have always brought back that scene to the woman who owned it,—that lasting treaty of mutual friendship and benefit.
It was an April day after the planting that an episode occurred which brings before us for the first time a woman not distinct hitherto in this picture.
The Indian squaws occasionally came to Plymouth
, and were a help or a bother, according to their personality.
Hobomok was the Colony
's trusty interpreter, and this afternoon his squaw was teaching a company of mothers the art of moccasin making when Hobomok appeared and took her away, saying the Government
wanted her to work, and she proved a valuable spy.
As spring came the children found arbutus and early flowers.
Remember and Mary Allerton
and Damaris Hopkins
played on the beach with Constance, Elizabeth
and Humility, and gathered the bright shells in the warm sunshine, until the pink of the shells and arbutus were reflected in their cheeks.
And with the April mildness on land and sea came the last night when the lights of the Mayflower
shone to them out of the darkness.
Each one has been asked a question, and been given time to consider well: ‘Shall we—shall I—go back?’
Each woman for herself has answered ‘No.’
The venture made in faith should not have been made in vain,—the standard formed of high hope and courage should not go down while they were able in the light of faith to carry it forward.
The September days were busy ones.
The spring planting had been successful and their harvest of corn abundant.
The wild grapes had been made into wine, corn pounded into meal, each household a hive of workers.
The wear and tear on their clothes was repaired and new garments made.
But an interval occurred in their routine; it is a picture of the living room in the Brewster house
by candle light, which contains all of the women of the colony in earnest discussion.
The Governor has suggested that, in view of the fact of their