Now you can make that wigwam, can't you, 'Bijah?
You said you would when the hay was all in, and it _is_ all in, ain't
it? Le's make it to-day over there in the woods, on the island. The boys
are coming over to-morrow, and I want to have it done before they get
here. Say, will you, 'Bijah?"

"Wal, I'd know but I can," said 'Bijah.

"I want a _real_ one," said Benny, "life-size, just like them you saw
when you was out there to Dakota--none o' your baby-houses."

'Bijah went up-stairs into the barn chamber, humming _The Sweet By and
By_, and Benny accompanied him in doing both. 'Bijah opened an enormous
chest and pulled out a lot of old buffalo and other robes, the worn-out
and moth-eaten accumulation of years, not to say generations, and
sitting down, took out his jack-knife and ripped the ragged linings out
of several that were pretty well divested of their fur, and making a
pile of skins, old horse blankets and lap rugs, he said, "Now, then,
sir, we'll have a wigwam fit for old Black Hawk himself."

And you may be sure 'Bijah was as good as his word. He got out old Tom
and the wagon, and he and Benny and the skins and blankets all got in
and drove over to the woods on the island, and there 'Bijah cut poles
and made the finest wigwam ever seen this side of the Rocky
Mountains--or the other side either, for that matter. They spread
blankets on the ground inside, and Benny declared it wanted nothing but
a few Indians and tomahawks and bows and arrows lying round to make it
look just like the picture in his g'ography.

Benny's last thought was of his wigwam that night as he slid off into
the delicious sleep that only rosy-cheeked, tired boys know. He dreamed
he was the chief of a powerful tribe, and that he found old Winneenis,
not old any longer, but a little girl like Fanny, crying in the forest
because she couldn't find her way to her people, and that he took her by
the hand and led her home. Her shout of rapture when she found herself
once more with her people, wakened Benny, and he saw it was morning,
and the shout he had heard instead of being that of little Winneenis,
was grandma's voice calling him to get up. He was rather disappointed to
find he wasn't a powerful chief, but he consoled himself with the
thought of his uncommonly fine wigwam, and hurried down stairs to see
what time it was, for the boys were to come on the early train, and he
meant to go right over to the woods with them.

He had scarcely fini