“She says she is going to sew each little shell on separately—you know each has a little hole rubbed into it—so that even if one breaks loose the others will not come off. Talking of trading, when are you going to get me that pair of Cherokee shell ear-pins you promised me? That old Shawnee woman in Possum-ground village has some and there is not another pair in Lenape land. See, I have stretched the holes in my ears on purpose for them.
“And speaking of making things, when are you going to finish that big, wooden bowl for me? You brought the maple burl home long ago, yet you only have it partly burned out, and there it lies beneath the sleeping birch, and right by it is a whole basket full of little slabs and pieces of sandstone for grinding it smooth.
“I know you have no flint scrapers, but don’t you remember you buried a lot of half-finished arrow points and little blocks of flint to keep them fresh, just outside one corner of the shed? They ought to be moist enough to work easily and you could make all the scrapers you want in a little while.
“The reason I need it now is because our son took the big old feast bowl out to play canoe with, the other day when I was not looking. It was all right until three or four other little boys tried to stand in it, too, all at the same time, then it split and is ruined. It made me feel sad because that was the bowl that grandfather made for mother when she and father built their first wigwam. I shall have to borrow another bowl for to-night.”
During all this I had said as little as possible, for I did not want to show my ignorance of all these things. I could not bear to spoil her happiness and let her discover that I was not really her husband. Now, however, I ventured to inquire, “What is going to happen to-night?”
“I forgot to tell you,” she replied, “last night when you were away, our war chief came to see you with a number of the elders from here, and other villages. They are going to get up a big war party to punish the Mengwe who, you know, are getting too bold. You remember how one of their scalping parties killed my poor brother last year when they caught him alone out hunting; and how they killed your friend Breaker but a few moons ago. Last night when you did not come home I feared they had got you.
“The war chief says you know more about those trails to the north than any other Lenape—that is of our Unami tribe—and they want you to lead the party. Everybody said they had full confidence in your judgment and your bravery.
“I hate to have you go because it is so dangerous, and our son and I need our hunter yet a while, yet,” she smiled sadly, “I am proud of my warrior too; the tribe needs you, and the ghost of my poor brother cries for vengeance.
“I told them to come again to-night and so they will be here I suppose. They spoke of bringing our tribal head chief, too. I was looking for women to help me cook for them, among that party pounding corn in that arbor, when you came into the village.”
As she finished, I realized that the crisis had come; I could keep my secret no longer. I had not enough knowledge of tribal affairs to talk with the delegation, let alone lead a war party. I must tell her the truth, or at least that part of it I felt she could understand.