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courage had been hers. She had measured up.
    All at once, for the first time since that fearful morning in Charlestown, something like happiness bubbled up in her. Here she and Susanna both lay by the fire, soaked through and scarcely able to sit up, but Miriam felt that they stood side by side, and that whatever lay ahead the two Willard women would see it through together.
    One of the Indians had shot and cooked a big bird of some kind, and now the steaming morsels were carefully divided. As her own master offered her a portion on a piece of bark, Miriam saw to her amaze
ment that it was a piece of breast meat, the choicest bit. He offered it gravely, as though it were some sort of honor.
    The meat was stringy and undercooked, but as she ate it slowly, making each bite last as long as possible, Miriam tried to sort out the bewildering ideas that had crowded upon her in the last few moments. What strange creatures these Indians were! Were those howling savages who had burst in upon them at Number Four the same men who had built a fire to dry their prisoners' clothes? Were those greedy barbarians, scrabbling for everything they could lay hands on, the same men who here in the forest scrupulously divided the meager food into equal portions and offered it to the prisoners before they had tasted it themselves? They were sly, ignorant animals, yet they had a sort of dignity about them.
    They have treated us well, Miriam had to admit to herself. Nothing like those stories of what they do to prisoners. Yet I know they despise us, every one of us. If they don't abuse us, there is some reason in their minds, or perhaps they are too proud to bother with us. I can never understand them.
    The real surprise, however, was still to come. After they had eaten, as the Indians prepared to march again, Mehkoa came toward her. She saw him coming, but she would not look at him, and turning her head away, she pretended to be absorbed in braiding her damp hair. She was aware that he stood waiting for a long time, but she would not look up. What if he had saved the baby? A baby meant only money to him. The Indians would not let any part of their prize slip through their fingers. She still hated him, and his devilish grin. Finally, however, her curiosity was too much for her, and she raised her head to look at him. He was holding something in his hands, something bright blue, and her heart leaped in unbelief. It was the blue dress!
    "White girl wear," he said. "Old cloth no good any more. White girl put this on."
    Miriam sat up and clutched the blue folds tight, as though they might be snatched away in one of his tricks. It would be like him. But he simply stood waiting for some word from her. Miriam turned her head away again. The dress was hers. He had stolen it, and he had no right to be thanked for it now. She wouldn't put it on either. She would carry it, every step of the way. Then, looking down, she saw that the boy was right; the old dress was no good. The rocks and the jagged log had torn the rotting fabric to shreds. She had no choice but to tramp through the forest in the only pretty dress she had ever owned. As the soft folds went over her head, Miriam felt her control suddenly cracking. She began to laugh, a laughter that sounded shocking and that she couldn't stop.
    "Miriam, what is it?" James was instantly at her side. "Are you ill?"
    "I got a birthday present," she sobbed. "Did you know it was my birthday? My only present, and it had to come from a horrid Indian. And 'tis too late to do me any good."
    She hated Mehkoa more than ever. Yet somehow, she had a definite conviction that he would trouble her no further. It was only later, lying beside the fire, that it occurred to her to wonder, uncomfortably, if in the battle between her and the Indian boy it was she who had come out the winner after all.

Chapter 5
    M IRIAM WAS long past caring that the precious dress was bleached and torn to a shapeless rag when at last the party reached