There on a tiny fire he laid tobacco and
kinnikinnik, as Gisiss the Shining One burnt the rugged world rim
at Vermont, and, tapping softly with one stick, he gazed upward,
after the sacrificial thread of smoke, and sang in his own tongue:
"Father, I burn tobacco, I smoke to Thee. I sing for my heart is singing."
Pleasant chatter of the East was current by Rolf's bedside.
Stories of homes in the hills he heard, tales of hearths by far
away lakes and streams, memories of golden haired children
waiting for father's or brother's return from the wars. Wives
came to claim their husbands, mothers to bring away their boys,
to gain again their strength at home. And his own heart went
back, and ever back, to the rugged farm on the shores of the
noble George.
In two weeks he was able to sit up. In three he could hobble, and
he moved about the town when the days were warm.
And now he made the acquaintance of the prisoners. They were
closely guarded and numbered over a hundred. It gave him a
peculiar sensation to see them there. It seemed un- American to
hold a human captive; but he realized that it was necessary to
keep them for use as hostages and exchanges.
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