So far back as he could remember, Cummins had never come into finger-
touch of a white baby. Jan was as blissfully ignorant; so they
determined upon immediate and strenuous action. Maballa would be
ceaselessly watched and checked at every turn. The Indian children
would not be allowed to come near Melisse. They two--John Cummins and
Jan Thoreau--would make her like the woman who slept under the
sentinel spruce.
"She ees ceevilize," said Jan with finality, "an' we mus' keep her
ceevilize!"
Cummins counted back gravely upon his fingers. The little Melisse was
four months and eighteen days old!
"To-morrow we will make her one of those things with wheels--like the
baby-wagons they have in the South," he said. "She must not go in the
papoose-slings!"
"An' I will teach her ze museek," whispered Jan, his eyes glowing.
"That ees ceevilize!"
Suddenly an eager light came into Cummins' face, and he pointed to a
calico-covered box standing upon end in a corner of the room.
"There are the books--HER books, Jan," he said softly, the trembling
thrill of inspiration in his voice. He limped across the room, dropped
upon his knees before the box, and drew back the curtain. Jan knelt
beside him. "They were HER books," he repeated. There was a sobbing
catch in his throat, and his head fell a little upon his breast.
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