14. “MUCH OF WAMPUM, MANY BLANKETS.’

He spoke of life and love and home,

“Much of wampum, many blankets”,

Together many years to roam

Safely onward through the seasons.

Chaugham, working in the garden,

Peter Barber's flower garden,

Daily mingled with the servants,

Heard of Peter Barber's order,

And of Molly's daring answer.

‘ Neath the trees he saw her walking,

‘ Neath the trees he saw her weeping,

And his heart was filled with sorrow,

Sorrow for the lovely maiden,

So he picked a rose, a red rose,

From the fragrant garden flowers,

Shyly gave it to the maiden,

With a pleasant smile of friendship.

Molly took the rose, the red rose,

Thanked the Indian for his kindness,

Coyly smelled the rose, the red rose,

Saying, “May we meet to-morrow?”

Daily then they met together,

Daily talked of many matters,

‘ Neath the trees beside the garden.

All the while a watchful sentry,

Peter Barber's watchful sentry,

Out beside the leafy hedgerow,

At the gateway to the mansion,

Stood with loaded musket guarding

‘ Gainst the entrance of the “Beggar.”

Molly, baffled by her father,

But with spirit still unbroken,

Met the Indian's kindly glances,

Listened to his ardent promise,

“Much of wampum, many blankets”,

Saw a chance to keep her promise —

“Cross me now and I will marry

Him who first in love may ask me.”

Saw the anger of her father

Slowly melting into sorrow,

As the years went rolling onward

And herself a humble toiler

In some distant forest cabin.

Each too proud to reconsider,

Followed then the loss of friendship,

Each to bear a heavy burden.