owed his head in sadness and went away; but the
terrible truth of what he then uttered all the world now knows.

Meanwhile, in the almost empty village among the cottonwoods, the Sun
Maid played and laughed and chattered as she had always done in her
old home at the Fort. And all day, those wiser women like Wahneenah,
who had refrained from following their tribe to the distant camp,
watched and attended the child in admiring awe.

By nightfall the Sun Maid had been loaded with gifts. Lahnowenah, wife
of the avaricious Shut-Hand but herself surnamed the Giver, came
earliest of all, with a necklace of bears' claws and curious shells
which had come from the Pacific slope, none knew how many years
before.

The Sun Maid received the gift with delight and her usual exclamation
of "Nice!" but when the donor attempted to clasp the trinket about the
fair little throat she was met by a decided: "No, no, no!"

"Girl-Child! All gifts are worthy, but this woman has given her best,"
corrected Wahneenah, with some sternness. This baby might be a spirit,
in truth, but it was the spirit of her own child and she must still
hold it under authority.

At sound of the altered tones, Kitty looked up swiftly and her lip
quivered. Then she replied with equal decision:

"Other Mother must not speak to me like that. Kitty is not bad. It is
a pretty, pretty thing, but it is dirty. It must have its faces
washed. Then I will wear it and love it all my life."

An Indian girl would have been punished for such frankness, but
Lahnowenah showed no resentment. Beneath her outward manner lay a
deeper meaning. To her the necklace was a talisman. From generations
long dead it had come down to her, and always as a life-saver. Whoever
wore it could never be harmed "by hatchet or arrow, nor by fire or
flood." Yet that very morning had her own brother, the Man-Who-Kills,
assured her that the child's life was a doomed one, and she had more
faith in his threats than had his neighbors in their village. She knew
that the one thing he respected was this heirloom, and that he would
not dare injure anybody who wore it. The Sun Maid was, undoubtedly,
under the guardianship of higher powers than a poor squaw's, yet it
could harm nobody to take all precautions.

So, with a grim smile, the donor carried her gift to the near-by brook
and held it for a few moments beneath the sluggish water; then she
returned to the wigwam and again proffered it to the foundling.