"I am sure of it," declared Constance. "Likely they will refuse to make a treaty with white men whose women act so strangely! My father is going to be as glad of your treaty with Priscilla as of the savage chief's treaty, an it be made, Master Alden." "What is it? What's to do, dear John Alden?" clamoured Damaris, who never spoke to John without the caressing epithet. The young man swung her to his shoulder, and kissed the soil-stained hand which the child laid against his cheek. "I shall marry Priscilla and stay in Plymouth, not go back to England at all! Does that please you, little maid?" he cried, gaily. Damaris scowled at him, weighing the case. "If you like me best," she said doubtfully. "Of a certainty!" affirmed John Alden, for once disregarding scruples. "Could I swing up Priscilla on my shoulder like this, I ask you? Why, she's not even a little girl!" And confiding little Damaris was satisfied. By this time the band of savages had advanced to the point of the road nearest to where the girls and John Alden were working. "We must go to greet them lest they find us remiss. We do not know the workings of their minds," said John Alden, striding down toward them, followed by the somewhat timorous group of grown and little girls, Damaris clinging to him, with one hand on Constance, in fearful enjoyment of the wonderful sight. "Welcome!" said John Alden, coming across the undergrowth to where the savages awaited him. "If you come in friendship, as I see you do, welcome, my brothers." "Welcome," said an Indian, stepping somewhat in advance. "We come in friendship. I am Squanto who know your race. I have been in England; I have seen the king. I am bring you friendship. This is Massasoit, the great chief. You are not the great white chief. He is old a little. Take us there." "Gladly will I take you to our governor, who is, as you say, much older than I, and to our war chief, Myles Standish, and to the elders of our nation," said John Alden. "Follow me. You are most welcome, Massasoit, and Squanto, who can speak our tongue." The singular company, the girls in their deep bonnets to shade them from the sun, the Indians in their paint and gay nodding feathers, the children divided between keen enjoyment of the novelty and equally keen fear of what might happen next, with John Alden the only white man, came down into Plymouth settlement, not yet so built up as to suggest the name. Governor Carver was busied with William Bradford over the records of the colony, from which they were making extracts to dispatch to England in the near sailing of the _Mayflower_. John Alden turned to Elizabeth Tilley. "Run on, little maid, and tell the governor and elders whom we bring," he said. Elizabeth darted into the house, earning a frown from the governor for her lack of manners, but instantly forgiven when she cried: