A Little Maid of Ticonderoga

								

things that she had never before seen. She had thought a good deal
about these things when planning for the journey, but now that the
time was so near when she must say good-bye to her mother and father
she forgot all about the good times in store, and wished with all her
heart that she were not going.
"Don't let Kashaqua see you cry, child," her father whispered, seeing
Faith's sad face; so she resolutely kept back her tears.
Breakfast was soon over. Kashaqua had stowed Faith's bundle of
clothing in one of her baskets and swung it over her shoulder. The
basket of luncheon also was secured by stout thongs and hung across
her back, and they were ready to start.
"Be a good child, Faithie, dear," whispered Mrs. Carew.
"I'll fetch you home when it is April's turn to stir the fire," said
her father smilingly, and Faith managed to smile back, and to say
good-bye bravely, as she trudged down the path holding tight to
Kashaqua's brown hand.
"I be back to-morrow night," Kashaqua called back, knowing that would
be a word of comfort to the white woman who was letting her only
child go from home.
Neither Faith nor Kashaqua spoke for some little time. At last Faith
stopped suddenly and stood still, evidently listening. "I can't hear
the brook," she said.
Kashaqua nodded, and the two walked on through the autumn woods. But
now Kashaqua began to talk. She told Faith stories of the wild animals
of the woods; of the traps she set along the streams to catch the
martens and otters; and of a bear cub that the children of her village
had tamed. But it had disappeared during the summer.
"The papooses catch birds and feed them," she continued, "tame birds
so they know their name, and come right to wigwam." Faith listened
eagerly, and began to think that an Indian village must be a very
pleasant place to live.
"Where is your village, Kashaqua?" she asked.
"You not know my village? Way back 'cross Mooselamoo," answered
Kashaqua.
"Perhaps I can go there some time," suggested Faith. But Kashaqua
shook her head.
For several hours they walked steadily on through the autumn woods.
They climbed several rocky ridges, crossed brooks, and carefully made
their way over a swampy stretch of ground. Faith was very tired when
Kashaqua finally swung the baskets and bundles from her shoulders and
declared that it was time to eat.
The trail had led them up a hill, and as Faith, with a little tired
sigh, seated herself on a moss-covered rock, she looked about with a
little exclamation of wonder. Close beside the trail was a rough
shelter made of the boughs of spruce and fir trees, and near at hand
was piled a quantity of wood ready for a fire. There was a clearing,
and the rough shelter was shaded by two fine oak trees.
"Does somebody live here?" asked Faith.
"Traveler's wigwam," explained Kashaqua, who was unpacking the lunch
basket with many grunts of satisfaction. "White men going down the