Miss Amesbury had ample opportunity to test the depth of her content, for the rain showed no sign of abating.  Hour after hour it poured down steadily as though it had forgotten how to stop.  A dense mist rose on the river which gradually spread through the woods until the trees loomed up like dim spectres standing in menacing attitudes before the door of their little rocky chamber.  Warm and dry inside, the Winnebagos made the best of their unexpected situation and whiled away the hours with games, stories, and “improving conversation,” as Jo Severance recounted later.

“I’ve just invented a new game,” announced Migwan, when the talk had run for some time on famous women of various times.

“What is it?” asked Hinpoha, pausing with a half washed potato in her hand.  Hinpoha and Gladys were putting the potatoes into the hot ashes to bake them for dinner.

“Why, it’s this,” said Migwan.  “Let each one of us in turn tell some incident that took place in the girlhood of a famous woman, the one we admire the most, and see if the others can guess who she is.”

“All right, you begin, Migwan,” said Sahwah.

“No, you begin, Sahwah.  It’s my game, so I’ll be last.”

Sahwah sat chin in hand for a moment, and then she began:  “I see a long, low house built of bark and branches, thickly covered with snow.  It is one of the ‘long houses’, or winter quarters of the Algonquins, and none other than the Chief’s own house.  Inside is a council chamber and in it a pow-wow of chiefs is going on.  The other half of the house, which is not used as a council chamber, is used as the living room by the family, and here a number of children are playing a lively game.  In the midst of the racket the door opens and in comes one of the chief’s runners.  As he advances toward the council chamber a young girl comes whirling down the room turning handsprings.  Her feet strike him full in the chest, and send him flat on his back on the floor.  A great roar of laughter goes up from the braves and squaws sitting around the room, for the girl who has knocked the runner down is none other than the chief’s own daughter.  But the old chief says sadly, ’Why will you be such a tomboy, my child?’”

“Tomboy, tomboy!” cry all the others, using the Algonquin word for that nickname.  “Who is my girl, and what is her nickname?”

“That’s easy,” laughed Migwan, “Who but Pocahontas?”

“Was ‘Pocahantas’ just a nickname?” asked Hinpoha curiously.

“Yes,” replied Migwan. “‘Pocahontas’, or ‘pocahuntas’, is the Algonquin word for ‘tomboy’.  The real name of Powhatan’s daughter was Ma-ta-oka, but she was known ever after the incident Sahwah just related as ‘Pocahontas.’”

“I never heard of that incident,” said Hinpoha, “but I might have guessed that Sahwah would take Pocahontas for hers.”

“Now you, Agony,” said Migwan.