Little Linna, daughter of Omas, the Delaware warrior, was of the same age as Alice Ripley.

The weather was warm although she wore tiny moccasins to protect her feet, she scorned the superfluous stockings and undergarments that formed a part of the other's apparel.
Her hair was as black, abundant, and almost as long as her father's; but her face was clean, and, perhaps in honor of the occasion, she, too, sported a gaudy eagle feather in her hair.
She bounded out of the green wood like a fawn, but as she drew near her parent and Alice, her footsteps became slower, and she halted a few paces away, hung her head, with her forefinger between her pretty white teeth--for all the world like any white girl of her years.
But Alice did not allow her to remain embarrassed.

She had been begging for this visit, and now, when she saw her friend, she ran forward, took her little plump hand and said--"Linna, I am real glad you have come!" Omas had risen to his feet, and watched the girls with an affection and interest which found no expression on his painted face.

His child looked timidly up to him and walked slowly forward, her hand clasped in that of Alice.

She did not speak, but when her escort sat down on the grass, she did the same.
"Linna, do you know how to play Jack Stones ?" asked Alice, picking up the pebbles.
Linna shook her head quickly several times, but her lips remained mute.
"Your father thought he knew how, but he don't; he doesn't play fair, either.