Chapter IV

40. Philip, by one way or another, kept on the trail of those Indians the whole day. Once it was by finding the stick that little Polly dropped; once it was by coming across a butcher knife the Indians had stolen from some house: and he had wit enough to break a limb or gash a tree now and then, so as to find his way back; also to take the bearings of the hills. When the Indians halted to rest, he had a chance to rest, too.

41. At last they stopped for the night in a sheltered valley where there were two or three wigwams. He watched them go into one of these, and then he could not think what to do next. The night was setting in bitter cold. The shoe he took the string from had come off in his running, and that foot was nearly frozen, and would have been quite if he had not tied some moss to the bottom of it with his pocket handkerchief. The hand that had no mitten was frozen. He had eaten nothing but a few boxberry plums and boxberry leaves.

42. It was too late to think of finding his way home that night. He lay down on the snow; and, as the Indians lifted the mats to pass in and out, he could see fires burning and smell meats cooking.

43. Then he began to feel sleepy, and after that knew nothing more till he woke inside a wigwam, and found two Indian women rubbing him with snow. They afterward gave him plenty to eat.

He did not see Nathaniel and little Polly; they were in another wigwam.

44. There were two Indians squatting on the floor, one of them quite old. Pretty soon another came in; and Philip knew he was one of those that carried off the children, because he had Florinda's workbag hanging around his neck. He thought, no doubt, from seeing it on Nathaniel's neck, that there was the place to wear it.

45. Philip suffered dreadful pain in his foot and hand, but shut his mouth tight for fear he might groan. He said afterward, when questioned about this part of his story, that he was not going to let them hear a white boy groan.

46. Now, the older one of those two squaws in the wigwam felt inclined to save Philip. So next morning, before light, when the Indians all had gone off hunting, she sent the other squaw out on some errand, and then told Philip, in broken English and by signs, that he must run away that very morning. She bound up his foot; she gave him a moccasin to wear on it; she gave him a bag of pounded corn and a few strips of meat.

47. Philip had found out that the Indians supposed him to be a captive escaped from another party; and he thought it would be better not to mention Nathaniel and little Polly, but to get home as quickly as he could and tell people where they were.

48. When the young squaw came in, the old one set her at work parching corn, with her back to the door; then made signs to Philip, and he crept out and ran. After running a few rods, he came unexpectedly upon a wigwam. There was a noise of some one pounding corn inside; and when that stopped he stopped, and when that went on he went on, and so crept by.

49. As soon as it began to grow light, he kept along without much trouble, partly by means of the signs on the trees. As he got farther on, there being fewer of these signs (because they had come so swiftly that part of the way), he took the wrong course--very luckily, as it proved; for by doing so he fell in with two men on horseback, and one of these carried him home.

50. Philip described the place where the children were, and that very night a party was sent out which captured the Indians and brought back Nathaniel and little Polly.

* * * * *

II. =Lō_a_th=: unwilling. =Prowl´ĭng=: going stealthily or slyly.

IV. =Wĭg´wạms̱=: Indian houses made of poles covered with mats or
bark. =Squa̤_w_s̱=: Indian women. =Mŏc´cȧ sĭn=: an Indian shoe
made of deerskin, the sole and the upper part being in one piece.
=Căp´tĭv_e_=: a prisoner taken in war.

The Eagle

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892): An English poet. "The Brook,"
"Locksley Hall," and "The Charge of the Light Brigade" are,
perhaps, the most popular of his short poems, and "In Memoriam,"
"The Idylls of the King," and "The Princess" are the best of his
long poems.

1. He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

2. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls;
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Psalm XXIII

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Tilly's Christmas

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT

Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888): One of the most popular of American
writers of juvenile literature. She was the author of twenty-eight
volumes, including, among others, "Little Women," "Little Men,"
"The Old-Fashioned Girl," and "Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag," from which the
present story is taken.