When Old Tillie was young
"Well, Dick," said the Lieutenant, "we may as well go home. It is too late to do anything more to-day. It is supper time."
Later, when their meal was finished, and tin cups and plates had been put aside, the officer took from its nail an old banjo, and began strumming. Presently he was singing, and his rich, clear voice, admirably suited to the time, place and surroundings, filled the little cabin and floated across to the green where the Indians camped. Song followed song, and the guide continually puffed his pipe near at hand.
By and by, a form stood in the doorway. It was old Tillie. She had heard the music and had hobbled over to the officer's cabin to listen.
"Come in and sit down, Tillie," called out the Lieutenant. "Do you like music?"
She smiled and nodded, accepting his invitation.
"Shall I sing for you, Tillie?"
A low spoken affirmative came from the old creature, who had seated herself near the entrance.
"I'll see if I can remember a few lines in Chilkat that I wrote some time ago," said the musician, as he again touched the strings.