He loved her so dearly that he could not bear to say, No, to anything
she might ask of him.
"My father," now said Sweet Grass, "I wish to speak to you of the child
Timid Hare whom you gave into the keeping of The Stone."
The chief scowled. "That pale-faced daughter of the cowardly Mandans?
She may thank you that she still lives," he said sternly.
"But I have seen her and talked with her, my father, and she has won my
heart. I want her to live with me and serve me. Will you let it be
so?"
There was no answer.
"And she no longer makes one think of the pale-faced Mandans. Her skin
is now dark with paint so that she looks even as we do." The voice of
Sweet Grass was tender with pleading.
"I saw her at the spring one day," broke in young Antelope. "The
hump-back, Black Bull, had just left her. Her eyes spoke fright, but
also a good temper. Let my sister have her wish."
The chief turned to his wife. In matters of the household the Indian
woman generally has her will.
"Let the child come and serve Sweet Grass," said the squaw who had a
noble face and must once have been as beautiful as her daughter.
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