"I've got something to tell you, Bee. Black Partridge was here early this morning, long before you were up, and apologised for running off with the picture—that is, as nearly as an Indian ever apologises. From what he said, I infer that he thinks the Great Spirit dwells in you, but he is willing for you to finish it. The medicine-man of the tribe told him good would come from it, rather than evil, so he left it here to be completed."
"All right," she answered; "I'll go to work at it now and try to get it done before he changes his mind again."
Robert brought the picture and her paints, and they sat down together on the piazza while she added the finishing touches. "Couldn't we make a frame for it?" asked Robert.
"What could we make it of?"
"He'd prefer beads, wouldn't he?"
"Yes, I suppose so," she said, with a puzzled little frown; "but I don't know how to make a bead frame."
"I should think a plain wooden frame might be whittled out, smeared with pitch or rosin, and the beads stuck on while it was hot."
"You're a genius, Cousin Rob. Get the beads off uncle and make it while I'm finishing the picture."
Mackenzie willingly placed his stock at their service, and, after taking careful measurements, Forsyth found a piece of soft pine and made a narrow, flat frame. Beatrice finished her work in time to help set the beads in the rosin, and Mackenzie and his wife came out to admire the result.
The picture was framed to their satisfaction when Black Partridge, somewhat shamefaced, appeared at the trading station. He took it with every evidence of delight and made a long speech to Mackenzie, of which Robert understood only a little.