shell.  With him came Nautauquaus and Catanaugh.  The two wandered as they pleased through the town, and Nautauquaus, seeing Rolfe arrive in his boat from his plantation Varina, where he had built a house for Pocahontas, stepped forward to greet him.  His love for Pocahontas made him desire to know her future husband better.  Though this man was of another world than his, though his thoughts and ways were different, he was a man as he was; therefore the Indian brave tried to appraise him by the same methods he used in judging the men of his own race—­and he was satisfied.  Rolfe, recognizing him, shook hands heartily and talked for a while, enquiring about those of his family he had known while a hostage at Werowocomoco.

After Rolfe had left him to enter the Governor’s house, Nautauquas turned to find out what Catanaugh was doing, but could see nothing of him.

Catanaugh had not felt the same interest in Rolfe as did his brother and had strolled away towards Pocahontas’s house.  He had a question he was eager to put to her while Nautauquas was not by.  He found his sister in her white gown, with brightly embroidered moccasins on her feet and a circlet of beads and feathers about her head.

“Wilt thou not adorn thyself,” he asked, “with the bright chains of the white men?”

“Nay, Brother,” she answered; “it may be that I shall wear the strange robes some day, and the bright chains and jewels I will don to-morrow when I am the squaw of an Englishman; but to-day I am still only the daughter of Powhatan.”

Catanaugh said nothing further, yet he still stood in the doorway.

“Enter,” invited Pocahontas, “and behold how I live.”

“I see enough,” he answered, turning his head from side to side; “but where dwelleth the white man’s Okee?”

“The God of the Christians?” she asked, puzzled at his question; “in the sky above.”

“But where do the shamans call to him?” he continued.

“Yonder in the church, that building with the peak to it,” she pointed out.

“I will walk some more,” announced Catanaugh and left her.  When he thought Pocahontas was no longer observing him, he hastened in the direction of the church.  During his former short stay in Jamestown he had never been inside and had thought of it—­if he paid any attention to it at all—­as some kind of a storehouse.

He found the door open and entered quietly, glancing cautiously about until he had assured himself that it was empty.  Then he pushed the door to and fastened it with the bolt.  This done, he set about examining the building curiously.  At the end, towards the rising sun, was an elevation of three steps which made him think of the raised dais that ran across the end of Powhatan’s ceremonial lodge.  This was lined with the reddish wood of the cedar, and there was a dark wooden table covered with a white cloth standing in it, and the sun shining through the windows above made the vases filled with flowers glisten brightly.  In the part where he stood there were many benches and chairs, and everywhere that it was possible to stand or hang them, was a profusion of fragrant flowering branches.