—Sioux Lullaby.
"Chinto, wéyanna! Yes, indeed; she is a real little woman," declares the old grandmother, as she receives and critically examines the tiny bit of humanity.
There is no remark as to the color of its hair or eyes, both so black as almost to be blue, but the old woman scans sharply the delicate profile of the baby face.
"Ah, she has the nose of her ancestors! Lips thin as a leaf, and eyes bright as stars in midwinter!" she exclaims, as she passes on the furry bundle to the other grandmother for her inspection.
"Tokee! she is pretty enough to win a twinkle from the evening star," remarks that smiling personage.
"And what shall her name be?
"Winona, the First-born, of course. That is hers by right of birth."
"Still, it may not fit her. One must prove herself worthy in order to retain that honorable name."
"Ugh," retorts the first grandmother, "she can at least bear it on probation!"
"Tosh, tosh," the other assents.