At last,
at last, he was to set foot in the country of his dreams--the far,
blue, mountain-circled mainland.
All that week his mother worked day and night on a fine new native
costume for him to wear on the great occasion. There were trousers of
buckskin fringed down each side, a shirt of buckskin, beaded and
beautified by shell ornaments, a necklace of the bones of a rare fish,
strung together like little beads on deer sinew, earrings of pink and
green pearl from the inner part of the shells of a bivalve, neat
moccasins, and solid silver, carven bracelets.
She was working on a headdress consisting of a single red fox-tail and
eagle feathers, when he came and stood beside her.
"Mama," he said, "there is a prairie wolf skin you cover the babies with
while they sleep. Would you let me have it this once, if they would not
be cold without it?"
"They will never be cold," she smiled, "for I can use an extra blanket
over them. I only use it because I started to when you were the only
baby I had, and it was your name, so I covered you with it at night.
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