Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 Read Free

search, and Reuben clung to him, trying not to disgrace
himself by crying like a girl, in his surprise and delight.
                            
Lying hidden in the tall brakes they talked in whispers, while one told of the capture, and the other of a plan of escape; for, though a
friendly tribe, these Indians were not Onawandah's people, and they must not
suspect that he knew the children, else they might be separated at once.
                            
"Little squaw betray me. You watch her. Tell her not to cry out, not speak
me any time. When I say come, we go—fast—in the night. Not ready yet."
                            
These were the orders Reuben received, and, when he could compose himself, he
went back to the wigwams, leaving his friend in the wood, while he told the
good news to Eunice, and prepared her for the part she must play.
                            
Fear had taught her self-control, and the poor child stood the test well,
working off her relief and rapture by pounding corn on the stone mortar till
her little hands were blistered, and her arms ached for hours afterward.
                            
Not till the next day did Onawandah make his appearance, and then he came
limping into the village, weary, lame, and half starved, after his long
wandering in the wilderness. He was kindly welcomed, and his story believed;
for he told only the first part, and said nothing of his life among the white
men. He hardly glanced at the children when they were pointed out to him by
their captors, and scowled at poor Eunice, who forgot her part in her joy, and
smiled as she met the dark eyes that till now had always looked kindly at her.
A touch from Reuben warned her, and she was glad to hide her confusion by
shaking her long hair over her face, as if afraid of the stranger.
                            
Onawandah took no further notice of them, but seemed to be very lame with the
old wound in his foot, which prevented his being obliged to hunt with the men.
He was resting and slowly gathering strength for the hard task he had set
himself, while he waited for a safe time to save the children. They understood,
but the suspense proved too much for little Eunice, and she pined with
impatience to be gone. She lost appetite and color, and cast such appealing
glances at Onawandah, that he could not seem quite indifferent, and gave her a
soft word now and then, or did such acts of kindness as he could perform
unsuspected. When she lay awake at night thinking of home, a cricket would
chirp outside the wigwam, and a hand slip in a leaf full of berries, or a
bark-cup of fresh water for the feverish little mouth. Sometimes it was only a
caress or a whisper of encouragement, that re-assured
the childish heart, and sent her to sleep with a comfortable sense of love and
protection, like a sheltering wing over a motherless bird.
                            
Reuben stood it better, and entered heartily into the excitement of the plot;
for he had grown tall and strong in these trying months, and felt that he must
prove himself a man to sustain and defend his sister. Quietly he put away each
day a bit of dried meat, a handful of parched corn, or a well-sharpened
arrowhead, as provision for the journey; while Onawandah seemed to be amusing
himself with making moccasins and a little vest of deer-skin for an Indian
child about the age of Eunice.
                            
At last, in the early autumn, all the men went off on the war-path, leaving
only boys and women behind. Then Onawandah's eyes began to kindle, and Reuben's
heart to beat fast, for both felt that their time for escape had come.
                            
All was ready, and one moonless night the signal was given. A cricket chirped
shrilly outside the tent where the children slept with one old