The squaw did not so much as glance at Kent. Her eyes were fastened on Lydia, with the look of a hungry, expectant dog. Lydia ran her fingers through her damp curls, and sighed. Then she gave little Patience her share of the bread and butter and a cooky. She laid the precious deviled egg in its twist of paper on top of the remainder of the bread and cookies and handed them to the Indian. "You can't have any of mine, if you give yours up!" warned Kent. "I don't want any, pig!" returned Lydia. The old squaw received the food with trembling fingers and broke into sobs, that tore at her old throat painfully. She said something to Lydia in Indian, and then to the children's surprise, she bundled the food up in her skirt and started as rapidly as possible back in the direction whence she had come. "She's taking it back to some one," said Kent. "Poor thing," said Lydia. "Poor thing!" sniffed Kent. "It would be a good thing if they were all dead. My father says so." "Well, I guess your father don't know everything," snapped Lydia. "Evyfing," said Patience, who had finished her lunch and was digging in the sand. Kent paused in the beginning of his attack on his last sandwich to look Lydia over. She was as thin as a half-grown chicken in her wet bathing suit. Her damp curls, clinging to her head and her eyes a little heavy with heat and weariness after her morning of play, made her look scarcely older than Patience. Kent wouldn't confess, even to himself, how fond he was of Lydia. "Here," he said gruffly. "I can't eat this sandwich. Mother made me too many. And here's a doughnut." "Thanks, Kent," said Lydia meekly. "What do you want to play, after lunch?" "Robinson Crusoe," replied Kent promptly. "You'll have to be Friday." As recipient of his bounty, Lydia recognized Kent's advantage and conceded the point without protest. She held Patience's abbreviated bathing suit skirt with one hand. "Where are you heading for, baby?" she asked. "Mardy! Mardy!" screamed Patience, tugging at her leash. "Oh, rats, it's Margery Marshall. Look at the duds on her. She makes me sick," groaned Kent. "She's crazy about little Patience," answered Lydia, "so I put up with a lot from her." She loosed her hold on Patience. The baby trundled along the sand to meet the little girl in an immaculate white sailor suit, who approached pushing a doll buggy large enough to hold Patience. She ran to meet the baby and kissed her, then allowed her to help push the doll carriage. "Mardy tum! Mardy tum!" chanted Patience.