r think of the matter again; but in truth the first article the boy
tried to make was a horse-basket.

"Me tell you somethin," said little Wampum, next morning, as he and
Horace were crossing the field together. "Very much me want
um,--um,--um,"--putting his fingers up to his mouth in a manner which
signified that he meant something to eat.

"Don't understand," said Horace: "say it in English."

"Very much me want um," continued Wampum, in a beseeching tone. "No tell
what you call um. E'enamost water, no _quite_ water; e'enamost punkin,
no _quite_ punkin."

"Poh! you mean watermelon," laughed Horace: "should think you'd remember
that as easy as pumpkin."

"Very much me want um," repeated Wampum, delighted at being understood;
"me like um."

"Well," replied Horace, "they aren't mine."

"O, yes. Ugh! you've got 'em. Melon-water good! Me have melon-waters, me
give you moc-suns."

"I'll ask my grandpa, Wampum."

Hereupon the crafty little Indian shook his head.

"You ask ole man, me no give you moc-suns! Me no want _een_--me want
bimp--bumpin--jiggets."

Horace's stout little heart wavered for a moment. He fancied moccasins
very much. In his mind's eye he saw a pair shining with all the colors
of the rainbow, and as Wampum had said of the melons, "very much he
wanted them." How handsome they'd be with his Zouave suit!

But the wavering did not last long. He remembered the blue book which
his mother was to see next week; for then the month would be out.

"It wouldn't be a 'D.,'" thought he, "for nobody told me _not_ to give
the watermelons."

"No," said Conscience; "'twould be a black S.; _that_ stands for
stealing! What, a boy with a dead father, a dead soldier-father,
_steal_! A boy called Horace Clifford! The boy whose father had said,
'Remember God sees all you do!'"

"Wampum," said Horace, firmly, "you just stop that kind of talk!
Moccasins are right pretty; but I wouldn't steal, no, not if you gave me
a bushel of 'em."

After this, Horace was disgusted with his little friend, not remembering
that there are a great many excuses to be made for a half-civilized
child. They had a serious quarrel, and Wampum's temper proved to be very
bad. If the little savage had not struck him, I hope Horace would have
dropped his society all the same; because, after Wampum proved to be a
thief, it would have been sheer disobedience on Horace's part to play
with him any longer.

Of course the plan of basket-making w