The late afternoon sun sifted through the dusty attic window on her yellow head.  Somewhere near the window a robin began to trill his vesper song.  Over and over he sang it until at last Lydia heard and raised her head.  Suddenly she smiled.

“There, Adam,” she said, “now I’m really grown up and I feel better.  Let’s go meet Dad.”

It was three or four days later that news came that the Levine bill had passed.  It was a compromise bill as John had intimated it would be to the half breeds in the woods.  Only the mixed bloods could sell their lands.  Nevertheless there was great rejoicing in Lake City.  Plans were begun immediately for a Fourth of July celebration upon the reservation.  Kent to his lasting regret missed the celebration.  Immediately after school closed he had gone into Levine’s office and had been sent to inspect Levine’s holdings in the northern part of the State.

Levine returned the last week in June and took charge of the preparations.  Amos, who never had been on the reservation, planned to go and Levine rented an automobile and invited Lydia, Amos, Billy Norton and Lizzie to accompany him.

It rained on the third of July, but the fourth dawned clear and hot.  Lydia really saw the dawn for she and Lizzie had undertaken to provide the picnic lunch and supper for the party of five and they both were busy in the kitchen at sunrise.  At eight o’clock the automobile was at the door.

John drove the car himself and ordered Lydia in beside him.  The rest packed into the tonneau with the baskets.  It seemed as if all Lake City were headed for the reservation, for Levine’s automobile was one of a huge line of vehicles of every type moving north as rapidly as the muddy road and the character of the motive power would permit.  As they neared the reservation, about eleven, they began to overtake parties of young men who had walked the twenty miles.

They passed the Last Chance, which was gaily hung with flags.  Its yard was packed with vehicles.  Its bar was running wide open.  They swung on up the black road into the reservation, around a long hill, through a short bit of wood to the edge of a great meadow where John halted the car.

On all sides but one were pine woods.  The one side was bordered by a little lake, motionless under the July sun.  On the edge of the pines were set dozens of tents and birch-bark wick-i-ups.  In the center of the meadow was a huge flagpole from which drooped the Stars and Stripes.  Near by was a grandstand and a merry-go-round and everywhere were hawkers’ booths.

Already the meadow was liberally dotted with sight-seers of whom there seemed to be as many Indians as whites.  The mechanical piano in connection with the merry-go-round shrilled above the calls of vendors.  Overhead in the brazen blue of the sky, buzzards sailed lazily watching.

“Isn’t it great!” cried Lydia.  “What do we do first?”