Seth suddenly sprang from his seat, held the bag of candy out at arm's length, and finally dropped it on the ground in the midst of the children. There was a rush; a chorus of childish glee, and the whole twelve fell into a struggling heap upon the ground, wildly fighting for the feast. With a gentle smile Seth looked on at the fierce scramble. To judge from his manner it would have been hard to assert which was the happier, the children or their teacher. Though Seth found them a tax on his imaginative powers, and though he was a man unused to many words, he loved these Sunday afternoons with his young charges. His thoughtful contemplation was broken by Wanaha. Her moccasins gave out no sound as she stepped up to him from behind and touched him on the shoulder. Her grave smile had passed; and when he turned he found himself looking into a pair of steady, serious, inscrutable eyes. No white woman can hide her thoughts behind such an impenetrable mask as the squaw. Surely the Indian face might well have served as a model for the Sphinx. "The white teacher makes much happy," she said in her labored English. Seth promptly answered her in her own tongue. "The papooses of the Indian make the white man happy," he said simply. There was a long pause. Suddenly one dusky urchin rose with a whoop of delight, bearing aloft the torn paper with several lumps of sweet stuff, discolored with dirt, sticking to it. With one accord the little mob broke. The triumphant child fled away to the bluff pursued by the rest of her howling companions. The man and the squaw were left alone. "The white man tells a story of a wolf and a squaw," Wanaha said, returning to her own language. The children were still shrieking in the distance. Seth nodded assent. He had nothing to add to her statement. "And the wolf eats the squaw," the woman went on, quite seriously. It sounded strange, her literal manner of discussing this children's story. A look of interest came into the man's thoughtful eyes. But he turned away, not wishing to display any curiosity. He understood the Indian nature as few men do. "There was no one by to warn the squaw?" she went on in a tone of simple inquiry. "No brave to help her?" "No one to help," answered the man. There was another pause. The children still inside the Mission house were helping to chant the Doxology, and the woman appeared to listen to it with interest. When it was finished she went on---- "Where the wolf is there is much danger for the squaw. Indian squaw--or white. I, too, learn these things. I learn from much that I hear--and see." "I know," Seth nodded. "You know?" "Yes." "Wanaha is glad. The white brave will watch over the young squaw." The woman smiled again. Seth thought he detected a sigh of relief. He understood this woman as well as it is given to man to understand any woman--even an Indian woman.