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Updated: May 27, 2025
"And I'll tell you now, Father Beret," Alice went on after a pause, "no more claret and pies do you get until I can have my own sort of books back again to read as I please." She stamped her moccasin-shod foot with decided energy. The good priest broke into a hearty laugh, and taking off his cap of grass-straw mechanically scratched his bald head.
She was looking into the tiny stream beneath. He made no sound as he approached. Generations of moccasin-shod ancestors had made his own movements swift and silent. Notwithstanding this, she turned, and, with a bright girlish smile, she said: "I knew you were coming, Chief." "Why? How?" he asked, accepting his new title from her with a graceful indifference almost beyond his four and twenty years.
"They will all be ashamed of me when I get to Boston," she thought, "and I have no money to buy things, and it will be three weeks or more before my dear father will reach Boston. Oh, dear!" And Anne, for the moment, wished herself back on the Province Town sands where a bareheaded, moccasin-shod little girl could be as happy as the day was long.
Other footprints mingled with those of the bear. They were small, and had been made by moccasin-shod feet. He had seen such footprints before. He knew the owner of the feet which had made these imprints. Aim-sa's were such as these Aim-sa's! His eyes took in every detail slowly, fondly. Where was she now? He must follow. Then he remembered. Something else was following, not him, but her.
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