“There was once a chief who had three daughters,” began Rosey, promptly, “and the youngest daughter was much the prettiest, so that all the young men wanted to marry her. After all, she married the Turtle, who was very lazy, and lounged about the camp-fire while the others fished and hunted. They all hated him because he had won the handsomest girl in the village, and yet did nothing to keep her. One day, they caught him out of sight of home, and at once told him that they had decided to build a big fire, and roast him alive.
“‘Ah, that is what I like!’ boasted the Turtle. ‘You can’t get it too warm to suit me.’
“Then some one suggested that they had better drown him instead, and the Turtle appeared to be much worried. He cried and begged for mercy, but they seized hold of him in spite of his struggles, and threw him into the lake near by.
“‘Ha, ha! now I am at home!’ exclaimed the Turtle, and he dived down into the cool water and left them all gaping and angrier than ever.”
After everybody had laughed at the expense of the disappointed suitors, Cynthia began the story of Lox, the mischief-maker, who one day uprooted a wild plum-tree and set it on his head, so that he scattered ripe fruit as he walked.
“Pretty soon,” related Sin, “he met two fun-loving girls, who begged that they too might be allowed to wear such charming and surprising head-dresses.
“So Lox planted on each of their heads a small plum-tree, by his magic power fastening the roots firmly in their long black hair. The girls went home very proud and pleased, and soon found themselves the talk of the village.
“After a while they grew tired of being pointed at, as well as of carrying the plum-trees on their heads, and each tried to pull the other’s tree out by the roots. They pulled and pulled with all their might, and at last they got them out; but, because all their beautiful hair was pulled out too, the girls cried bitterly, and wished they had not been so foolish.”
So it went all round the ring; and when it came the turn of their hostess, she could scarcely speak for surprise and pleasure in the pretty compliment to her well-loved people. After she had capped the climax with one of her best Dakota tales,[1] they were all delighted to hear the sound of a rustic, rollicking dance-tune played on the old fiddle by Uncle Si himself, who had certainly entered into the spirit of the occasion with all the zest of a boy.