The Indians were at work in their fields, and we each took the glass in turn to see if we could recognize our friends. Suddenly Edwin said, “Something’s going to happen; look at those girls.”
Two girls were going through the yard arm in arm, now and again glancing over their shoulders toward the boys’ playground. They reached the farthest corner of the yard, then turned and looked along the dividing fence. Two boys sauntered towards them on the other side, following a narrow path.
“There’s Lester and Warren,” said Brush; “they’re up to something, keep your eyes upon them.”
We did. The four met at the corner, sat down and appeared to be talking to each other. When they had been there for some time, the boys handed through the palings to each of the girls a brown parcel.
“I see now why those boys wanted to go after the mail this morning,” said Brush.
The girls arose and walked toward the house, opening their parcels, and we saw through the spyglass that they were eating candy. The boys slowly returned, one following the other along the narrow path. Edwin thrust his fingers into his mouth and whistled, imitating the cry of the robin, which was the signal we five had adopted. The boys stopped suddenly as the sound reached them, and looked all around. Seeing no one, they went on. Again Edwin whistled; then I touched the bell very lightly with the clapper. The boys looked up to the belfry; but we kept out of sight.
At breakfast the next morning the two girls appeared at the table with their hair neatly done up in bright-colored ribbons. Edwin leaned over toward Lester and said in a whisper, “Your girl’s got a right pretty ribbon!”
“Yours hasn’t got any!” retorted Lester.
VII
The Splinter, the Thorn, and the Rib
“Oh! oh! oh! Aunt, that hurts. Oh!”
“Keep still, now, keep still! You have a big stick in your toe, and I must take it out. If you keep pulling like that, I might run the point of this awl into your foot.”
I lay flat on my back on the ground with my sore foot in the lap of this good woman whom I called Aunt, while she probed the wound to withdraw a splinter. After considerable wincing on my part, the cause of my agony was removed and held to view. The splinter was long and very large; the relief was great, and already I felt as though I could walk without limping. The kind woman took from her workbag a bit of root, chewed it, and put it on my sore toe; then she bandaged the foot with a piece of white cloth which also came from the handy bag.
My Aunt laid the splinter on a piece of wood and cut it into fine bits, just as I had seen men cut tobacco for smoking. “Now,” said she, as she scattered the bits in every direction, “that thing cannot do any more harm. But what is this?” she asked, holding the old bandage up between the tips of her thumb and index finger of her right hand, and in her left the bit of pork that had been tied on my toe.
“Why, Aunt,” I replied, “that thing in your right hand is the old bandage, and that in your left is the pig-fat that was put on my toe.”
“Why did they put pig-fat on your poor sore toe; who put it on? Bah! It’s nasty!” she exclaimed, as she threw it away as far as she could.
“The white woman who takes care of the children at the school put it on to draw the splinter out.”
“To draw the splinter out!” she repeated in a tone of contempt. Then she tossed up her fine head, gave shouts of laughter, and said between the paroxysms; “Oh! this is funny! This is funny! Your White-chests might as well hitch a bit of pig-fat to their wagon and expect it to draw a load up the hill! And how long has this pig-fat been tied on your foot?”
“About four days.”
“Without bathing the foot and renewing the bandages?”
“Yes.”
“If this white woman takes as much care of the other children as she has of you—I’m sorry for them. No children of mine should be placed under her care—if I had any.”
My Aunt gathered her awl, knife, and other little things into her workbag; I looked all about to see if any boys were watching, then I put my arms around her dear neck and kissed her.
“Are you going to see my mother today?” When she answered yes, I said, “Tell her to come and see me—very soon.”
“I will; but don’t keep her running over here all the time,” and she started to go. She had not gone very far when she turned and shouted to me, “Wash your foot tomorrow morning and turn the bandage over. You will be well in a day or two.”
A boy passing by cried out, “Bell has rung!” and I limped into the schoolroom to attend the afternoon session.
When school was out, Lester suggested that we go on the hill to sit and talk. Turning to me, he asked if I could walk as far as that; I assured him that I could, so I hobbled along with the boys up the hill. We found a beautiful grassy spot, and three of us—Lester, Warren, and I—lay down and looked up into the deep blue sky. Brush sat near by, carving a horse’s head out of a piece of oak. Clouds lazily floated far above.
“Say, Lester,” I called, “you take that one that looks like a buffalo; Warren, you take that one that is shaped like a bear; and I will take this one that’s like a man smoking a pipe. Now, let’s rub them out!”
So, fixing our eyes upon the clouds, we began rubbing the palms
