It was impossible to view Wanda in the light of a possible
sister-in-law; nevertheless, she gave her the pink cambric dress for
which the Indian girl had so often expressed admiration, and
supplemented the kindness with a pair of gloves, destined never to be
worn, and a straw hat, whose trimming was speedily torn off and its
place supplied by wampum, gorgeous feathers, the stained quills of the
porcupine, with tufts of moose hair, dyed blue and red.
Certainly she looked very pretty as she stood on the shore next day,
all ready for departure. Even Rose, who for the first time in her kind
little life would willingly have noticed personal defects, was forced
to admit that Wanda was looking and acting particularly well; the only
apparent fault being a lack of harmony between herself and her dress.
They were two separate entities, not only in fact but in appearance,
and they were seemingly in a state of subdued but constant warfare.
The truth was, that this wild girl of the woods was secretly chafing
against the stiffly starched prison in which she found herself
helplessly immured.
It was very pleasant out on the water.
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