the sunlight. David paused and watched with a tingle of his pulse while the squaw who had hooked the fish cautiously drew him nearer the side of the canoe. The bass fought gamely, again and again flopping well out of the pond in the effort to shake free of the hook that held him, but his struggles were vain, and presently a short spear of sharpened wood was thrust from the canoe and a naked brown arm swept upward and the bass sparkled for an instant in the sunlight ere he disappeared in the bottom of the craft. No sign of pride or satisfaction disturbed the countenance of the Indian woman. She bent for a moment and then straightened and her newly baited hook again dropped quietly into the water.
“Had I brought such a monster to land,” reflected David, “I should be now singing for joy!”
In the spring of 1676 the Natick Indian village was a well-ordered community. It lay upon both banks of the Charles River, with an arched footbridge laid upon strong stone piers between. Several wide streets were laid out upon which the dwellings faced and each family had its own allotted ground for garden and pasture. Save for the meet-
