“My dear child,” she cried in alarm, “what is the matter, you are ill?”

“Not ill, only stupid.  Don’t mind me.  I shall be quite right again in a minute.”  But her breath came in gasps, and her very lips were white.

“Will you come in?  Can you walk?”

“No, no; it is nothing.”  By a strong effort she recovered herself a little, and smiled.  “Could anything be so absurd?”

“What was it?  I can’t understand.”

“That poor woman.  Is not it strange the sight of an Indian or a squaw always throws me into a kind of panic.  I am horribly frightened, and I don’t know why.”

“It is strange, certainly; what are you afraid of?”

“Of nothing at all.  I cannot think why I should feel so, but I always have.  Indeed I try not to be so foolish.”

“I can’t scold you for it at present, for you really frightened me, and you are generally fearless enough.”

“I am so glad there was no one but you here.  Please do not tell anybody.”

“But do you know, child, that you are still as pale as ever you can be?  And they are coming back from the river.  Your enemy is out of sight now; let us walk up to the house.”

They put on their hats, and walked slowly up the sunny slope; but as they came upon the level space in front of the house, the squaw, who had been bargaining with the farmer’s wife at a side door, came round the corner and met them face to face.  She paused a moment, and then walked straight up to the two ladies, holding out her mats as an invitation to them to buy.  Lucia shrank back, and Mrs. Bellairs afraid, from her previous alarm, that she really would faint, motioned hastily to the woman to go away.  But she seemed in no hurry to obey; repeating in a monotonous tone, “Buy, buy,” she stood still, fixing her eyes upon Lucia with a keen look of inquiry.  The poor child, terrified, and ashamed of being so, made an uncertain movement towards the door, when the squaw suddenly laid her hand upon her arm.

“Where live?” she said, in broken English.

“Go, go!” cried Mrs. Bellairs impatiently.  “We have nothing for you;” and taking Lucia’s arm, she drew her into their sitting-room, and shut the door.

“Lie down on the sofa;” she said, “what could the woman mean?  You must have an opposite effect on her to what she has on you.  But you need not fear any more; she is going down to her canoe.”

By degrees, Lucia’s panic subsided, her colour came back, and she regained courage to go out and meet the others.  They found that Doctor Morton and Bella had strolled away along the shore, while the other two were occupied in discussing Indian customs and modes of life, their conversation having started from the bark canoe.  The two ladies took their work, and remained quiet listeners, until a rough-looking, untidy servant-girl came to tell them dinner was ready.

Fish caught that morning, and fowls killed since the arrival of the party, were on the table; the untidy servant had been commissioned by her mistress to wait, which she did by sitting down and looking on with great interest while dinner proceeded.  It was not a particularly satisfactory meal in its earlier stages, but all deficiencies were atoned for by the appearance of a huge dish of delicious wild raspberries, and a large jug of cream, which formed the second course.