He is a baby Indian as much a part of the
mountain as the leaping squirrels and not nearly so tame. He is the
one thing here that I think Desire is sorry to leave. And for this
reason I hoped he wouldn't appear before we were gone. I had done
all my packing--easy enough since I had scarcely unpacked--and I
could hear Desire moving about doing hers. The place seemed
particularly peaceful. I could, have felt almost sorry to leave my
cool, bare room with its tree-stump for a table and all the forest
just outside. But as I sat there by the window there came upon me,
for the second time that day, a mounting hurry to be gone. There was
nothing to account for it, but I distinctly felt an inward "Hurry!
Hurry!" So propelling was it that only the knowledge that the
"Tillicum" would not float until high tide kept me from finding
Desire and begging her to come away at once. I did go so far as to
wander restlessly down into the garden where she had gone to feed
the chickens. Perhaps I would have gone farther and mentioned my
misgivings but just then Sami came and I forgot all about them. I
don't believe I have ever seen any child so frightened as that
little Indian! He simply fell through the bushes behind the chicken
house and shot, like a small, brown catapult, into Desire's arms.
His round face was actually grey with fear. And he huddled in her
big apron shivering, for all the world like some terrified animal.
Naturally the first thing to do was to get the thing that had
frightened him.
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