"Chief come, English girls," he announced. "No more you be fear Indian; Massasoit tell you be no more fear, he and Squanto fight for you, and he say true. No more fear, little English girl!" he laid his hand protectingly upon Damaris's head and the child smiled up at him, confidingly.
Giles came fast upon Squanto's heels. His face was flushed, his eyes kindled; Constance saw with a leap of her heart that he looked like the lad she had loved in England and had lost in the New World.
"Got Father's coat ready, Con?" he asked. "There's to be a counsel held, and my father is to preside over it on our side, arranging with Massasoit. My father is to settle with him for the colony—of course Mr. Winslow will have his say, also."
"I meant to furbish the coat somewhat more, Giles, but the necessary repairs are made," said Constance yielding her brother the garment. "How proud of Father he is!" she thought, happily. "How truly he adores him, however awry matters go between them!"
Giles hung the coat on his arm, carefully, to keep it from wrinkles, a most unusual thoughtfulness in him, and hastened away.
"No more work to-day, girls, or at least of this sort," cried Constance gaily, her heart lightened by Giles's unmistakable pride in their father. "We shall be called upon to cook and serve. Many Indians come with Massasoit, Squanto?"
"No, his chiefs," Squanto raised one hand and touched its fingers separately, then did the same with the other hand. "Ten," he announced after this illustration.
"That means no less than thirty potatoes, and something less than twenty quarts of porridge," laughed Constance, but was called to account by her stepmother, who had come in from the rear.
"Will you never speak the truth soberly, Constantia Hopkins?" she said. "We do not count on two quarts of porridge for every Indian we feed. Take this child; he is heavy for so long, and he hath kicked with both heels in my flesh every step of the way. Another Hopkins, I'll warrant, I've borne for my folly in marrying your father; a restless, headstrong brood are they, and Oceanus is already not content to sit quietly on his mother's hip, but will drive her, like a camel of the desert." She detached Oceanus's feet from her skirt and handed him over to Constance with a jerk. Constance received him, biting her lips to hold back laughter, and burying her face in the back of the baby neck that had been pitifully thin during the cruel winter, but which was beginning to wrinkle with plumpness now.
Too late she concealed her face; Mistress Eliza caught a glimpse of it and was upon her.