openin' th' sores agin. Ef ye go Ade'll hev t' make ye keep still."

"All right, mother," agreed Roger's cousin, and the two boys started off.

The place where the grapes grew was on the side of a gently sloping hill, about a quarter of a mile back of the house. The vines were twined over wires strung between posts, and were planted in rows about ten feet apart, so there was plenty of chance for the sun to get at the fruit, Old Sol's rays being needed to ripen the big purple, red, and white cl.u.s.ters. The boys walked up a little path back of the farmhouse, through the barnyard, up past the corn-crib, and the melon patch, past the yard where a flock of white Wyandotte chickens were cackling, and so on, up to where the air was fragrant with the bloom of the grapes.

"I'm picking Wordens," said Adrian, referring to the variety of the fruit he was gathering.

"How many kinds have you?" asked Roger.

"Well, we've got Concords, Isabellas, Niagaras, Delawares, Wordens, and Catawbas."

"I thought all grapes were alike."

"They're as different as people," said Adrian. "Some folks won't eat anything but Concords. Others want Wordens, and I like them best myself, but dad, he won't eat any but the white Niagaras."

Adrian reached over, cut off a big bunch of purple beauties, and ate them, while Roger did likewise, and it seemed that he had never before tasted such sweet grapes. The ones he occasionally had in New York were not nearly as fresh and good as these, right off the vines.

"Well," announced Adrian finally, throwing down the cleaned-off stem, "I must get to work. I've only got to fill forty more baskets, and then I can have the rest of the day to myself."

In between the rows of vines he had scattered small unfilled grape baskets. These were to be packed with the ripe bunches and loaded on a wheelbarrow, to be taken to the barn, and then the next day they would be sent to Syracuse. Adrian began to work, and Roger insisted that at least he be allowed to scatter the empty receptacles where they would be handy for his cousin. He also took the filled ones out to the end of the rows as Adrian finished with each.

Snip-snap went the scissors Adrian used to cut off the finest bunches.

Before laying them in the baskets he removed any spoiled or imperfect fruit, so that the cl.u.s.ters would present a uniformly fine appearance, and bring a better price than if sent to market carelessly. Adrian worked rapidly, now that he did not have to stop to distribute the empty baskets or carry the full ones to the end of the row, and in much shorter time than Roger expected the forty were filled. As he placed the last one on the wheelbarrow Adrian remarked:

"Well, that's done. Want to go to Cardiff now?" for that was the way every one spoke of going up to the centre of the village.

"Would we have time to go to the Indian Reservation?" asked Roger, eagerly, for he had been thinking with antic.i.p.ation all the morning of the news he had heard concerning the near location of the redmen.

"Well, hardly before dinner," replied Adrian. "It's three miles there.

But we can go this afternoon."

"Then let's go."

"All right. We'll take a rest until the dinner horn blows."

So the boys went down to the barn with the last of the grapes. As they approached they were greeted by the barking of a dog, and a brown setter ran out to gambol about Adrian.

"Whose dog?" asked Roger, looking at the beautiful animal.

"Mine," replied Adrian. "He ran off to the woods Sat.u.r.day, and he must have just come back. He does it every once in a while. Gets sort of wild and likes to strike out for himself. But he's always glad to come back. Hi! Jack, old fellow!" and Adrian, setting the wheelbarrow down, ran along swiftly, to be followed by the joyfully barking dog.

The two had a regular romp on the gra.s.s.

"Here, old chap!" called Adrian, suddenly, and Jack stopped short in his running to look at his young master with bright eyes and c.o.c.ked-up ears.

"Come here, sir! I'll introduce you to my cousin Roger."

Adrian led the dog by one ear up to Roger. The intelligent animal sniffed the boy a bit, and then the tail which had dropped began to wag quickly to and fro.

"He likes you all right," announced Adrian. "Shake hands with him, Jack."

The animal lifted his right paw up to Roger, who took it in his hand.

"He's a fine bird dog," commented Adrian, the introduction over. "We'll take him along when we go hunting."

Then Jack decided he was hungry, so he raced to the house, barking loudly. The boys took the grapes into the barn, and after they had been stowed away, Adrian lifted from a basket two large fine muskmelons. Next he produced a knife and a small bag of salt, when he and Roger proceeded to eat the fruit.

"This is the way dad and I like our melons," he announced to his cousin, as he cut off a luscious slice. It didn't take long to finish the fruit, and about an hour later, after they had amused themselves by jumping around in the hay, they were quite ready for dinner, when they heard Mrs. Kimball blow the horn vigorously. They announced at the table their intention of going to the Indian Castle, and after the meal was over and they had rested up a bit they started, Jack the dog barking joyously on ahead of them.

The way to the Reservation, or the Castle, as every one in Cardiff called it, was up the main road to the north, a long level stretch of highway, lying between pleasant farm lands. The three miles seemed rather short to Roger, and after a little more than an hour's tramp, they came to a group of log cabins.

"What are those?" asked the city boy.

"Indian houses."

"Is that where they live? I thought they had tents," and Roger's voice showed his disappointment.

"These aren't wild Indians," said Adrian. "They have to live here all the year. The government gives them this land and they raise crops on it, or rather their squaws do; for the Indians let the women do most of the work, same as they did when Columbus discovered this country, as we read in our history books."

Just then, at the door of one of the cabins, appeared a man who seemed to be a negro, and Roger could see several dark-skinned children peeping out from behind the man.

"What are colored folks doing on the Reservation, Adrian?"

"They're not colored; that's an Indian. He's Pete Smith. You see lots of the Indians are very dark, and they look a little like negroes at a distance."

"Well, he certainly don't look like the Indians you see in pictures,"

commented Roger.

The boys kept on. The little log cabins became more numerous now, and in the fields about them could be observed many Indian squaws at work, husking corn or gathering pumpkins and tomatoes. Once in a while a male Indian would be seen at work, probably because he had no squaw.

The boys now approached a cabin larger than any of the others near it.

Adrian, coming opposite it, pointed to something fastened on the front wall.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked his cousin.

"What? Where?"

"Tacked up on the side of the cabin."

"Oh, that? Why, it looks like a piece of fur."

"Don't you know what it is?"

"No."

"That's the varmint which tried to eat you up last night."

"Not the wild-cat?"

"The very same. This is where Johnny Green lives. He's skinned the animal. That's its hide."