“M’m’m, most interesting flavor. What seasoning did you use?”
Daddy looked puzzled and took a second bite. “There’s something different about this cake, Janie. I can’t quite place it.”
Janie tasted it. “It’s pepper,” she cried. “It tastes like pepper.” She glanced immediately at Butch, and squinted her eyes in suspicion. “If I hadn’t watched you every minute of the time, I would suspect....”
She didn’t finish her sentence. Butchie, a picture of innocence, was fast asleep.
The boys carried their paper plates down to the lake front and built a fire with them.
“I’m a heap big Indian chief,” chanted Davey. He danced around and around the blaze.
“Indians used to dance here a hundred years ago,” said Jane. “I know, because we found arrowheads. Do you remember, Billy, when the farmer uncovered all those wonderful Indian relics while he was plowing? The level of the lake was higher then. They must have had happy celebrations just like we do now, and they must have loved this part of the country very much. Just think how filled the lake must have been with fish, and the woods over there on the western shore were filled with deer and rabbits and pheasants, and....”
“Bears,” interrupted James. “Big brown bears. Here comes Dad. Let’s ask him to tell us a story about the Indians who used to live here.”
Dad sat down cross-legged before the dying fire and told them a long story about an Indian who caught a pickerel who could talk. The story went on and on until it was quite dark and the stars came out. Mom came down and chased them off to bed.
“There’s going to be a big day tomorrow,” she said. “We have to get the weeds out of the garden.”