"Cook out doors, I s'pose," said Grasshopper.
Wampum looked very severe. "When me lives in wigwam, me has fires in wigwam: when me lives in tent, me puts fires on grass;—keep off them things," he added, pointing at a mosquito in the air; "keep smoke out tent," pointing upward to show the motion of the smoke.
Horace felt so much pleased with his new companion, that he resolved to treat him to a watermelon. So, without saying a word to the boys, he ran into the house to ask his grandmother.
"What! a whole watermelon, Horace?"
"Yes, grandma, we three; me, and Grasshopper, and Wampum."
Mrs. Parlin could not help smiling to see how suddenly Horace had adopted a new friend.
"You may have a melon, but I think your mother would not like to have you play much with a strange boy."
"He's going to make me a splendid basket; and besides, aren't Indians and negroes as good as white folks? 'Specially tame Indians," said Horace, not very respectfully, as he ran back, shoe-knife in hand, to cut the watermelon.
This was the beginning of a hasty friendship between himself and Wampum. For a few days there was nothing so charming to Horace as the wild life of this Indian family. He was made welcome at their tent, and often went in to see them make baskets.
"I trust you," said Mrs. Clifford; "you will not deceive me, Horace. If you ever find that little Wampum says bad words, tells falsehoods, or steals, I shall not be willing for you to play with him. You are very young, and might be greatly injured by a bad playmate."