by a darkening of the entrance, and John entered.
“You come,” he said. “Great Sachem say it.”
Wondering, David followed John to the big wigwam. Shouldering his way through the throng without, John led David through the door and into the softer twilight of the lodge. Within was an unusual scene. Every available foot of space was occupied save in the very center, where, surrounded by all his counselors, the sachem sat with the three messengers from King Philip before him. Around this group, packed like fish in a hogshead, were the men of the village, or so many of them as were fortunate enough to enter. The sachem’s big green stone pipe had been smoked by the visitors and the chief and was now passing from hand to hand amongst the counselors. There was little talk going on, although occasionally Metipom addressed a question or a word to the guests and was briefly answered. David’s advent excited no attention, and, at a sign from John, he squatted at the edge of the circle. Through the smoke-hole above, the sun sent a long wand of golden radiance into the wigwam in which the blue haze of tobacco smoke
