ain with its mother for
some of her work; Mrs. Bellairs and Lucia remained alone, when the
former, turning to say something to her companion, was surprised to see
her pale, trembling, and looking ready to faint.

"My dear child," she cried in alarm, "what is the matter, you are ill?"

"Not ill, only stupid. Don't mind me. I shall be quite right again in a
minute." But her breath came in gasps, and her very lips were white.

"Will you come in? Can you walk?"

"No, no; it is nothing." By a strong effort she recovered herself a
little, and smiled. "Could anything be so absurd?"

"What was it? I can't understand."

"That poor woman. Is not it strange the sight of an Indian or a squaw
always throws me into a kind of panic. I am horribly frightened, and I
don't know why."

"It is strange, certainly; what are you afraid of?"

"Of nothing at all. I cannot think why I should feel so, but I always
have. Indeed I try not to be so foolish."

"I can't scold you for it at present, for you really frightened me, and
you are generally fearless enough."

"I am so glad there was no one but you here. Please do not tell
anybody."

"But do you know, child, that you are still as pale as ever you can be?
And they are coming back from the river. Your enemy is out of sight now;
let us walk up to the house."

They put on their hats, and walked slowly up the sunny slope; but as
they came upon the level space in front of the house, the squaw, who had
been bargaining with the farmer's wife at a side door, came round the
corner and met them face to face. She paused a moment, and then walked
straight up to the two ladies, holding out her mats as an invitation to
them to buy. Lucia shrank back, and Mrs. Bellairs afraid, from her
previous alarm, that she really would faint, motioned hastily to the
woman to go away. But she seemed in no hurry to obey; repeating in a
monotonous tone, "Buy, buy," she stood still, fixing her eyes upon Lucia
with a keen look of inquiry. The poor child, terrified, and ashamed of
being so, made an uncertain movement towards the door, when the squaw
suddenly laid her hand upon her arm.

"Where live?" she said, in broken English.

"Go, go!" cried Mrs. Bellairs impatiently. "We have nothing for you;"
and taking Lucia's arm, she drew her into their sitting-room, and shut
the door.

"Lie down on the sofa;" she said, "what could the woman mean? You must
have an opposite effect on her to what she has on you. But yo