It was what he wanted. With a satisfied grunt, he took the corn and presented Rebecca with the most beautiful beaver skin she had ever seen. After the Sagamore had gone and the palisade gate was bolted, Rebecca explained her secret garden to her surprised mother. She then for the first time realized the disappointment of not bringing in her own crop, should her father return without food. But just then a whistle was heard outside the gate, and Ambrose Gibbons was admitted, bowed over with a heavy sack of grain, for the Virginia supply had that morning reached Strawberry Bank. Soon after these events a grist-mill was established at Newichewannock, and gardens became a matter of more careful consideration. THE FUR TRADE The winter had passed since Rebecca Gibbons had traded her corn crop for a beaver skin. That piece of fur had become a much-beloved treasure to Becky. It covered her rag dolls in the daytime and served her as a blanket many a cold night. The winter had been a rough one, filled with severe hardships. In spite of their knowledge of New England winters, even the Indians in their encampment close at hand suffered. Hostile tribes had at times surrounded the house a hundred strong. Added to these troubles there was a great scarcity of provisions, so that a longing for warmer days was coupled with an anxious hope for the returning English vessel. Supplies of all kinds were sadly needed. One cold raw day in May, Rebecca wandered into the woods to gather early spring flowers. She suddenly realized that, in spite of her usual care, she had strayed beyond the sound of the buzzing mill. Searching in vain for a familiar spot, she at last shouted for help. No sound was heard in reply. She dropped to the ground, frightened by the thought of the many awful things that might happen. Was that a shadow at her feet? She started suddenly to find standing behind her a silent Indian squaw, with a pappoose strapped to her back. Without a word the woman turned and Rebecca followed, for she had recognized a squaw of the neighboring camp. It was a long walk home. As they passed the Newichewannock Camp, four forlorn shivering little Indians who had been huddling over the dying coals caught her attention. Rebecca was stirred by the misery of their cold and hunger, quite forgetting how near her own household were to this same misery. On reaching home, determined to show her thanks for this safe return, the little girl hunted out her fishing pole and started for the river. She hoped to make a catch for these hungry people. She reached the rocks and cast her line like a true fisherman.