Lydia greatly preferred weeding the garden to cleaning the house.  Indeed the contrast between the fine garden, the well kept patch of lawn and the disorderly house was startling.  Amos grumbled and complained but Lydia was in the hobble-de-hoy stage—­she didn’t care and she had no one teach her.

One afternoon in August, clad in her bathing suit, now much too small for her, she was working in the garden, when a voice behind her grunted,

“Eat!”

Lydia jumped and turned.  The old squaw of two years before stood begging.  She was as pitifully thin as ever.  As she stared at the ugly old Indian, Lydia’s throat tightened.  She seemed to feel baby Patience’s fingers clinging to hers in fear.

“Want some vegetables?” she asked, motioning toward the garden.

The squaw nodded eagerly and held up the dirty apron she was wearing.  Lydia began slowly to fill it, talking as she worked.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

The Indian jerked her gray head toward the north.  “Big Woods."’

“But that’s twenty miles.  It must take you a long time to walk it.  Poor thing!”

The squaw shrugged her shoulders.  Lydia stared at the toothless, trembling old mouth, hideous with wrinkles, then at the gnarled and shaking old hands.

“Haven’t you any one to take care of you?”

“All sick—­boy sick—­man sick—­girl sick.  All time sick, all time nothing to eat.”

“But won’t some other Indian make you a garden, a little one?”

Again the squaw shrugged her shoulders.  Her apron was full now.  She produced a string from inside her waist and tying the apron up bag-like, she slung it over her shoulder.  Then she gave Lydia a keen glance.

“Friend,” she said, briefly, and turning, she tottered painfully out of the gate.

Followed by Adam, Lydia walked thoughtfully out upon the little pier Amos had built.  They had no boat, but Lydia fished and dived from the pier.  It was hard to understand how the Indians with all their rich pine land could be so poor.  She resolved to ask her father and Levine about it and turned a somersault into the water.  She swam about until tired, then turned over on her back to rest.  Lying so a shadow drifted across her face and she raised her head.  A gray birch bark canoe floated silently beside her.  In it, in a gray bathing suit, sat Charlie Jackson.

“Goodness!” exclaimed Lydia.  “How in the world you do it so quietly, I don’t see.”

“I saw something that looked like a wet yellow pup in the water, and stole up on it,” grinned Charlie.

“Come on in.  It’s as warm as suds.”

Charlie shot his canoe to the pier and in a moment, was floating beside Lydia.  She took a deep breath, let herself sink and a moment or two later came up several yards beyond him.  He did not miss her for a moment, then he started for her with a shout.  A game of tag followed ending in a wild race to the pier which they reached neck and neck.  Adam wept and slobbered with joy over their return.