"Brother, how long hath it been that thy warriors keep within their lodges, leaving to young squaws the duty of sentinels who cannot distinguish friends from foes?" Powhatan gazed at the speaker in astonishment. "What dost thou mean by such strange words?" asked the chief. "As we returned through the forest," explained Opechanchanough, "before we reached the boundary of thy fields, while we still believed that a part of the Monachans might lie in ambush for us there, an arrow, shot from the westward, flew before my face. Then came a second arrow out of the branches of an oak tree. We took the bowman prisoner, and what thinkest thou we found?--a squaw child!" "A squaw child!" repeated Powhatan in astonishment. "Was it one of this village?" "Even so. Brother. I have her captive outside that thou mayst pronounce judgment upon one who endangers thus the life of thy brother and who forgetteth she is not a boy. Bring in the prisoner," he commanded. But no one came forward. The young braves to whom Pocahontas had been entrusted kept wisely on the outskirts of the crowd. Then the little sombre figure at Powhatan's feet rose and stood with the firelight shining on her face and dark hair and asked in a gentle voice: "Didst thou want me, mine uncle?" "Pocahontas," exclaimed Opechanchanough, "how camest thou here ahead of us, and in that dark robe?" "Pocahontas can run even better than she can shoot. Uncle, and the changing of a robe is the matter but of a moment." "What meaneth this, Matoaka?" asked Powhatan, making use of her special intimate name, which signified Little Snow Feather. He spoke in a low tone, but one so stern that Cleopatra shivered and rejoiced that she was not the culprit. "It was but a joke, my father," answered Pocahontas. "I meant no harm." She hung her head and waited until he should speak again. "I will have no such jokes in my land," he said angrily, "remember that." With a gesture of his hand and a whispered word of command he sent the Pamunkey braves to the guest lodge. Opechanchanough, still angry at the ridicule that a child had brought upon him, lingered to ask; "Wilt thou not punish her?" "Surely I will," Powhatan answered. "Go ye all to the guest lodge and I will follow. Away, Nautauquas, and carry my pipe thither." They were now alone in the lodge, the great chief over thirty tribes and his daughter, who still stood with downcast head. The Powhatan gazed at her curiously. She waited for him to speak, then as he kept silent, she turned and looked straight into his face and asked: