children were moving about; one Indian man was
scraping some birch bark at a tent door. They did not pay any attention
to the visitors.

Flora nudged Nancy. "Go along," said she.

"No, you," returned Nancy, pushing Flora.

"I don't dare to."

They stood hesitating. Finally Nancy gave her head a jerk. "I don't
care; I'm going, if you ain't," said she, and forward she went. Flora
followed.

The tents were arranged like houses on a street, with the open doors
fronting each other. In each tent was a counter loaded with baskets and
little birch-bark canoes, and an Indian woman sat behind it to sell
them.

The girls went from one tent to another and stared about them. Besides
the baskets and canoes, there were sea-gulls' wings and little fur
slippers and pouches. They saw everything. The Indian women offered to
sell, but they shook their heads shyly and soberly.

Finally they went into the tent where the Princess kept store. She was a
large stout woman and a real Indian Princess. Under the counter a little
Indian baby, fast asleep, was swinging in a tiny hammock. Nancy and
Flora nudged each other and eyed it with awe. But it was on the
Princess's counter that they saw _the_ sweet-grass basket. They both
looked at it, then at each other. It was made of sweet-grass, it was
oblong, and had a cover and long handles.

Finally Flora pointed one slim little finger at it. "How much does that
cost?" she asked the Princess.

"Fifty cent," replied the Princess.

Nancy had just eight cents at home. Flora had nothing at all. Her father
sent her money every month, and the last instalment was all spent.
Neither of them could buy the basket, and fifty cents sounded enormous,
but their faces were quite dignified and immovable. It might have been
the echo of their strange surroundings, but they acted as if they had
Indian blood themselves.

They turned about and went out of the tent; they crossed the old road
and climbed the stone-wall. Flora spoke as she picked her way across the
meadow. "Guess I'll buy that basket when my money comes next week," said
she.

Nancy said nothing; she looked gloomy. She stepped in an oozy place and
wet one foot, but she did not mind it. She thought of her eight cents,
and did an example in mental arithmetic. "Eight from fifty leaves
forty-two," she calculated. For the first time she was envious of
Flora. Everybody finds some object to grudge to another. Nancy had found
hers--the sweet-grass baske