"You told me you'd only enough for yourself. Get out of here, you old
she-devil."

The squaw did not so much as glance at Kent. Her eyes were fastened on
Lydia, with the look of a hungry, expectant dog. Lydia ran her fingers
through her damp curls, and sighed. Then she gave little Patience her
share of the bread and butter and a cooky. She laid the precious
deviled egg in its twist of paper on top of the remainder of the bread
and cookies and handed them to the Indian.

"You can't have any of mine, if you give yours up!" warned Kent.

"I don't want any, pig!" returned Lydia.

The old squaw received the food with trembling fingers and broke into
sobs, that tore at her old throat painfully. She said something to
Lydia in Indian, and then to the children's surprise, she bundled the
food up in her skirt and started as rapidly as possible back in the
direction whence she had come.

"She's taking it back to some one," said Kent.

"Poor thing," said Lydia.

"Poor thing!" sniffed Kent. "It would be a good thing if they were all
dead. My father says so."

"Well, I guess your father don't know everything," snapped Lydia.

"Evyfing," said Patience, who had finished her lunch and was digging in