Timid Hare | Page 7

she may already be impatient."
The Stone did not know that Sweet Grass had ever seen Timid Hare,
nor that she had begged her father for the child's life.
The little girl was glad to go. She had thought many times of the chief's
daughter, and of her kind face and gentle voice. Whenever she had
gone near Bent Horn's tepee she had been on the lookout for Sweet
Grass, but she had not been able to get a glimpse of her.
As Timid Hare trudged along with her load she thought of that dreadful
night after her capture. "I think I would have died of fright but for the
sight of the chief's beautiful daughter," she said to herself. "But after
she spoke, my heart did not beat so hard."
Now, however, as she neared the chief's lodge, she began to breathe
more quickly. The chief had such power! The Stone said ugly words to
her and did not give her enough to eat; sometimes she beat her; but she
would not do her terrible harm because the chief had given the order:
Care for the child. Suppose he should change his mind!
Trembling, Timid Hare stopped in front of the lodge.
"Come in. I am waiting for you," called a sweet voice, for Sweet Grass,
looking up from her work, had caught a glimpse of the little girl
standing outside with her bundle.
Timid Hare's heart leaped for joy. It was so good to have some one
speak kindly to her once more. And the young girl who had spoken was
so lovely to look upon! Her eyes shone like stars. Her long hair was
bound with a coronet made out of pretty shells. Her robe of deer skin
was trimmed with long fringe. Her moccasins, cut differently from

those of the Mandans, were bound into shape with ribbons made of
rabbit skin. Around her neck were many chains that made pleasant
music as they jingled against each other.
While Timid Hare was peeping out of the corners of her eyes at this
beautiful sight. Sweet Grass was in her turn examining the little
captive.
"You are--changed," she said slowly. "What has The Stone been doing?
Ugh! I see. She has tried to make a Dahcota out of you. Well, it may be
well, and yet, I think I liked you better as you were before."
"Lay the rushes here, beside me," she continued. "And now, little
Timid Hare, tell me about The Stone. Is she good to you? And Black
Bull--does he treat you well?"
Sweet Grass was tender as a sister as she asked these questions and
many others. And Timid Hare's tongue slowly became brave. She told
of the hard work which The Stone made her do. She showed scars on
her hands which the work had left. And--yes--there were also scars on
the little back from the cruel touch of The Stone's switch.
But Black Bull--poor Black Bull! The child spoke of him with loving
pity. "I am sorry for him," she said. "He has only his dog to make him
happy."
"Would you like to live with me?" asked Sweet Grass, when the story
was finished.
"Oh-h!" The little girl drew a long sigh of wonder and delight. If only it
were possible!
"We will see. I will talk to my father by-and-by. And now you must run
home. Good-by." The young girl bent over her work and Timid Hare
ran swiftly out of the lodge and back to The Stone who was angrily
waiting.
"You must have stopped on the way, you good-for-nothing. Sweet

Grass could not have kept you all this time," she scolded.
The little girl made no answer.
"Hm! has the child won the heart of the chief's daughter?" she muttered.
"And next it would be the chief himself. That must not be. Moreover,
no bear meat was sent me. Ugh!"

THE MISCHIEF MAKER
That afternoon the sun shone brightly. It was a beautiful day of the late
Indian summer. Sweet Grass, taking the mat she was weaving, left the
lodge and sought a pleasant spot near the spring to go on with her
work.
The Stone had been skulking about near the chief's lodge for several
hours. She wanted to catch Sweet Grass alone and yet as if she had
come upon her by accident.
She stealthily watched the young girl as she made her way to the spring,
but did not appear before her for some time. When she did, she held
some fine rushes in her hands.
"I have just found more. You will like them, Sweet Grass," she said,
trying to make her harsh voice as soft as possible.
The chief's daughter had never liked The Stone; and now, after hearing
Timid Hare's story, it was