fine. They mak' me sick!
My mot'er say to me; 'You eighteen year old, Rina; w'en you go to
marry?' I say to my mot'er, 'I never marry a pig-man; I want to stay to
you.'"

Her voice changed, borrowing the soft, passionate music of the
nightingale she had never heard. "Then bam-bye w'en the spring come, an'
we pitch by Ostachegan creek, an' the crocus flowers are coming up on
Sah-ko-da-tah prairie so many as stars in the sky--then you come by our
camp, 'Erbe't; and you so poor an' sick I feel ver' bad for you! An' you
talk so pretty, and know so much, my heart him fly straight out of my
breast like a bird, 'Erbe't; an' perch on your shoulder; an' him go
everywhere you go; an' I got no heart any more. I empty lak a nest in
the snow-time!

"So you stay to us," she went on, "and I mad to see all the men mock at
you, an' treat you bad, an' mak' you eat after all have finished, and
mak' you lie outside the fire. They t'ink themself better than a white
man, hey! All the time you ask me to come away from the camp with you;
an' you t'ink I don' want to come, but you don' know. Many, many nights
I not sleep, 'Erbe't. I want so bad to come to the ot'er side of the
tepee where you are, but I hold to my mot'er's blanket!"

The man looked up. "Hm! You did, eh?" he exclaimed. "If I had known!"

"But I t'ink I mos' not let you see I love you. So I mak' show I don'
care at all. An' it hurt me ver' moch in my empty breast, 'Erbe't. But
why I do it?--I want you so to marry me! an' bam-bye you marry me; an' I
so scare and happy lak I was lose my head! Four days I married now! You
not mad at me, 'Erbe't, 'cause I mak' you marry me?"

He shrugged. "What's the diff?" he said carelessly.

Rina dared to let her arm creep around his shoulders. "But bam-bye you
ver' glad you marry me," she whispered. "For I mak' me ver' nice! I
white woman now. I go no more to the breeds. I spik only Engliss now; we
will sit in chairs and eat pretty with knives and forks; and always say
good morning and good night, lak white people. 'Erbe't, you will teach
me all the ways of white people, lak they do outside? I want so bad to
be ver' nice, jus' lak white woman!"

"Sure!" said Mabyn vaguely.

Rina was silent for a while. "'Erbe't," she said at last, "you never
tell me about your folks; about your house where you live outside.
Please tell me."

He muttered, and writhed uncomfortably on the bench. "What's the use of
bringing that up?" he said at last. "Yo