"Not sisters?" asked and answered the old woman, to Judith and Jane.
"No, but very good friends," Mr. Allen replied with a ring in his voice that Jane and her chum fully appreciated.
The old woman now took her place on a queer high stool. On a three-legged table just beneath this stool was a big Mexican earthen bowl. Carefully she took a cover off the rather pretty jar, and then opened what looked like a snuff box. This she squinted into with a show of importance and concern.
"For the ladies' good health I will ask Teekawata to make promise," she began. Then she lifted the snuff box above her head and muttered some unintelligible wail.
Judith had grasped Jane's hand. The scene was getting weird and a return of the storm, a sort of backfire, made the whole thing seem uncanny.
"Experience," whispered Jane. "Gives us material for school work."
"Yes, but it is creepy," answered back Judith. "I wish the storm would blow over."
The old woman continued to mumble and make cabalistic passes with the snuff box. Finally she took a match and dropped some powder from the box into the bowl, struck the match on the side of her stool and put the flame to the powder. Soon a slim string of smoke climbed out from the edge of the jar.
Mr. Allen's face wore so broad a smile that, if the girls had thought of attaching any significance to the performance, this would have dissipated it.
"Teekawata, come!" called the Indian.