“It is the truth,” they answered very quietly, “Then,” said I, “they will require food and money to buy with.  Is it not true, Oneidas?”

“It is true, brother.”

I smiled and turned toward the women who were listening, and who now looked up at me with merry faces.

“I have,” said I, “four hundred dollars.  It is for the Oneida maid or matron who will sell to me her pretty bridal dress of doeskin—­ the dress which she has made and laid aside and never worn.  I buy her marriage dress.  And she will make another for herself against the hour of need.”

Two or three girls leaped laughing to their feet; but, “Wait!” said I.  “This is for my little sister; and I must judge you where you stand, Oneida forest flowers, so I may know which one among you is most like my little sister in height and girth and narrow feet.”

“Is our elder brother’s little sister fat and comely?” inquired one giggling and over-plump Oneida maid.

“Not plump,” I said; and they all giggled.

Another short one stood on tip-toe, asking bashfully if she were not the proper height to suit me.

But there was a third, graceful and slender, who had risen with the rest, and who seemed to me nearer a match to Lois.  Also, her naked, dusky feet were small and shapely.

At a smiling nod from me she hastened into the family lodge and presently reappeared with the cherished clothing.  Fresh and soft and new, she cast the garments on the moss and spread them daintily and proudly to my view for me to mark her wondrous handiwork.  And it was truly pretty—­ from the soft, wampum-broidered shirt with its hanging thrums, to the clinging skirt and delicate thigh-moccasins, wonderfully fringed with purple and inset in most curious designs with painted quills and beads and blue diamond-fronds from feathers of a little jay-bird’s wing.

Bit by bit I counted out the currency; and it took some little time.  But when it was done she took it eagerly enough, laughing her thanks and dancing away toward her lodge.  And if her dusky sisters envied her they smiled on me no less merrily as I took my leave of them.  And very courteously a stately chief escorted me to the campfire’s edge.  The Oneidas were ever gentlemen; and their women gently bred.

Once more at my own hut door, I entered, with a nod to Mayaro, who sat smoking there in freshened war paint.  One quick and penetrating glance he darted at the Oneida garment on my arm, but except for that betrayed no curiosity.

“Well, Mayaro,” said I, in excellent spirits, “you still wear war paint hopefully, I see.  But this army will never start within the week.”

The Siwanois smiled to himself and smoked.  Then he passed the pipe to me.  I drew it twice, rendered it.

“Come,” said I, “have you then news that we take the war-trail soon?”

“The war-trail is always open for those who seek it.  When my younger brother makes ready for a trail, does he summon it to come to him by magic, or does he seek it on his two legs?”