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 not easy to act friendly.

"For the child's sake, I must not show my dislike," she thought
quickly. So she smiled, and looking at the rushes, said, "These are
good, very good. I can use them for my mat."

She turned to her work while The Stone stood silent, watching her.
Then, suddenly, the old squaw bent over her and said, "Sweet Grass,
listen to me. I sent the child of the Mandans to you this morning.
She is bad--lazy--very lazy. Your father gave her into my keeping and
I will train her, though it is hard. No one else would be patient with
her wicked, lying ways. No one!"

The Stone stopped as suddenly as she had begun. She hoped that she had
succeeded in making Sweet Grass believe that the little captive was as
bad as she had said.

"Why do you talk? I do not care to listen to you," said the young
girl, looking up into the ugly face bending over her. 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