ld
be no harm in trying. She had often been on errands alone in the great
city, where everything was so confusing. Perhaps the squaw would be
pleased, and give her some wonderful talisman; or she might relate to
her stories of Indian life, which she (Julie) would write down and make
into a book; and then no one, not even nurse, would be angry with her
for daring to do so courageous a thing.

* * * * *

[Illustration: RIDING HOME FROM THE HAY FIELD.--DRAWN BY W. M. CARY.]

Who would have imagined that, as the children tossed about the heaps of
fragrant hay, this wild scheme was brewing beneath the brim of a tiny
straw hat wreathed with daisies? And who thought to count the merry ones
on the top of the wagon-load as it turned homeward? Not nurse, who was
sewing beneath a tree, and who gathered up her work and went after her
charge in blissful ignorance that one lamb had strayed from the fold.

With eager, hurrying steps Julie had left the meadow and sought a clump
of trees; from these she emerged upon a road which seemed much
travelled. It was very steep and dusty where it was not rocky, but she
was not to be daunted at the outset; so on she went as rapidly as
possible, for fear that, being missed, she might be over-taken, and
prevented from accomplishing this great feat. At first she could hear
the voices in the field beneath her, but as she hastened on all became
silent but the stirring of the summer breeze in the tree-tops, and the
far-away cackle of an industrious hen. The road, at first very sunny,
had now wound itself beside huge crags, which made a welcome shade, and
Julie saw with delight a little water-fall come tumbling down a narrow
fissure, plunging into a pool below, and crossing the path. Warm and
thirsty, she stopped to refresh herself and listen to the gurgling of
the brook. But she must not dawdle, or night might come on, and then it
would be hard to find the old squaw, who was perhaps at this moment
cutting glittering stars out of the old moons. The difficulty of hanging
them up did not once occur to her. Possibly the moon and the stars were
not like tinsel, but she had no doubt of the squaw. She had heard that
squaws made baskets: would it not be a nice thing to buy a little one
for Quillie, and a great big one for nurse?--she would pick out the very
prettiest. And so she scrambled on, getting very much heated and soiled,
catching her clothes on the briers, getting bits