“Bread and water and daily whipping until he is in a proper frame of mind,” ordered the Governor. “Say, John,” said Adam Clotworthy, meeting Laydon on the street, “things begin to wear as fair a look as they do in old England. Yesterday I was over to Master John Rolfe’s plantation at Varina. He has started to grow tobacco on a large scale. I wouldn’t be surprised if it does not become our staple commodity, now that Governor Dale has abolished the common storehouse and given every man a house and land that he can call his own.” “He has solved the problem of the settlement of Jamestown,” said Laydon. “Even those who were the ringleaders in mutiny have settled down into sober and industrious farmers. Give a man some object in life and the good will surely come uppermost. You know James Hutchinson, the wildest rake in the colony? I came by his bit of land just now and saw him weeding his cotton patch. Well, I must be moving. I have to hill up my corn. I hope to get at least fifty good bushels this year.” CHAPTER XXII Far away on the Potomac, where the steamers now toll their bells in passing, Pocahontas had lived for the last three years, in the wigwam of Japazaws. Roaming by the river’s bank she lived over again the happy days when she had called Smith “father” and he had called her “child.” What had become of him—was he still living? she wondered. She would ask Powhatan to send some one to England to find out, for she could not bear to go to Jamestown and miss him at every turn. Looking down the river she descried a ship approaching, filled with white men. Calling Japazaws, and pointing to the ship, she said, “Pocahontas will not see the pale-faces now. Her heart is sorrowful, for there is no friendship between us. Powhatan does not heed the pleadings of his best-loved daughter.” Hastening down to the shore, Japazaws welcomed with loud shouts of joy Captain Argall and his crew. “Japazaws is greatly honored by your coming. Opechancanough has told him of the presents you bestow. Everything in his poor village is at your command.” And he bade his squaw bring refreshments for his guests and tobacco for their pipes. Pocahontas, who had disappeared, heard the echo of their voices and found herself unable to keep away. Perhaps they could tell her something of her “father.” She must find out. Coming forward, she added her welcome to that of the Indians. “Pocahontas once loved your people and came to Jamestown to visit them.” “I have heard many kind things of her whom the pale-faces call the ‘Blessed Pocahontas,’” Argall replied. “Has the chief with the shining body returned!” she inquired. “No, he is dead,” replied Argall, who was of the nature that does not mind telling a wanton lie. She turned sorrowfully away. All links with the happy past were broken. There was no one at Jamestown now who would love her as her “father” had done. It would only bring pain to visit there again.