The Story Girl paused -- a dramatic pause . It was quite dark in the fir wood . We could see her face and eyes but dimly through the gloom . A silvery moon was looking down on us over the granary . The stars twinkled through the softly waving boughs . Beyond the wood we caught a glimpse of a moonlit world lying in the sharp frost of the October evening . The sky above it was chill and ethereal and mystical . But all about us were shadows ; and the weird little tale , told in a voice fraught with mystery and pathos , had peopled them for us with furtive folk in belt and wampum , and dark-tressed Indian maidens . `` What did Shuben do when she found out she had killed Accadee ? '' asked Felicity . `` She died of a broken heart before the spring , and she and Accadee were buried side by side on the bank of the river which has ever since borne their names -- the river Shubenacadie , '' said the Story Girl . The sharp wind blew around the granary and Cecily shivered . We heard Aunt Janet 's voice calling `` Children , children . '' Shaking off the spell of firs and moonlight and romantic tale , we scrambled to our feet and went homeward . `` I kind of wish I 'd been born an Injun , '' said Dan . `` It must have been a jolly life -- nothing to do but hunt and fight . '' `` It would n't be so nice if they caught you and tortured you at the stake , '' said Felicity . `` No , '' said Dan reluctantly . `` I suppose there 'd be some drawback to everything , even being an Injun . '' `` Is n't it cold ? ''
said XXXXX , shivering again .
Cecily Dan Indian Injun Janet Shuben Shubenacadie evening firs wampum