struck the trail through the woods. The first note left by them
read: "10:30. First rest. 'Ware the pest!"

"Wonder what they meant by that?" said Hinpoha to Migwan. They
soon found out. At the last blaze the path dipped into dense
woods. From all sides rose a cloud of mosquitoes which settled
on every exposed portion of their persons and stung viciously.
"Ooo, wow!" they cried, breaking into a run and brushing the
mosquitoes off with branches. Before they entered the next
woods they stripped the bark off a fallen birch log and made
leggings of it, tying them on with their handkerchiefs.

Migwan made up a song as they went along and taught it to
Hinpoha. The tune was "Solomon Levi:"

"Oh, we are Winnebagos and our color is the Red,
Over the hills and down the dales we go wherever we're led,
We follow the blazes through the wood like hounds upon the hunt,
We keep our feet upon the path and our faces to the front!

Oh, Winnebagos! 'Bagos, tra la la la,
Oh, Winnebagos! 'Bagos, tra la la la la la la,
Oh, we are Winnebagos and our color is the Red,
Over the hills and down the dales we go wherever we're led!"

"I suppose you'll be a great poet when you grow up," said
Hinpoha, stooping to pick a cluster of ripe strawberries.

Migwan sighed. "No, I'll never be a great poet," she answered,
"but I may be able to write stories in time, if I learn enough