"Before you sail?" inquired Constance, guilelessly.
"Why, I am decided to cast my lot in with the colony, sweet Constance," said John, trying, but failing, to keep from looking at Priscilla.
"Pris?" cried Constance, and waited.
Priscilla threw her arms around Constance and hid her face, crying on her shoulder.
"My people are all dead, Connie, and I alone survive of us all on the Mayflower! Even my brother Joseph died; you know it, Connie! Do you blame me?" she sobbed.
"Oh, Prissy, dear Prissy!" Constance laughed at this piteous appeal. "Just as though you did not find John Alden most likeable when we were sailing and no one had yet died! And just as though you had to explain liking him! As though we did not all hold him dear and long to keep him with us! John Alden, I never, never would sit quiet under such insult! You funny Priscilla! What are you crying for? Aren't you happy? tell me that!"
"So happy I must cry," sobbed Priscilla, but drying her eyes nevertheless. "Do you suppose those savages see me?"
"I am sure of it," declared Constance. "Likely they will refuse to make a treaty with white men whose women act so strangely! My father is going to be as glad of your treaty with Priscilla as of the savage chief's treaty, an it be made, Master Alden."
"What is it? What's to do, dear John Alden?" clamoured Damaris, who never spoke to John without the caressing epithet.
The young man swung her to his shoulder, and kissed the soil-stained hand which the child laid against his cheek.