At the edge of the wood, not far from the smoking mound, there was a hut shaped like a round tent, but made not of canvas but of larch poles set up on end and all sloping together so that the longer poles crossed each other at the top. On the side of it nearest to the mound there was a doorway covered with a hanging flap made of an old sack. The sack was pulled aside from within and a little, bent old man, as wrinkled as a walnut and as brown, with long, bare arms covered with muscles, came out. He blinked at the explorers in the sunlight.
Roger took Titty’s hand.
“Hullo, you!” said the little old man, “come to have a look, have you? Glad to see you.”
“Good morning,” said Captain John.
“It is that,” said the little old man, “it’s a grand day.”
“Good morning,” said the rest of the Swallows.
“Same to you,” said the old man. He seemed a very friendly savage. Roger let go of Titty’s hand.
All the Swallows were staring at the hut.
“It’s a Red Indian wigwam,” said Titty.
“Like to look inside?” said the old man. “Folk generally what do,” he added, almost to himself.
“May we?” said Titty, partly to the old man and partly to Mate Susan.
“Aye,” said the old man, and as for Susan, she was as keen as Titty to see inside.
The old man took a corner of the flap of sacking and hooked it up on a nail on the outside of the wigwam.