“Have you learned anything of importance to-day in the city, about our affairs of war, Segwuna?” cheerily asked Mollie, turning to the Indian maiden with her happiest smile. “Nothing, Miss Greydon, except what traitors would be interested in,” spoke out Segwuna, sternly. At the mention of the word “traitor,” Segwuna looked straight at Roderick Barclugh, and she noticed a twitching of his lips and a visible blush mounting his neck and ears. To allay any possible attention to himself, Barclugh now entered into lively conversation with Dr. Greydon and Miss Mollie, and utterly ignored Segwuna, who sat stolidly in a brown study during the rest of the carriage ride. “Dr. Greydon,” began Barclugh spiritedly, “I am much interested in the agriculture of the Colonies. There seems to be a wonderful fertility to the soil, for a settler can go upon land with no capital but his hands and a yoke of oxen, and inside of a year have a comfortable plantation established. How can it be done? I do not understand it.” “The soil is rich in the first place,” replied Dr. Greydon; “then our American products of Indian corn and potatoes provide abundance for man and animals, so that there is no difficulty in subsistence. The natural meadow and the grasses of the woods provide for sleek cattle and horses; then the abundance of wild pigeons, ducks, and turkeys and the fish of the rivers and lakes also provide food; the hides of the deer, bear, coons and squirrel provide raiment and robes. There is no reason for man to suffer in this wonderfully prosperous country, if he be industrious,” argued Dr. Greydon, with much satisfaction to himself, but evidently to the discomfiture of Barclugh, for he remarked: “This is all so strange to me. I cannot understand how the settlements start up like mushrooms in the wilderness.” “It is the promise of the Great Spirit,” contributed Segwuna. “But our soil must be forever free from the tyranny of kings and potentates, or the corn would not grow and the potatoes would wither and a famine would devastate the land.” “Segwuna is our prophetess, Mr. Barclugh,” declared Mollie, exultingly, “and we all love her dearly,” continued Mollie, as she turned to Segwuna, and putting her arms around her neck, kissed her. Barclugh did not relish the affection that Mollie showed for Segwuna, so he remarked emphatically: “We cannot rely on superstition, Miss Greydon.” The latent fire of the Indian character gleamed in Segwuna’s eyes, and she longed in her heart to wither Roderick Barclugh, but the time was not ripe. Segwuna simply kept silent and abided her time. After the carriage had arrived at Dorminghurst, Dr. Greydon and Barclugh sat upon the portico and conversed upon sundry subjects while Mollie and Segwuna strolled off together toward Segwuna’s lodge, Mollie remarked: “Something has made you unhappy, Segwuna. What has happened to you?”