“Taking this dear child into the wilderness with those heathen savages. . . . And she not more than seven . . . .”
“Eight,” said Sarah, “though my mother says I am not tall for my age.”
“Eight then—what will you do there all alone?”
“My father is with me,” Sarah said.
The children’s eyes had grown wider and rounder. Now they began to laugh and the younger ones pointed at Sarah.
“She is going to live away off in the woods.”
“The Indians will eat you,” Lemuel said and smacked his lips loudly.
“They will chop off your head,” little Robert added, with a wide innocent smile.
“They will not hurt me,” Sarah said. “My father says the Indians are friendly.”
“They will skin you alive . . . .” That was Lemuel.
“I have heard that they are friendly,” Mistress Robinson put in quickly. “The men who bought the land gave them a fair price.”
“And promised they might keep their right to fish in the Great River,” said John Noble.
“They will chop off your head,” said Robert, and made chopping motions with his hand.
Sarah felt a little sick. This was worse than wolves in the night. Her brothers were not like these boys—and she had heard about Indians. Perhaps . . . perhaps these Indians had changed their minds about being friendly.
She was glad when the children went to bed—all except Abigail, who spoke gently.
“Don’t mind the boys,” Abigail whispered. “They tease.”
But Sarah did mind. If Stephen were with them these boys would not dare to tease her, she thought.
At last it was quiet. The children were all in bed, and Sarah lay on her quilt by the fire. Mistress Robinson covered her up warmly, and for a moment she seemed a little like Sarah’s mother.
Then: “So young, so young,” she said. “A great pity.”
“I would like to have my cloak, if you please,” said Sarah.
“I am a little cold . . . now.”
Mistress Robinson put the cloak over Sarah. “Have it your way, child. But your blood must be thin.”
Sarah caught a fold of the cloak in her hand and held it tightly. As she closed her eyes she could see pictures against the dark. They were not comfortable pictures. Before her were miles and miles of trees. Trees, dark and fearful, trees crowding against each other, trees on and on, more trees and more trees. Behind the trees there were men moving . . . were they Indians?
She held the warm material of the cloak even more closely.
“Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble. Keep up your courage!” she whispered to herself.
But it was quite a long time before she slept.