"Well, let's go," said Lily, "and I'll just touch one of those papooses with my own hand if I get near enough. I think they are just dolls. No real, live baby would stay quiet tied on a board and fastened up all in a bunch to its mother's back. They do wink their eyes, that's certain; but I can make my Rosy wink her eyes, too, only I have to pull a wire to get her to shut them."
So off started Lily with her papa, and soon they came to an open space, in the center of which was a great pile of blankets, clothing, bacon, flour, corn, coffee, sugar, tobacco and many other things which good Uncle Sam gives once a year to his "wards," the Indians. Around this pile of things sat a large circle of Indians, men, women and children. The men were, as a general rule, well dressed in tight leggins, with strips of gay bead embroidery down the sides; deerskin or calico shirts fringed with tiny bells and tassels of colored worsted and bright feathers in their scalp locks. The women wore flannel pantaloons and a single calico slip, and a blanket drawn over their heads.
Many of these wild people had never seen a little white girl before. They gazed at Lily's fair skin and long bright hair with great interest. One old man wrapped in a buffalo robe advanced waving his covering like some immense bird flapping its wings. When he got near Lily he stood still, saying:
"Washta papoose! Washta papoose!" (Pretty child! Pretty child!) and held out his hand, saying: "Howe-howe?" (How do you do?)
And now Lily found a good opportunity to decide whether the funny little objects on the Indian women's backs were dolls or "really babies."
While the Indian agent and his clerks were busily distributing the "annuities," giving to the chief of each band the allowance for himself and his family, Lily went up very close to the squaw who had a black-eyed bundle tied upon her back, and stood for several minutes absorbed in contemplation.
"Is that a real, live baby, ma'am, or a doll you keep for your little girl?" asked Lily very politely.
The squaw, of course, did not understand a word she said, and only responded: "Ugh! Howe! Washta papoose!" as a general expression of her good will. So Lily presently put out her hand very softly and touched the bundle.
What a scream! Even the dignified chiefs turned their plumed heads to find out what the cause of the noise could be.
There was the papoose shrieking on its mother's back, proving most positively its claim to be considered a "real, live baby," and there was a drop of bright red blood on its little brown arm. Lily had stuck a pin in the Indian baby to find out if it was alive or not.