“Yes, she kep’ her promise, she kep’ her promise!” repeated Wallula in glad triumphant accents, glancing at her mother, and at the tall gaunt figure of her father standing in the shadow of the doorway.

[Illustration:  Wallula clapped her hands with delight]

Wallula was a young girl, and this mystery of a Christmas-box was full of delight to her; but just then a greater delight—­the joy of Major Molly’s fidelity—­made her forget everything else.  But Molly did not forget.  The minute she had finished her story she sprang to her feet, and produced the contents of the box.  Wallula clapped her hands with delight when the pretty bright dress was held up before her.

“Just like Major Molly’s,—­just like Major Molly’s!  See! see!” she called out to her father and mother.

The mother nodded and smiled.  The father’s eyes lighted with an expression of deep gratification; then he leaned forward eagerly, and said to Molly,—­

“Tell ’gain ’bout where you saw—­heard—­lar’yet.”

“Just as we got to the little pine-trees where the old Sioux trail stops,” answered Molly, promptly.

“Yah!” ejaculated the Indian, grimly, in a tone of conviction.  Then, turning, he took down a Winchester rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and started towards the door, saying to Molly as he did so:  “You stay here with Wallula.  I go up to fort and tell ’em ’bout you.”

“Oh, take me with you, take me with you!” cried Molly, jumping up.

The Indian shook his head.  When Molly insisted, he said tersely:  “No, not safe for little white girl yet.  Maje Molly stay here till I come back.”

Molly’s face fell.  Wallula stole up to her.  “I got bewt’ful Chris’mas present for Maje Molly,” she said softly.  “Maje Molly stay see it with Wallula.”

“You dear!” cried Molly, flinging her arm round Wallula.

The Indian father nodded his head vigorously, and his face shone with satisfaction.  “Yes, yes!” he said.  “Wallula take care you.  You stay till I come back.”

In looking at and trying on the “bewt’ful Chris’mas present,”—­a pair of elaborately embroidered moccasins lined and bordered with rabbit fur,—­and in dressing Wallula up in the tartan dress, the time flew so rapidly that long before Molly expected it the cabin door opened again, and the tall gaunt figure reappeared.

Behind it followed another figure.  Molly ran forward as she saw it, and, “Papa, papa!” she cried, “I waited and waited for Barney, and he didn’t come; and I couldn’t bear for Lula not to have her Christmas present to-night, for I’d promised it to her to-night.  She told me, when I promised, that white people always broke their promises to Indians, and I said over and over that I wouldn’t break my promise; and I couldn’t—­I couldn’t break it, papa.”

“You did quite right, my little daughter,—­quite right.”

There was something in her father’s manner as he said this, a seriousness in his voice and in his eyes, that surprised Molly.  She was still more surprised when the Indian suddenly said,—­