Then she went on
with her weaving as though she were alone. There was nothing left for
The Stone but to go on her way, muttering.
"After this," she promised herself, "Timid Hare shall go little from my
sight. I need her to do my bidding and save my steps. She must not be
taken from me through any foolish fancy that Sweet Grass may have taken
for her."
THE HAPPY DAY
That evening the chief, Bent Horn, sat by his fireside, smoking with
his friends. Close beside him was his handsome son. On the women's
side of the lodge Sweet Grass and her mother squatted, listening to the
stories of the men. As the hours passed by, the visitors rose one by
one and went home for the night's sleep. When the last one had gone
Sweet Grass got up from her place and held out to her father the mat
she had been making for him. A pretty picture had been woven into the
rushes; it had taken all the young girl's skill to do it.
"For you, my father," said Sweet Grass.
The chief smiled. He was proud of his young son who gave promise of
becoming a fine hunter. But he was also proud of this one daughter.
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