he walked over people's faces with them.
he was always killing people that way, and so at last the tribe decided
that it wasn't a good enough excuse for him that he was young and
inexperienced--he'd have to go. They took him down to the river, and put
him in a canoe, and pushed him out from shore; and then they ran along
the bank and wouldn't let him land, until at last the current carried
the canoe out into the middle, and then on down to the ocean, and he
never got back. They didn't want him back, of course, and if he'd been
able to manage it, they'd have put him in another canoe and shoved him
out into the river again. But still, they didn't elect another chief in
his place. Other tribes thought that was curious, and wondered about
it a lot, but finally they came to the conclusion that the beech grove
people were afraid a new chief might turn out to be a bad Indian, too,
and wear iron shoes like Vendonah. But they were wrong, because the real
reason was that the tribe had led such an exciting life under Vendonah
that they couldn't settle down to anything tamer. He was awful, but he
always kept things happening--terrible things, of course. They hated
him, but they weren't able to discover any other warrior that they
wanted to make chief in his place. I suppose it was a little like
drinking a glass of too strong wine and then trying to take the taste
out of your mouth with barley water. They couldn't help feeling that
way."

"I see," said Eugene. "So that's why they named the place
'They-Couldn't-Help-It'!"

"It must have been."

"And so you're going to stay here in your garden," he said musingly.
"You think it's better to keep on walking these sunshiny gravel paths
between your flower-beds, and growing to look like a pensive garden lady
in a Victorian engraving."

"I suppose I'm like the tribe that lived here, papa. I had too much
unpleasant excitement. It was unpleasant--but it was excitement. I don't
want any more; in fact, I don't want anything but you."

"You don't?" He looked at her keenly, and she laughed and shook her
head; but he seemed perplexed, rather doubtful. "What was the name of
the grove?" he asked. "The Indian name, I mean."

"Mola-Haha."

"No, it wasn't; that wasn't the name you said."

"I've forgotten."

"I see you have," he said, his look of perplexity remaining. "Perhaps
you remember the chief's name better."

She shook her head again. "I don't!"

At this he laughed, but not very he