Though the name didn't seem to fit the Indian, Martine was glad that it was one that she could remember; for all in a moment she had made up her mind to visit the Reservation. During the morning, while she watched the sports and chatted with the bystanders and ate dozens and dozens of the famous Bear River cherries, Martine said nothing to the others of her intention of visiting the Reservation. It would be easy enough to borrow Amy's bicycle and say that she did not care to drive with the others. Everything happened as she planned. "Bear River is so hilly," said Mrs. Redmond, "that you will hardly wheel very far. But yet it's a quiet little place, and there is no risk in your doing some sight-seeing by yourself." Martine soon found herself on a road leading toward the Micmac Reservation; she had asked her way once or twice, and felt lonely as houses and shops were left behind; but though she was going in the direction of the Reservation, she saw nothing to remind her of Indians. "Where are the wigwams? Surely with so many Indians around there must be wigwams somewhere." Martine looked about anxiously at trees, bushes, and at one or two small wooden houses. She had been riding for half an hour, and she felt that she had not taken the wrong way. There was nothing to do but to inquire at one of the little houses. As she approached it, she realized that it was an Indian dwelling; three pappooses were playing in front of it, and a tall, thin squaw, in a purple calico gown, came out to the door as she entered the gate. "Marie Brown," said the woman; "oh, that far away. Too far for you; you better go home; it's late." Martine knew that this was intended as advice, not as discourtesy, but Martine was not fond of advice, and she decided that if she could not see Marie Brown she would visit the chapel, of which she had heard some one speak at dinner that day. When she asked the way, the woman drew her one side to an open space behind the house, where, on a hill that did not look too remote, she saw a small, square building with a cross on top for a steeple; so after a little conversation with the squaw about her people and their way of living, Martine pushed on toward the hill. She soon found that she must leave her bicycle behind, as there was no good road and the path was steep, and finding a spot that was screened by bushes, she left her wheel there; so on she went on foot until she had come to the enclosure, in the centre of which stood the Micmac Chapel.