Into one of the Pow-ha-tan villages that stood very near the shores of Chesapeake Bay, and almost opposite the now historic site of Yorktown, came one biting day, in the winter of 1607, an Indian runner, whose name was Ra-bun-ta. He came as one that had important news to tell, but he paused not for shout or question from the inquisitive boys who were tumbling about in the light snow, in their favorite sport of Ga-wa-sa or the “snow-snake” game. One of the boys, a mischievous and sturdy young Indian of thirteen, whose name was. Nan-ta-qua-us, even tried to insert the slender knob-headed stick, which was the “snake” in the game, between the runner’s legs, and trip him up. But Ra-bun-ta was too skilful a runner to be stopped by trifles; he simply kicked the “snake” out of his way, and hurried on to the long house of the chief. Now this Indian settlement into which the runner had come was the Pow-ha-tan village of Wero-woco-moco, and was the one in which the old chief Wa-bun-so-na-cook usually resided. Here was the long council-house in which the chieftains of the various tribes in the confederacy met for counsel and for action, and here, too, was the “long tenement-house” in which the old chief and his immediate family lived. It was into this dwelling that the runner dashed. In a group about the central fire-pit he saw the chief. Even before he could himself stop his headlong speed, however, his race with news came to an unexpected end. The five fires were all surrounded by lolling Indians, for the weather in that winter of 1607 was terribly cold, and an Indian, when inside his house, always likes to get as near to the fire as possible. But down the long passage-way the children were noisily playing at their games--at gus-ka-eh, or “peach-pits,” at gus-ga-e-sa-ta, or “deer-buttons,” and some of the younger boys were turning wonderful somersaults up and down the open spaces between the fire-pits. Just as the runner, Ra-bun-ta, sped up the passage-way, one of these youthful gymnasts with a dizzy succession of hand-springs came whizzing down the passage-way right in the path of Ra-bun-ta. There was a sudden collision. The tumbler’s stout little feet came plump against the breast of Ra-bun-ta, and so sudden and unexpected was the shock that both recoiled, and runner and gymnast alike tumbled over in a writhing heap upon the very edge of one of the big bonfires, Then there was a great shout of laughter, for the Indians dearly loved a joke, and such a rough piece of unintentional pleasantry was especially relished. “Wa, wa, Ra-bun-ta,” they shouted, pointing at the discomfited runner as he picked himself out of the fire, “knocked over by a girl!” And the deep voice of the old chief said half sternly, half tenderly: “My daughter, you have wellnigh killed our brother Ra-bun-ta with your foolery. That is scarce girls’ play. Why will you be such a po-ca-hun-tas?” (1) (1) Po-ca-hun-tas, Algonquin for a little “tomboy.”