id Mrs. Allan,
cheerfully. "You and Tony walk out for some fresh air. Something will
happen, you'll see." And it did.

Crowds of the train's passengers were strolling up and down when the
Professor and Norton went outside. "I wish they would not stand and
stare at the Indians like that!" remarked the boy indignantly. "The
Indians don't stare at us."

"For the best of all reasons," said the Professor. "Indians are taught
from the cradle that the worst possible breach of politeness is to
stare." And just as they began a little chat on the merits of
this teaching, a dapper, well-dressed passenger walked up to the
distinguished Indian, and in a very loud voice said, "Good morning,
friend. I'd like to buy that eagle feather you have in your hair.
Will you sell it? Here's a dollar."

Instantly Norton Allan turned angrily to the passenger. "What do you
shout at him for?" he demanded. "He isn't deaf because he's Indian."

"Oh!" said the passenger, rather sheepishly, but in a much lower tone.
Then, still raising his voice again, he persisted, "Here's two dollars
for your feather."

The Indian never even glanced at him, but with a peculiar, half regal
lift of his shoulders, hitched his blanket about him, turned on his
heel, and walked slowly away. Just then the train conductor walked past,
and the bewildered passenger assailed him with, "I say, conductor, that
Indian over there wouldn't take two dollars for that chicken wing in his
hair."

The conductor laughed. "I should think not!" he said. "'That Indian' is
Chief Sleeping Thunder, and ten miles across the prairie there, he has
three thousand head of cattle, eighty horses, and about two thousand
acres of land for them to range over. _He_ doesn't want your two
dollars."

"Oh!" said the passenger again, this time a little more sheepishly than
before; then he wisely betook himself to the train.

Meantime the boy with the scarlet blanket had not moved an inch, only
let his eyes rest briefly on Norton when the latter had reproved the
shouting passenger.

"And this," continued the conductor kindly, as he paused beside the boy,
"is Chief Sleeping Thunder's son, North Eagle."

Norton Allan stepped eagerly forward, raised his cap, and holding out
his hand shyly, said, "May I have the pleasure of shaking hands with
you, North Eagle?"

The Indian boy extended his own slim brown fingers, a quick smile swept
across his face, and he said, "_You_ not speak loud." Then they all