A distant gleam among the grasses caught the girl’s quick eye. She ran swiftly over the open and threaded her sinuous way among the bushes to drop upon her knees in silent ecstacy. In an instant Judah was beside her. They pushed the leaves aside together, revealing the faint pink stems of the delicate, gauzy Indian-pipes. “Look at them,” cried Winona. “Oh, Judah, are they not beautiful?” The Negro had felt a strange sense of pleasure stir his young heart as he involuntarily glanced from the flowers to the childish face before him, aglow with enthusiasm; her wide brow, about which the hair clustered in rich dark rings, the beautifully chiselled features, the olive complexion with a hint of pink like that which suffused the fragile flowers before them, all gave his physical senses pleasure to contemplate. From afar came ever the regular booming of Niagara’s stupendous flood. “But they turn black as soon as you touch them.” “Yes, I know; but we will leave them here where they may go away like spirits; Old Nokomis told me.” “Old Nokomis! She’s only a silly old Indian squaw. You mustn’t mind her stories.” “But old Nokomis knows; she speaks truly,” persisted the girl, while a stubborn look of determination grew about her rounded chin. “When you go to school at the convent next winter the nuns will teach you better. Then you will learn what you don’t know now. You’re only a little girl.” There was silence for a time; Judah sank in the tall grass and aimed for a tempting pigeon roosting low in the branches of a tree. Nearer he stole--his aim was perfect--he was sure of his prey, when a girlish voice piped,-- “Did they tell you that at school?” “There now! You’ve spoilt it! why did you speak?” “Well, I wanted to know,” this in a grieved tone. “Wanted to know what?” “Did they tell you that at school?” “Tell me what?” “That old Nokomis is silly?” “Of course not! They didn’t know old Nokomis. But in school you learn not to believe all the silly stories that we are told by the Indians.” The boy spoke with the careless freedom of pompous youth. They moved on through the woods over the delicate tracery of shadowy foliage, and climbed down the steep sides of the hilly ridge that rose above a quiet cove on the other side where they had made what they called a kitchen. Winona led the way in her eagerness to reach the shore. She had been silent for some time, absorbed in thought. “I tell you, Judah, I will not go to the convent school. I hate nuns.” “Ho, ho!” laughed Judah. “But you must; the father has said it.” “Papa cannot make me. I will not.” “Ah, but you will when the time comes, and you will like it. I doubt not you will want to leave us altogether when you meet girls your own age, and learn their tricks.” “Stop it, Judah!” she cried, stamping her small foot like a little whirlwind, “you shall not torment me. I do not want to leave papa and you for a lot of nuns and strange girls who do not care for me.”