They dressed. The Little Pine made sure that his father was comfortable, and then went off to replace a certain piece of white limestone that he had noticed missing from his sister’s grave. Some camper had used it for a table, not knowing that the sand was full of graves. When they had started north, Marvin fell to reflecting on the situation. At this rate he was not likely to live through the week. He could hardly expect Humming-Birds and Little Pines to be on hand whenever he fell into this deadly stream. Humming-Birds charged him nothing for saving his life, but Little Pines might. He put his hand into his pocket and drew out two or three dollars in silver. “Some day, my lad, you are going to be a doctor, and I want the pleasure of paying you your first fee.” The suggestion was ignored, and Marvin put the money back in his pocket. “Business is business, Little Pine. Remember that you owe the Humming-Bird thirty dollars.” “Me owe her thirty dollars?” “Yes, for lessons in English. Of course she wouldn’t charge you a cent, but even an Indian ought to be infinitely honest.” “Bien, I pay her!” “That’s the right spirit. So I shall buy thirty dollars’ worth of provisions and give them to you for saving my life. You will then give the provisions to her. I want you to write her a little note saying that you are bringing her some wood oil in a bottle, and some bacon, and a white sweater, and a few other things. Do you understand?” “I unders’and.” “Very good. Put your hand in my pocket and take out a pencil and some paper that you will find there. Then hop over into the waist of the boat and write.” The boy obeyed, and by the time the launch entered the slip he had produced the following memorandum of invoice: Naynokahsee: I made quite much money. Naynokahsee is oodyamin and ahmoo-seen-ze-bah-qun. I put white stone over Penaycee, I will put white wool on my sister who lives. I bring her wood oil in bottle. I bring her lardstick too. I hope my words are spelled right —Shinguakonse. When they came back down the river laden with much booty, Marvin had learned a number of things, including the astonishing fact that Keego belonged to Ojeeg. “Shall we stop to see if your father is awake?” “No. Let him sit by graves and think. All chiefs of Crane are there. They not like him to drink. Bien, the Bear will show me how to cure him.” Marvin reflected. When he got round to buying an island full of dead chiefs it would be like requesting the trustees of the Grove Street cemetery to sell him the bones of New Haven worthies to make calcium carbide with. Ojeeg was likely to prove as refractory as zirconium.