"Bad baby! Bad baby!" said White Cloud. "Next time I'll tie you tighter!"
Flying Squirrel brought out an armful of dolls, and the children went to the bushes to cut long straight sticks. They soon found enough poles for their dolls' wigwams. Each child set up her sticks in a circle, bringing them together at the top.
"Now we'll hunt birch bark," said Flying Squirrel. "My father has made me a new knife."
Soon the small lodges were covered with long strips of bark and the floors sprinkled with cedar twigs.
"I wish we had skin covers for our dolls' wigwams," said White Cloud.
Flying Squirrel looked at the even strips of bark that were well placed around her frame of slender poles. "Lots of people have bark covers," she replied. "My father has seen whole villages of bark-covered lodges."
"When the peace pipe was smoked over west, my father was there," said White Cloud. "Now we can get big skins in trade, and sometime we'll have ponies. Have you ever seen a pony, Flying Squirrel?"
"No; but my father saw white men when he went north in the moon of snow to trade furs. He says the tribes west will come and fight us again for our rice beds. Let's play a war is coming and move our camp. Where are your dolls, White Cloud?"
"I couldn't bring them, for I had my puppy baby. You have dolls enough for both of us."
Flying Squirrel gave her playmate two of the queerest-looking dolls you ever saw. They were rolls of deerskin with faces painted in black on the ends.