Ezra glanced at her uncomfortably. “You’re old, and the old get queer notions. The savages have suffered no more than they deserve to suffer; as none should know better, surely, than Mistress Estill!” The old woman’s head drooped over her knitting. “I have no love for the Indians, God knows! Daily I pray that they may all be damned. But”--her voice altered admiringly--“’tis you will make the grand lawyer, Ezra, and I’m not one to be holding up mere facts to argufy against you. I expect you’ll be making a speech before them all at the Court meeting?” “Several, if they should ask me,” admitted Ezra, modestly. “But I must be off. There’s bread in the wallet--what, cake, too? Good soul! And tow for cleaning the gun barrels? Yes, yes, you forget nothing a traveler may need--you learned in a good school, eh, Granny? Where’s my Polly gone?” * * * * * During this talk the girl had stood quite still, listening with apparent stolidity. But her face was not stolid. At the old woman’s slight plea for the Indians, it lighted up passionately, only to sink again into the lines of settled sadness. Polly’s face at the moment was older than Granny Estill’s. She left the room. “She’s gone to get you a traveler’s gift,” explained Granny. “Be sure you make over it, son! Women can do with a lot of praising.” The young man came over to her and spoke low and rapidly. “Granny! Get her to talk while I’m gone, will you? I’ve been thinking she might open her heart to another woman, easier than to me. That’s why I sent for you to come. Has she spoken at all--of those missing years, I mean?” “Neither of them nor of aught else, except now and then a sentence, more like a word or two. ’Tis as if, being among the savages so long, she had forgotten the use of her native tongue.” “She was in the tribe of Gray Eagle, who speaks English well, confound him! Still, Indians are by nature a silent folk; even the squaws do not chatter. But, Granny, ’tis worse than dumbness. Listen! Many a time I’ve come in from the fields at sundown and found her with nothing done, no food prepared, the wheel idle, sitting here on the doorstep, gazing. Just gazing. Other times she was not to be found, high or low, had gone off somewhere into the woods, and would not come to my calling. More than once she’s been away well into the night, and me searching till the hair stood up on my head with fear of what I should find. She’s brooding--or bewitched, I tell you! I’ve been sick with the worry of it, fearing there might be summat wrong here.” He touched his forehead. “Now and then women with child are took that way, I’m told.” [Illustration: They found her paddling the stream, her kirtle tucked up to her bare knees.] Granny nodded.