"We've played games, Ivory," cried the boy. 'Patty made them up
herself. First we had the 'Landing of the Pilgrims,' and
Waitstill made believe be the figurehead of the Mayflower. She
stood on a great boulder and sang:--
'The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast'--
and, oh! she was splendid! Then Patty was Pocahontas and I was
Cap'n John Smith, and look, we are all dressed up for the Indian
wedding!"
Waitstill had on a crown of white birch bark and her braid of
hair, twined with running ever-green, fell to her waist. Patty
was wreathed with columbines and decked with some turkey feathers
that she had put in her basket as too pretty to throw away.
Waitstill looked rather conscious in her unusual finery, but
Patty sported it with the reckless ease and innocent vanity that
characterized her.
"I shall have to run into father's store to put myself tidy,"
Waitstill said, "so good-bye, Rodman, we'll have another picnic
some day. Patty, you must do the chores this afternoon, you know,
so that I can go to choir rehearsal,"
Rodman and Patty started up the hill gayly with their burdens,
and Ivory walked by Waitstill's side as she pulled off her
birch-bark crown and twisted her braid around her head with a
heightened color at being watched.
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