And when again I found her, life and the world seemed balanced and well rounded once again.
And in my breast a strange calm rested me.
As I walked along the rutty lake road, all hatched and gashed by the artillery, I made up my mind to one matter.

"She must have clothes!" thought I, "and that's flat!" Perhaps not such as befitted her, but something immediate, and not in tatters--something stout that threatened not to part and leave her naked.

For the brier-torn rags she wore scarce seemed to hold together; and her small, shy feet peeped through her gaping shoon in snowy hide-and-seek.
Now, coming hither from the fort, I had already noticed on the Stoney-Kill where our Oneidas lay encamped.

So when I sighted the first painted tree and saw the stone pipe hanging, I made for it, and found there the Indians smoking pipes and not in war paint; and their women and children were busy with their gossip, near at hand.
As I had guessed, there by the fire lay a soft and heavy pack of doeskins, open, and a pretty Oneida matron sewing Dutch wampum on a painted sporran for her warrior lord.
The lean and silent warriors came up as I approached, sullenly at first, not knowing what treatment to expect--more shame to the skin we take our pride in! One after another took the hand I offered in self-respecting silence.
"Brothers," I said, "I come to buy.

Sooner or later your young men will put on red paint and oil their bodies.