obeyed the squaw
gave her a sharp slap on the cheek, and Nakanit, without a look toward
Anne, fled into the forest.

"Here, white child," said the woman, "here are your things. What are you
doing so far from the settlement?"

"I am going to Brewster," replied Anne.

The Indian woman eyed her sharply.

"You have run away from your mother and father," she said sharply.

"My mother is dead, and my father is at sea," Anne replied, feeling her
face growing red under the sharp eyes of the squaw, and a little ashamed
that she did not own that she was running away from Aunt Martha
Stoddard. But she felt that Aunt Martha had been very unfair toward her.

The Indian woman's face softened. "And you journey alone to find
friends in Brewster?" she asked.

"Yes, indeed; I am to go to Rose Freeman, and ride with her and her
father in their chaise to Boston, and wait at their house for my
father."

The squaw nodded. The name of Freeman was known to her, and though a
sixty mile journey seemed a long way for so small a girl as Anne, the
woman only wondered at the unkindness of the white women in letting a
child go alone.

"Come," she said, and Anne, gathering up her shoes and stockings and the
rumpled white dress, followed her.

The squaw turned from the path and, as she walked swiftly on, gave
several low calls which to Anne sounded like the notes of a bird. The
last call was answered, and a moment later Nakanit appeared beside them.
For a long time they went on in silence, and at last the squaw stopped
suddenly.

"Oh!" exclaimed Anne, for directly in front of them was a wigwam, so
cunningly built in behind a growth of small spruce trees that unless one
knew of its whereabouts it might be easily passed by. The Indian girl
laughed at Anne's exclamation, and nodded at her in a friendly manner.

"Go in," said the squaw. "Did no woman give you food to eat on your
journey?"

Anne shook her head.

"Umph!" grunted the squaw, and turned toward Nakanit, evidently telling
her to bring Anne something to eat.

The Indian girl opened a basket that stood near the wigwam door and took
out some thin cakes made of corn meal, and handed them to Anne. Anne ate
them hungrily; they tasted very sweet and good, and, when she had eaten
the last one, she turned toward the squaw who sat beside her, and said:
"Thank you very much. The cakes were good."

The squaw nodded gravely. Anne looked round the wigwam with curious
eyes. It was evident