So that, on that first morning of their life together, it gave the latest foster-mother a very decided shock when she directed:
“Take your bowl of suppawn and milk, and eat it here by the fire, Girl-Child,” to have the other reply, with equal decision:
“Kitty will take it to the out-doors.”
“How? The papoose must eat her breakfast here, as I command.”
“But Kitty must take it out the doors. What will the pigeons say? Come with me, Other Mother.”
Quite to her own astonishment, the proud daughter of a chief complied. Superstition had suggested to her that this white-robed little creature, with her trustful eyes and her wonderful hair, who seemed rather to float over the space to the threshold than to tread upon the earthen floor, was the re-embodied spirit of her own lost child come back to comfort her sorrow and to be a power for good in her tribe.
But if the Sun Maid were a spirit, she had many earthly qualities; and with a truly human carelessness she had no sooner stepped beyond the tent flap than she let fall her heavy bowl and spilled her breakfast. For there stood her last night’s rescuer, his arms full of flowers.
“Oh, the posies! the posies! Nice Feather-man did bring them.”
“Ugh! Black Partridge, the Truth-Teller. I have come to take my leave. Also to ask you, my sister, shall I carry away the Sun Maid to her own people? Or shall she abide with you?”
“Take her away, my brother? Do you not guess, then, who she is?”