“Are you hoping to go out with the scout to-night?” I asked.  “That would not do.”

“I go to-night with my brother Loskiel—­ to take the air,” he said slyly.

“That may not be,” I protested, disconcerted.  “I have business abroad to-night,”

“And I,” he said very seriously; but he glanced again at the pretty garments on my arm and gave me a merry look.

“Yes,” said I, smilingly, “they are for her.  The little lady hath no shoon, no skirt that holds together, save by the grace of cockspur thorns that bind the tatters.  Those I have bought of an Oneida girl.  And if they do not please her, yet these at least will hold together.  And I shall presently write a letter to Albany and send it by the next batteau to my solicitor, who will purchase for her garments far more suitable, and send them to the fort where soon, I trust, she will be lodged in fashion more befitting.”

The Sagamore’s face had become smooth and expressionless.  I laid aside the garments, fished out quill and inkhorn, and, lying flat on the ground, wrote my letter to Albany, describing carefully the maid who was to be fitted, her height, the smallness of her waist and foot as well as I remembered.  I wrote, too, that she was thin, but not too thin.  Also I bespoke a box of French hair-powder for her, and buckled shoes of Paddington, and stockings, and a kerchief.

“You know better than do I,” I wrote, “having a sister to care for, how women dress.  They should have shifts, and hair-pegs, and a scarf, and fan, and stays, and scent, and hankers, and a small laced hat, not gilded; cloak, foot-mantle, sun-mask, and a chip hat to tie beneath the chin, and one such as they call after the pretty Mistress Gunning.  If women wear banyans, I know not, but whatever they do wear in their own privacy at morning chocolate, in the French fashion, and whatever they do sleep in, buy and box and send to me.  And all the money banked with you, put it in her name as well as mine, so that her draughts on it may all be honoured.  And this is her name——­”

I stopped, dismayed, I did not know her name!  And I was about to sign for her full power to share my every penny!  Yet, my amazing madness did not strike me as amazing or grotesque, that, within the hour, a maid in a condition such as hers was to divide my tidy fortune with me.  Nay, more—­ for when I signed this letter she would be free to take what she desired and even leave me destitute.

I laughed at the thought—­ so midsummer mad was I upon that sunny July afternoon; and within me, like a hidden thicket full of birds, my heart was singing wondrous tunes I never knew one note of.

“O Sagamore,” I said, lifting my head, “tell me her surname now, because I need it for this business.  And I forgot to ask her at the Spring Waiontha.”

For a full minute the Indian’s countenance turned full on me remained moon-blank.  Then, like lightning, flashed his smile.