Then the old chief bids me
travel to the world of white men and sell." There was gentle pathos in
her mellow voice.
Pieces of ancient pottery, quaint bleached bits of skeleton, beads and
shells and trinkets of gold unearthed from the Florida sand mounds,
moccasins and baskets, koonti starch and plumes, such were the
picturesque wares which Keela peddled when the stir of her mingled
blood drove her forth from the camp of her forbears.
Diane bought generously, harnessed her saddle with clanking relics and
regretfully mounted her horse.
"Let me come again to-morrow!" she begged.
"Uncah!" granted the girl in Seminole and her great black eyes were
very friendly.
Looking back as she rode through the flat-woods, Diane marveled afresh.
It was a far cry indeed from the camp of a Seminole to the legends of
Rome.
But the primeval flavor of the night presently dissolved in the glare
of acetylenes from a long gray car standing motionless by the roadside
ahead. The climbing moon shone full upon the face of a bareheaded
motorist idly smoking a cigarette and waiting.
Diane reined in her horse with a jerk and a clank of relics.
"Philip Poynter!" she exclaimed.
The driver laughed.
"I wonder," said he, "if you know what a shock you've thrown into your
aunt by staying out in the flat-woods until dark.
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