"Assuredly I do, sir," said she who had been Molly Brant, the Mohawk, but who was now the wife of the greatest man in the north country. "Tis a goodly youth and he speaks well. I like him, and he shall have the best our house can offer." Colonel Johnson's mellow laugh rang out again. "Spoken like a woman of spirit, Molly," he said. "I expected none the less of you. It's in the blood of the Ganeagaono and had you answered otherwise you would have been unworthy of your cousin, Daganoweda, here." The young Mohawk chieftain smiled. Johnson, who had married a girl of their race, could jest with the Mohawks almost as he pleased, and among themselves and among those whom they trusted the Indians were fond of joking and laughter. "The wife of Waraiyageh not only has a great chief for a husband," he said, "but she is a great chief herself. Among the Wyandots she would be one of the rulers." The women were the governing power in the valiant Wyandot nation, and Daganoweda could pay his cousin no higher compliment. "We talk much," said Colonel Johnson, "but we must remember that our friends are tired. They've come afar in bad weather. We must let them rest now and give them refreshment." He led the way to the light summer house that he had called a bower. It was built of poles and thatch, and was open on the eastern side, where it faced a fine creek running with a strong current. A fire was burning in one corner, and a heavy curtain of tanned skins could be draped over the wide doorway. Articles of women's apparel hung on the walls, and others indicating woman's work stood about. There were also chairs of wicker, and a lounge covered with haircloth. It was a comfortable place, the most attractive that Robert had seen in a long time, and his eyes responded to it with a glitter that Colonel Johnson noticed. "I don't wonder that you like it, lad," he said. "I've spent some happy hours here myself, when I came in weary or worn from hunting or fishing. But sit you down, all three of you. I'll warrant me that you're weary enough, tramping through this wintry forest. Blunt, shove the faggots closer together and make up a better fire." The command was to a white servant who obeyed promptly, but Madame Johnson herself had already shifted the chairs for the guests, and had taken their deerskin cloaks. Without ceasing to be the great lady she moved, nevertheless, with a lightness of foot and a celerity that was all a daughter of the forest. Robert watched her with fascinated eyes as she put the summer house in order and made it ready for the comfort of her guests. Here was one who had acquired civilization without losing the spirit of the wild. She was an educated and well bred woman, the wife of the most powerful man in the colonies, and she was at the same time a true Mohawk. Robert knew as he looked at her that if left alone in the wilderness she could take care of herself almost as well as her cousin, Daganoweda, the young chief.