She was dressed with no pretension to rank and wore few ornaments. Although as wife of the sagamore she held the position of queen, she was in effect little more than a household drudge. Presently, squatting beside the fire, she thrust a wooden spoon into the pot, withdrew it, and held it to her lips. Then she passed it to the sachem. He, too, tasted, but shook his head silently. Children and dogs watched the performance with intentness. When another minute had passed, the entrance was darkened and a small, wiry Indian, naked save for breech-cloth and a multitude of ornaments that depended from neck and arms, knees and ankles, entered followed by three others. The sachem grunted a word or two and David was thrust forward until he stood but a yard or two from him. The newcomer, evidently a powwow, or medicine man, stood at his right and Sequanawah at his other side. Again the sachem spoke and the powwow translated in excellent English.
“Great Sachem asks what name, brother.”
“David Lindall.”
“How come here?”
David stared from sachem to interpreter. “You ought to know that,” he answered
