when, after a long winter in the city, kenneth and rose came back to the island which was their summer home, they were eager to see all their favorite places.
on the very first morning they both wanted to visit the bathing beach and the indian forest, the chasm and the pirate cave. they wanted to know what new wonders had sprouted in the garden of live flowers, and how much their little oak tree had grown. they wanted to see if there were any deer tracks down by the spring, and if there was still a wasp’s nest in a certain spot under the stone wall. besides, there was the beech tree, where rose had her summer-house; and the theatre among the rocks, where they used to speak pieces; and[2] the post office in the hollow pine,—and a hundred other places which they loved. it was very hard to choose. but finally they decided that most they wanted to see the wigwam in the forest.
they had discovered the wigwam in the forest by accident one day last summer, and they had seen it only that once; for the very next day they went back to the city. what a pity they had not found it sooner! kenneth and rose could hardly wait for summer to come so that they could visit it again; it was such a lovely place in which to play indian hunter.
this first morning was not a very good one for a walk in the woods. it was gray and misty, threatening rain before night. but the children were not going to postpone their plans on that account. kenneth put on his indian suit, and took his bow and arrows. rose wore her moccasins and wampum belt. kenneth was sure that he remembered the way to the wigwam, although it was a long distance and he had gone but once.
[3]the forest came close to the back door of sweetbrier cottage, and the children entered it by the same path up which the little prouts came every day to bring the milk. presently they came to another path, which branched to the right. this one was very narrow and indistinct, difficult to follow even in bright sunlight, but kenneth remembered it well.
soon they were in the midst of the dim, gray-green forest. the trees were so thick that there was little sunshine here, even on a pleasant day. they trotted happily along, their feet crunching the dry twigs and springing on the elastic moss. how good it seemed to feel the pine needles under foot, instead of brick sidewalks and asphalt!
the path grew fainter and fainter. it wavered and branched and strayed off in every direction, as if it were not quite sure which way to go. but kenneth seemed to know where to turn, just as indian hunters always do. rose thought him wonderful. she did not remember anything at all except the[4] greenness of the moss and ferns and the brownness of the tree-trunks. on they went, farther and farther.
“i think we are almost there now,” said kenneth at last. “i remember that old dead pine, don’t you, rose?”
“no,” said rose honestly. “i don’t remember. but i do think we must be almost there. it seems a long, long way.”
but when they came into the open space beyond the pine tree, there was no wigwam waiting them. kenneth looked surprised.
“well, it must be just a little farther,” he said. and they trudged on. it was growing darker and darker in the forest. a gray veil seemed to be drawing around them, hiding the way. rose shivered.
“i wish i had worn my coat,” she said. “i think it is going to rain, kenneth. don’t you think we had better go home?”
“no, indeed!” cried kenneth. “we are almost there now. yes,—i remember that oak tree with the big rock beside it. i am sure we[5] are there now;” and he brushed eagerly through the bushes.
but when they passed the oak tree, there was no wigwam. rose shook her curls uneasily. “i want to go home,” she said. “it isn’t nice in the forest when there is no sunshine. the trees are full of gray smoke. i wish we had waited for a sunny day.”
“it isn’t smoke, it is fog,” said kenneth. “i am sure that this was the place, but the wigwam is gone. somebody must have pulled it down. perhaps the indians themselves came back.”
rose looked over her shoulder anxiously. “let’s go home,” she said.
“well, perhaps we had better,” agreed kenneth. he remembered that sometimes the island fogs grew so thick that even the fishermen were afraid of losing their way.
they turned about and started towards the little thin path which they had left a few minutes earlier. but where had the path gone? they could not find it anywhere. the fog[6] was creeping around them so that they could see scarcely ten feet ahead. kenneth took rose by the hand, and together they stumbled on over the moss and dead branches. but still they found no path. every few minutes they would stop and look about, and then, fearing that they were going wrong, would start in another direction. the fog grew thicker, and they could hardly see one another. kenneth’s cap was dewed with heavy drops, and rose’s curls looked almost as though she had been in bathing.
she squeezed kenneth’s hand tightly. “are we lost, kenneth?” she asked, in a brave voice.
“no, we aren’t lost,” he answered. “we know where we are,—right in the middle of the forest. but i can’t remember the way home. let us shout. perhaps some one will hear us and show us the way.”
they shouted as loudly as they could,—“hello! hello! hello-o-o!” again and again; but nobody answered. there was not[7] a sound in the forest; only cold, damp, gray fog came sifting silently everywhere.
“i wish we hadn’t come,” said rose. “shall we get home before night? i shouldn’t like to sleep in the forest. there might be snakes.”
suddenly they ran into something like a wooden fence. “hurrah!” cried kenneth. “look, rose, here is the wigwam now. i told you we were near it all the time.”
kenneth was right. there they stood in the very door of the wigwam, which had been hidden by the fog.
they gave a shout of joy and went inside. yes, there it stood, just as they had left it a year ago. there was the piny roof, the pile of brush for a sofa; the little heap of stones which had been their play stove; the cupboard made of a hollow log.
“somebody has been in our house,” said kenneth, like the great big bear in the story. “here are some pieces of broken crockery.”
“somebody has been sitting on our sofa,” cried rose, like the middle-sized bear, “and[8] she has left her shawl. see!”—she held up a plaid shawl. “it is nice and warm. i am going to put it on.”
“it is an indian blanket,” said kenneth. “and look! somebody has been into our cupboard and has left something to eat!” he cried, like the little wee bear. he held up a pail full of blueberries, big and ripe and luscious. “rose, it must be the indians!”
both the children glanced at the door and shivered. never had the indians seemed so near. it was very creepy here alone in the forest. the fog might be hiding all sorts of dangers which they could not see.
but soon rose took courage. “i don’t believe it was indians,” she said. “indians don’t leave things all ready for lost children. it must be the fairies. i knew there were fairies in this forest. i have told you so, kenneth, ever so many times. i am hungry and i am going to eat the berries. if the fairies left them it will be perfectly safe.”
“pooh!” said kenneth, who did not believe[9] in fairies. but he decided to help eat the berries. the two sat down on the pine-bough sofa and began to dip out handful after handful. and the luncheon tasted so good that they spoke hardly a word for five minutes. the wigwam was as quiet as before they had come.
