the sentinel. He placed his wooden spear across the gateway and rattled it fearsomely. David drew back. As he did so his glance lifted to the nearer of the two watch towers. Against the hot haze of the noonday sky a straight and motionless figure stood like a statue in bronze and gazed southward. With vastly more respect for Metipom’s vigilance, David went slowly and thoughtfully back toward his wigwam.
Some of the younger lads were practicing shooting with their bows and arrows, their mark the bowl of a broken clay pipe which they had set up against the peeled logs of the palisade. David paused and looked on. Their bows were smaller than those of their fathers and their arrows shorter, and the range was not long, but David was surprised at the accuracy of their marksmanship. One youth, whose age could have been no more than ten, twice set the thorn-tipped head of his arrow close beside the tiny target, whereat David exclaimed, “Winnet! Winnet!” (“Good! Good!”), and the others began to cry “Winnet!” too, more, it seemed, for the sake of noise than aught else, while the small, naked boy, whose skin was the color of a young fawn, marched about with ridicu-
