Pocahontas was seated upon a small hill overlooking the village.  As the chief’s daughter, it was only on special occasions and as an honored guest, that she joined the knots of squaws or maidens chatting before the wigwams.  But she was not alone now in solitary grandeur.  She was accustomed to surround herself, when she desired company, with a number of younger girls of the tribe who obeyed her, less because she was the daughter of the feared werowance, than because she had a way with her that made it pleasant to do as she willed and difficult to oppose her.  Cleopatra, her youngest sister, sat beside her, trying to coax a squirrel on the branch above them to come down and eat some parched corn from her hands.

Over Pocahontas’s knees was spread a robe of raccoon skin, smooth, painted in a wide border.  Along the edge of this she was embroidering a deep pattern of white beads made from sea shells.  A basket of reeds beside her was full of other beads, large and small, white, red, yellow and blue.

“What doth thy pattern mean, Pocahontas?” asked the girl nearest her.  “As it is not one any of our mothers hath ever wrought before, thou must have a meaning for it in thy mind.”  “Yes,” assented the worker, “it differeth from all other patterns because my father differeth from all other werowances.  It meaneth this that I sing: 

    “Powhatan is a mighty chief,
    As long as the river floweth,
    As long as the sky upholdeth,
    As long as the oak tree groweth,
    So long shall his name be known.

“See, this line is for the river, this one that goeth up straight is the oak tree and this long line all wavy is the heavens.  I make this for my father because I am so proud of him.”

“But why, Pocahontas,” asked another of her companions, “dost thou not use more of these red beads?  They are so like fire, like the blood of an enemy; why dost thou refer the white?”

Pocahontas held her bone needle still for a moment and her face wore a puzzled expression.

“I cannot answer thee exactly, Deer-Eye, since I do not know myself.  I love the white beads as I love best to wear a white robe myself, or a white rabbit hood in winter.  In the woods I always pick the white flowers, and I love the white wild pigeon best of all the birds except the white seagull.  And the white soft clouds high in the heavens I love better than the red and yellow ones when the sun goeth down to sleep in the west.  Yet I cannot say why it is so.”

As noon approached the day grew hotter, and the fingers wearied of the work.  Down in the village the men had ceased their activities and lay stretched out on the shady side of the lodges; only the squaws preparing dinner were still busy.

“Let us go to the waterfall,” cried Pocahontas, jumping up suddenly.  “Each of you go and beg some food from her mother and hurry back here.  I will put my work away and await ye here.”