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men, or perhaps the chief himself, as in the present
instance, would come to offer for sale some fine and
well-broken pony sent to their camp by Indians of
the distant prairie. There were but two ponies in
town, however, as the purchasers of the rare little
horses usually sent them East, selling at a great profit.

But this evening Nomantic seemed doomed to
disappointment. It seemed to. make no difference
that his queenly young daughter of whom the savage
father was exceedingly proud, had herself wrought
the saddle; no one wanted to buy, as he proposed no
barter, only cash.

“Supposing I ask what he’ll take,” said Phil
Hamlin, looking at Tom Perkins.

“Do,” replied Harry Ford; “only remember
you'll have to cut him short if you do, or he’ll hang
on like a midsummer night’s dream.”

It took some time to make the wary old chief fix a
price. He grunted a good deal about the positive
necessity of disposing of the pony. They were going
to break camp soon, and go farther West; “ too
much Pale Face here.” After which he offered the
animal for “one hundred dollars.” J

A shout of derision followed this offer, whereupon
he immediately came down to seventy-five ; but the
significant manner in which the boys turned their
backs upon him and whistled, brought him down to
fifty. But there he stopped. Then he plead as only
an old Indian can plead.

“ Wouldn’t good Pale Face buy of poor Indian?
Little squaw’s own hands work saddle — pretty sad-
dle. Pray buy of poor Indian!”

Regretfully enough the boys insisted they couldn’t
buy that evening. Nevertheless he followed Phil
and Davy Hamlin to their father’s stable, and to the
very house door, all the time imploring, ‘‘ Please buy

of poor Indian!”

Not until the boys entered and closed the door,
did the importunities cease. Then as the old chief
turned back and re-mounted the pony, the boys softly
stepped out and watched the graceful creature canter
away, and as horse and rider again entered the
woods, Phil turned just in time to see two great glis-
tening drops in Davy’s eyes as he stood leaning on
his crutches.

“Come, Davy,” said the great boy tenderly, “ let’s
go in and see what uncle Philip writes.”

The letter said nothing of money ; however, later
in the evening when the boys recounted the incident,
Phil added in his bluff way:

CAMP HAMPERFORD.

“Be a grand thing to mount Davy in that style,
wouldn’t it, father ? ”

“Indeed it would,” replied Mr. Hamlin, “ and I
heartily wish I could; it might really strengthen him;”
but we still have need of great prudence. Your
uncle Philip writes that money is very hard in Bos-
ton, and I suppose you might as well ask for a coach-
and-four, my son,” he added slowly, “as for fifty
dollars.”

For three successive days Nomantic appeared with
the snow-white pony, and each time stopped at Mr,
Hamlin’s stable door, but not once did he offer the
pony with its wrought wampum saddle, for less than
“fifty dollar,” insisting that the saddle was “so
much worth,” chiefly it would seem from being the
work of the skilful fingers of his darling child.

No one yet had possessed even a trinket from the
handsome maiden. She was occasionally allowed to
accompany her father on his trading excursions to
the village, where her clear olive cheeks, starry eyes
and graceful figure, attracted great attention ; but she
was far too choice a treasure to old Nomantic to be
allowed to trade or chatter with the Pale Faces.

As we have said, the haying was over, and it was
just that “meantime” between haying and harvest-
ing, when it was most convenient to spare the boys
for a few days’ frolic. Once a year the Parrisville boys
were allowed to camp for a few days in the woods,
with only one restriction: they must not go évo far
from home.

The Parrisville boys greatly enjoyed this annual
“ pow-wow.” The three friends, Phil Hamlin, Tom
Perkins and Harry, Ford, usually clubbed together,
and their camp was sportively named for each, taking
the first syllable of the last names; consequently,
“Camp Hamperford.”

There was only one drawback to Phil Hamlin’s
perfect happiness on these occasions— the wistful
face of little lame Davy when they started off. He
would gladly have taken him, but the child was deli-
cate, and the nights were likely to be chill in the
forest even in summer, and the camp-fires were not
always sufficient to keep out a dampness harmless
enough to a rugged fellow, but dangerous to a fragile,
rheumatic boy.

They had decided this time to camp in a lovely
spot some three miles distant, and all they could
talk about for several days previous was the charming
sport in anticipation.

Now we must diverge here to say that every coun-