“Well,” said Levine, “I’m free until three o’clock, when the speeches begin.  There’ll be all sorts of Indian games going until then.”

“You folks go on,” said Lizzie.  “I’m going to sit right here.  I never was so comfortable in my life.  This may be my only chance to see the world from an automobile and I don’t calculate to lose a minute.  I can see all I want from right here.”

The others laughed.  “I don’t blame you, Liz,” said Amos.  “I feel a good deal that way, myself.  What’s the crowd round the flagpole, John?”

“Let’s go see,” answered Levine.

“How did you get the Indians to come, Mr. Levine?” asked Billy.

“By offering ’em all the food they could eat.  The majority of them haven’t any idea what it’s all about.  But they’re just like white folks.  They like a party.  Don’t get crowded too close to any of them, Lydia.  They’re a dirty lot, poor devils.”

The crowd about the flagpole proved to be watching an Indian gambling game.  In another spot, a pipe of peace ceremony was taking place.  The shooting galleries were crowded.  Along the lake shore a yelling audience watched birch canoe races.  The merry-go-round held as many squaws and papooses and stolid bucks as it did whites.

The four returned to the automobile for lunch hot and muddy but well saturated with the subtle sense of expectation and excitement that was in the air.

“This is just a celebration and nothing else, John, isn’t it?” asked Amos as he bit into a sandwich.

“That’s all,” replied Levine.  “We thought it was a good way to jolly the Indians.  At the same time it gave folks a reason for coming up here and seeing what we were fighting for and, last and not least, it was the Indian Agent’s chance to come gracefully over on our side.”

“Did he?” asked Lydia.

“He did.  He’s done more of the actual work of getting the celebration going than I have.”

“I wonder why?” asked Billy, suddenly.

“All there is left for him to do,” said Levine.  “Lydia, before the speeches begin, go up in the pines and choose your tract.  I’ll buy it for you.”

Lydia glanced at Billy.  He was thinner this summer than she had ever seen him.  He was looking at her with his deep set gray eyes a little more somber, she thought, than the occasion warranted.  Nevertheless she stirred uneasily.

“I don’t want any Indian lands,” she said.  “I’d always see Charlie Jackson in them.”

“The whole thing’s wrong,” muttered Billy.

Levine gave him a quick look, then smiled a little cynically.  “You’d better go along with Lydia and take a look at the pines,” he suggested.  “Amos, I’ve already got your tract picked out.  It’s ten miles from here so you can’t see it to-day.  Come over to the speakers’ stand and help me get things arranged.”

“I’d like to look at the pines again, anyhow,” said Lydia.  “Come along, Billy.”