ON a hill by the Mississippi where Chippewas camped two generations ago; a girl stood in relief against the cornflower blue of Northern sky. She saw no Indians now; she saw flour-mills and the blinking windows of skyscrapers in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Nor was she thinking of squaws and portages; and the Yankee fur-traders whose shadows were all about her. She was meditating upon walnut fudge; the plays of Brieux; the reasons why heels run over; and the fact that the chemistry instructor had stared at the new coiffure which concealed her ears