“And I saved both of you—­and got licked for it,” said Kent.

“I hope you all had a pleasant summer,” observed Margery, twisting up the curls in front of her small ears.  “Mother and I were in New York.”

Kent, Lydia and Charlie exchanged glances.

“I had a pretty good summer,” said Lydia.  “I sewed and cooked and scrubbed and swam and once Adam, Dad, Mr. Levine and I walked clear round the lake, eighteen miles.  Adam nearly died, he’s so fat and bow-legged.  He scolded all the way.”

“I don’t see how your father can let that Mr. Levine come to your house!” exclaimed Margery with sudden energy.  “My father says he’s a dangerous man.”

“He’s a crook!” said Charlie, stolidly and finally.

Lydia stamped her foot.  “He’s not and he’s my friend!” she cried.

“You’d better not admit it!” Margery’s voice was scornful.  “Daddy says he’s going to speak to your father about him.”

“Your father’d better not go up against Levine too hard,” said Kent, with a superior masculine air.  “Just tell him I said so.”

“You don’t stick up for Levine, do you, Kent?” asked Charlie, indignantly.

“Why, no, but Dave Marshall’s got no business to put his nose in the air over John Levine.  I don’t care if he is Margery’s father.  Everybody in town knows that he’s as cruel as a wolf about mortgages and some of his money deals won’t bear daylight.”

“Don’t you dare to say such things about my father,” shrieked Margery.

“He was awful good to Dad and me about a money matter,” protested Lydia.

“Aw, all of us men are good to you, Lyd,” said Kent impatiently.  “You’re that kind.  Being good to you don’t make a man a saint.  Look at Levine.  He’s got a lot of followers, but I’ll bet you’re the only person he’s fond of.”

“He’s a crook,” repeated Charlie, slowly.  “If what he’s trying to do goes through, my tribe’ll be wanderers on the face of the earth.  If I thought it would do any good, I’d kill him.  But some other brute of a white would take his place.  It’s hopeless.”

The three young whites looked at the Indian wonderingly.  Their little spatting was as nothing, they realized, to the mature and tragic bitterness that Charlie expressed.  A vague sense of a catastrophe, epic in character, that the Indian evidently saw clearly, but was beyond their comprehension, silenced them.  The awkward pause was broken by the school bell.

Lydia had plenty to think of on her long walk home.  Charlie’s voice and words haunted her.  What did it all mean?  Why was he so resentful and so hopeless?  She made up her mind that when she had the opportunity to ask him, she would.  She sighed a little, as she thought of the comments of her mates on John Levine.  Little by little she was realizing that she was the only person in the world that saw the gentle, tender side of the Republican candidate for Congress.  The realization thrilled her, while it worried her.  She had an idea that she ought to make him show the world the heart he showed to her.  As she turned in at the gate and received Adam’s greetings, she resolved to talk this matter over with Levine.