"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 quant.i.ty 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 trail to big road to Sh.o.r.eham sleep here," she added, holding up a fine round mola.s.ses cake in one hand and a roasted chicken in the other.

Faith was hungry as well as tired, and the two friends ate with good appet.i.te. Kashaqua repacked the basket with what remained of the food, and with a pleasant nod to Faith declared she would "sleep a little,"

and curled herself up near the shelter.

Faith looked about the rough camp, and peered down the trail. She decided she too would sleep a little, and stretched herself out close beside Kashaqua, thinking that it was a wonderful thing to be so far from home,--nearly in sight of Lake Champlain, Kashaqua had told her, with an Indian woman for her guide and protector; and then her eyes closed and she was sound asleep.

It seemed to Faith that she had not slept a minute before she awakened suddenly, and found that Kashaqua had disappeared. But she heard a queer scrambling sound behind her and sat up and looked around. For a moment she was too frightened to speak, for a brown bear was clawing the remainder of their luncheon from the basket, grunting and sniffing, as if well pleased with what he found.

As Faith looked at him she was sure that this creature had dragged Kashaqua off into the woods, and that he might turn and seize her as soon as he had finished with the basket.

"Kashaqua! Kashaqua!" she called hopelessly. "What shall I do? What shall I do?"

There was a rustle of leaves close behind her and the Indian woman darted into the clearing. Without a word to Faith she ran straight to where the bear was crouched over the basket. Faith could hardly believe what she saw, for Kashaqua had seized the basket and pushed it out of the bear's reach, and was now belaboring him with a stout piece of wood that she had seized from the pile by the shelter. As she hit the bear she called out strange words in the Indian tongue, whose meaning Faith could not imagine, but which the bear seemed to understand. The creature accepted the blows with a queer little whimper which made Faith laugh in spite of her fear. And when Kashaqua had quite finished with him he crept along beside her, looking up as if pleading for forgiveness.

"Oh, Kashaqua! Is it the bear that your papooses tamed?" exclaimed Faith, remembering the story told her on the way.

Kashaqua nodded, at the same time muttering words of reproach to the bear.

"He like bad Indian, steal from friends," she explained to Faith. "His name Nooski," she added.

Nooski was quite ready to make friends with Faith, but she was not yet sure of his good-nature. It seemed to the little girl that the bear understood every word Kashaqua uttered; and when they went on their way down the trail Nooski followed, or kept close beside them.

It was still early in the afternoon when they reached level ground and Faith had her first glimpse of the blue waters of Lake Champlain and saw the heights of Ticonderoga on the opposite sh.o.r.e. For a moment she forgot Nooski and Kashaqua, and stood looking at the sparkling waters and listening to the same sound of "Chiming Waters" that had made the early French settlers call the place "Carillon." She wondered if she should ever see the inside of the fort of which she had heard so much, and then heard Kashaqua calling her name.

"Canoe all ready, Faith." The Indian woman had drawn the birch-bark canoe from its hiding-place in the underbrush, and the light craft now rested on the waters of the lake. The baskets and bundles were in the canoe, and Kashaqua, paddle in hand, stood waiting for her little companion.

"Where's Nooski?" asked Faith, looking about for the young bear.

Kashaqua pointed toward the distant range of mountains which they had left behind them. "He gone home," she said.

Kashaqua told her how to step into the canoe, and how to sit, and cautioned her not to move. Faith felt as if the day had been a wonderful dream. As Kashaqua with swift strokes of her paddle sent the canoe over the water Faith sat silent, with eyes fixed on the looming battlements of the fort, on the high mountain behind it, and thought to herself that no other little girl had ever taken such a journey.

Kashaqua landed some distance below the fort; the canoe was again safely hidden, and after a short walk across a field they reached a broad, well-traveled road. "'Most to Philip Scott's house," grunted Kashaqua. "You be glad?" and she looked down at the little girl with a friendly smile.

CHAPTER VII

NEW FRIENDS

"An Indian woman and a little girl with yellow hair are coming across the road, mother," declared Donald Scott, rushing into the sitting-room, where his mother was busy with her sewing.

Mrs. Scott hastened to the front door. "Oh, Aunt Prissy," called Faith, running as fast as her tired feet could carry her, and hardly seeing the brown-haired little cousin standing by his mother's side.

Aunt Prissy welcomed her little niece, whom she had not expected to see for weeks to come, and then turned to thank Kashaqua. But the Indian woman had disappeared. The bundle containing Faith's clothing lay on the door-step, but there was no trace of her companion. Long afterward they discovered that Kashaqua had started directly back over the trail, and had reached the Carews' cabin, with her message of Faith's safe arrival at her aunt's house, early the next morning.

"Come in, dear child. You are indeed welcome. Your father's letter reached me but yesterday," said Aunt Prissy, putting her arm about Faith and leading her into the house. "I know you are tired, and you shall lie down on the settle for a little, and then have your supper and go straight to bed."

Faith was quite ready to agree. As she curled up on the broad sofa her three little cousins came into the room. They came on tiptoe, very quietly, Donald leading the two younger boys. Their mother had told them that Cousin Faith was tired after her long journey, and that they must just kiss her and run away.

Faith smiled up at the friendly little faces as they bent over to welcome her. "I know I shan't be lonesome with such dear cousins," she said, and the boys ran away to their play, quite sure that it was a fine thing to have a girl cousin come from the Wilderness to visit them.

Faith slept late the next morning, and awoke to hear the sound of rain against the windows. It was a lonesome sound to a little girl so far from her mother and father, and Faith was already thinking to herself that this big house, with its shining yellow floors, its white window curtains, and its nearness to a well-traveled road, was a very dreary place compared to her cabin home, when her chamber door opened and in came her Aunt Prissy, smiling and happy as if a rainy day was just what she had been hoping for.

"We shall have a fine time to-day, Faithie dear," she declared, as she filled the big blue wash-basin with warm water. "There is nothing like a rainy day for a real good time. Your Uncle Philip and the boys are waiting to eat breakfast with you, and I have a great deal to talk over with you; so make haste and come down," and Aunt Prissy, with a gay little nod, was gone, leaving Faith greatly cheered and wondering what the "good time" would be.

Uncle Philip Scott was waiting at the foot of the stairs. "So here is our little maid from the Wilderness! Well, it is a fine thing to have a girl in the house," he declared, leading Faith into the dining-room and giving her a seat at the table beside his own. "Did you have any adventures coming over the trail?" he asked, after Faith had greeted her little cousins.

Faith told them of "Nooski's" appearance, greatly to the delight of her boy cousins, who asked if the Indian woman had told Faith the best way to catch bear cubs and tame them.

"Come out to the shop, boys," said Mr. Scott as they finished breakfast, "and help me repair the cart, and fix 'Ginger's' harness.

Perhaps Cousin Faith will come, too, later on in the morning."

"We'll see. Faithie and I have a good deal to do," responded Mrs.

Scott.

The boys ran off with their father, chattering gaily, but at the door Donald turned and called back: "You'll come out to the shop, won't you, Cousin Faith?"

"If Aunt Prissy says I may," answered Faith.

"Yes; she will come," added Aunt Prissy, with her ready smile.

It seemed to Faith that Aunt Prissy was always smiling. "I don't believe she could be cross," thought the little girl.

She helped her aunt clear the table and wash the dishes, just as she had helped her mother at home; and as they went back and forth in the pleasant kitchen, with the dancing flames from the fireplace brightening the walls and making the tins shine like silver, Faith quite forgot that the rain was pouring down and that she was far from home.