When this pause had lasted a minute or two, a sudden glance passed between Mr. and Mrs. Bellairs.  His said, “I am afraid you were right;”—­hers, “What shall we do?” to which he replied by getting up, and saying,

“Are you all going to sleep, good people?”

A reluctant stir, and change of position among the group, answered him.

“What else can we do?” asked Bella.  “It is too hot to move.”

“If you intend to go on the river to-day, it had better be soon,” said her brother-in-law.  “There is every appearance of a storm coming on.”

“Not before we get home, I hope.  But look, there is a canoe.”

As she spoke, a small object came darting across the river.  It approached so fast, that in a minute or two they could distinguish plainly that it was, in fact, a tiny bark canoe.  One Indian woman, seated at the end, seemed to be its only occupant; the repeated flashes of sunlight on her paddle showed how quick and dexterous were its movements as she steered straight for the landing in front of the farmhouse.

“Look here, Percy,” said Mr. Bellairs; “I don’t believe you have seen a squaw yet.  Get up and quote appropriate poetry on the occasion.”

“‘Hiawatha’ I suppose?  I don’t know any,” and Mr. Percy rose lazily.  “She is an odd figure.  How do you know it’s a woman at all?”

“Don’t you see the papoose lying in the canoe?”

“Conclusive evidence, certainly; but upon my word the lady’s costume is not particularly feminine.”

They were all standing up now, watching the canoe which had drawn quite near the bank.  In a minute or two longer it touched the land, and the woman rose.  She was of small size, but rather squarely built; her long jet black hair, without ornament or attempt at dressing, hung loosely down over her shoulders; she wore mocassins of soft yellow leather ornamented with beads; trousers of black cloth, with a border of the same kind of work, reached her ankles; a cloth skirt, almost without fulness, came a little below the knee, and was covered, to within three or four inches of its edge, by an equally scanty one of red and white cotton, with a kind of loose bodice and sleeves, attached to it; a blanket, fastened round her shoulders in such a manner that it could be drawn over her head like a monk’s cowl, completed her dress.  A little brown baby, tightly swathed in an old shawl, lay at her feet, exposed, seemingly without discomfort, to the hot glare of the sun.  She stood a moment, as if examining the house, and the group of figures in front of it; then picked up her child, slipped it into the folds of her blanket, so that it hung safely on her back, its black eyes peeping out over her shoulders, took a bundle of mats from under the seat of her canoe, and stepped on shore.

As she came, with light firm steps, up the bank, not exactly approaching them, but turning to the house-door, the party under the trees separated; the gentlemen, attracted by the lightness and beauty of the canoe, went down to the water’s edge to look at it more closely.  Bella wanted to see the papoose, and perhaps to bargain with its mother for some of her work; Mrs. Bellairs and Lucia remained alone, when the former, turning to say something to her companion, was surprised to see her pale, trembling, and looking ready to faint.