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"We have nothing, Skenedonk!" I exclaimed the first time there was occasion for money on the road. "How have you been able to post? The money and the jewel-case are gone." "We have two bags of money and the snuffbox," said the Oneida. "I hid them in the post-carriage." "But I had the key of the jewel-case." "You are a good sleeper," responded Skenedonk.
I told him I had been a bad guide for a lady who had missed her way; and he said we were fortunate to reach a camp instead of stumbling into some danger. He was much older than I, at least fourteen years, I learned afterwards, but it was like meeting Skenedonk again, or some friend from whom I had only been parted.
"You are too late for Johanni," said the German who kept the house for travelers, speaking the kind of French we heard in Poland. "Perhap it is just as well for you. This Johanni has nearly ruined me!" Yet he showed a disposition to hire my singular servant from me at a good wage, walking around and around Skenedonk, who bore the scrutiny like a pine tree. The Oneida enjoyed his travels.
Paul and I waited to see what was going to happen, for the two came toward us, the girl talking rapidly to the man. I saw my father and Skenedonk and the doctor also coming from the house, and they readily spied me sitting tame as a rabbit near the baby.
The door hinges creak in these inns, the wind blows through " So his complaints went on, for there never was a man who got so much out of small miseries. Skenedonk and I must have failed to see all in our travels that he put before us.
We explored the ravine, the light stealing over white birches that glistened like alabaster. It was no use to call her name. She might be hidden behind a rock laughing at us. We had to surprise her to recover her. Skenedonk would have traced her where we lost the trail.
"Are children not like the young of other creatures? Where did I come from?" "You came to the tribe with a man, and Chief Williams adopted you." "Did you see the man?" "No. I was on the other side of the ocean, in France." "Who saw him?" "None of our people. But it is very well known. If you had noticed anything you would have heard the story long ago." What Skenedonk said was true.
I went out and found the bald-headed and well-beloved wretch. He was sitting with his knees to his chin by the evening log fire. "Skenedonk," I said, "I want my book." "Children and books make a woman of you," he responded. "You had enough books at Longmeadow." "I want it at once," I repeated. "It's sorcery," he answered. "It's a letter from Madame de Ferrier, and may tell where she is."
No one laughs at him. The tribes on these grounds would not hurt a hair of his head, not only because God has touched him, but because he plants apples. I have eaten his apples myself." "Johnny Appleseed!" I repeated, and Skenedonk hastened to tell me: "He has another name, but I forget it. He is called Johnny Appleseed."
All of our belongings would be put into it by the valet and himself, and when we met we would make a circuit and go by the way of St. Denis. "We will meet," I told him, "at eleven o'clock in front of the Tuileries." Skenedonk looked at me without moving a muscle. "I want to see the palace of the Tuileries before I leave France." He still gazed at me.
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