Poor Timid Hare! she had learned to embroider and to weave baskets in
the old home, but sewing on heavy skins had never yet fallen to her
share of the daily duties. "There will be time enough," White Mink had
thought, "when the little fingers have grown bigger and the tender back
is stronger."
So now the hands were clumsy, and the stitches were not as even as they
should be. The Stone watched her with a scowl and frequent scoldings;
often an uplifted arm seemed ready to strike. But seeing that the
child was trying to do her best, the expected beating did not come.
After she and Black Bull had eaten their own breakfast of bread made
out of wild rice, together with some buffalo fat, she gave a small
portion to Timid Hare. Then she and Black Bull went out of the lodge,
leaving the little girl alone at her work.
How different--how very different--this home was from the one among the
Mandans! The old one was so big and comfortable, and there was such a
jolly household of parents and grandparents and uncles and aunts, and
children of all ages gathered together under one roof. Then, too, the
floor was so smooth and shiny, and the bedsteads, each one shut off by
a curtain and made pretty with fringe and pictures, seemed almost like
tiny sleeping rooms.
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