want to see Meshawa or the others. I have forgotten them."

He turned away, but a thought striking him his face brightened, and
plunging his hand into his pocket he again brought forth his glittering
store. "Nowadays I have money," he said grandly. "It used to be that
Indian braves brought Meshawa and the others presents, because they were
the sons of their great men. I was the son of a great man, too; but he was
not Indian and he was lying in his grave, and no one brought me gifts. Now
I wish to give presents. Here are ten coins, master. Give one to each
Indian boy, the largest to Meshawa."

The Indian teacher, Charles Griffin by name, looked with a whimsical face
at the silver pieces laid arow upon the top rail. "Very well, Jean," he
said. "It is good to give of thy substance. Meshawa and the others will
have a feast. Yes, I will remember to tell them to whom they owe it.
Good-day to you both."

The meadow, the solemnly playing Indians, and their gentle teacher were
left behind, and the two men, passing the long college all astare with
windows, the Indian school, and an expanse of grass starred with
buttercups, came into Duke of Gloucester Street. Broad, unpaved, deep in
dust, shaded upon its ragged edges by mulberries and poplars, it ran
without shadow of turning from the gates of William and Mary to the wide
sweep before the Capitol. Houses bordered it, flush with the street or set
back in fragrant gardens; other and narrower ways opened from it; half way
down its length wide greens, where the buttercups were thick in the grass,
stretched north and south. Beyond these greens were more houses, more
mulberries and poplars, and finally, closing the vista, the brick façade
of the Capitol.