re's shoulder. It was
the first one the child had ever felt, and though it did not strike
hard upon the body, it fell with heavy weight upon her aching heart.

Stumbling about, she tried to do the old squaw's bidding, and the two
soon had the supper ready. The Stone now served her son on his side of
the fireplace, after which she herself began to eat her fill while
Swift Fawn sat huddled in a dark comer, hungrily watching.

"Take that," the woman said as she finished her meal, and she threw a
half-picked bone to the little girl. Then she got up, put away
whatever food was left from the supper, and began to spread out some
buffalo skins, first for her son's bed on his side of the tepee, then
on her own side for herself to sleep on.

"You can lie where you are," she told Timid Hare, pointing to the pile
of skins on which the child was crouching.

Soon afterwards The Stone and Black Bull were quietly sleeping, while
the little captive, with tears rolling down her cheeks, lay thinking of
the kind friends far away and of the dreadful things that might happen
on the morrow. All at once she remembered the baby's sock hidden in
her dress, and of White Mink's words. Perhaps--perhaps--the sock would
help her. But how? She must guard it, at any rate; not even The Stone
should discover it. Kind sleep was already drawing near. The tired
eyes no longer shed tears. Till morning should come, Timid Hare was
free from trouble.

HARD WORK

The sun, shining into the tepee through the opening over the fireplace,
roused The Stone to her day's work. She lost no time in setting a task
for her little slave. Handing her a needle carved from the bone of a
deer and thread made of a deer's sinew, she hade her sew up a rent in
the skin curtain of the doorway.

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 so