Flora had always
regarded them as the very commonest kind of weeds.

They were quite near home, when Nancy climbed swiftly over the
stone-wall and lay down behind it. Flora went on without turning her
head. Nancy had spoken so shortly to her that her feelings were hurt.
When she went into the house her aunt asked where Nancy was.

"She's coming," said Flora. "She stopped to pick flowers."

But it was a half-hour before Nancy came. Running as fast as she could
over the meadows, it took some time to reach the Indian encampment and
return. When she finally approached the house, her mother stood in the
doorway, watching. She did not say a word until she came close to her.

"Where have you been?" she inquired.

Nancy hung her head, and was still. She kept one hand behind her.

"Answer me this minute."

"Down to--the Injuns."

"What for? What are you holding behind you?"

Nancy did not answer.

"Bring your hand round!" commanded her mother.

Nancy slowly swung around the hand holding the sweet-grass basket.

"Did you go down to the Injuns to-day, and spend that money you earned
for that basket?" asked her mother.

"Yes, ma'am."

Her mother looked at her. The tears were streaming over her hot cheeks
and her scratched nose; her best hat had slipped back, and the brim was
bent; there was a great green stain on the front of her best dress, and
a rent on the side.

"I can never get that green off your dress in the world," said her
mother. "You'll have to wear it so. Going down to the Injuns to buy
baskets on Sunday, in your best dress and hat! And you went so Flora
shouldn't get it. I can see right through you. Now, Nancy Mann, you just
march straight back with that basket. You ain't going to do any trading
on the Sabbath day while you belong to me."

"Oh, mother!" sobbed Nancy; but she had to go. Her forlorn little figure
disappeared lingeringly between the garden vines and bean poles.

"Hold your dress back," called her mother. "Don't you spoil it any more
than you've done already."

To Nancy, looking through a mist of tears, the green-clad bean poles
seemed dancing forward and the tomato vines creeping to meet her.
Crossing the meadow she wet her feet in her best shoes. But all this was
nothing. That stout Indian Princess displayed suddenly a sense of humor
and a witty shrewdness which seemed abnormal. Her stolid eyes twinkled
under their heavy brows when Nancy explained, tremblingly, how she had
brought