not a sense of humor.
Although Sallie, her younger sister, was not supposed to hear, she flashed a pleased smile above the pages of her book. For Alice was the learned member of the family and Sally the frivolous, so now and then it was fun to score.
When lunch time arrived the Indian would not remain longer with the Camp Fire party, although Mrs. Burton felt it her duty to issue an invitation. She was pleased with his good sense in declining.
However, on leaving, he did say: “You may some day wish to come to my village in Oraibi, and then I would like to show you both beautiful and curious things.”
For an instant, just as he was making this remark, his glance rested on Bettina. She could not have defined it to herself, but in some way his invitation appeared to have been addressed to her. And Bettina determined to accept. The young Indian had interested her in the account he gave of his life and people. Bettina was not fond of a conventional existence and had often wished to see a simpler and freer life. The Hopi Indians appeared to have arrived at a curious combination of civilization and what we call savagery. For instance, the old and infirm in a Hopi community are never allowed to want. The “Law of Mutual Help” suggests a better way of life than Lloyd George’s far-famed “old-age pensions” in the British Isles.
So Bettina sat dreaming and reflecting the greater part of the afternoon, while the other girls packed and unpacked, laughed and talked, excited over the prospect of arrival.