I straightened out the benches and desks that we had knocked over, and then sat down to cool off. When I had rested, I called to the round-headed little chap who stood trembling in the corner holding up his trousers, for in his attempts to escape he had lost the buttons to his pants, "What did you do to that boy; what did he want to hit you for?"
"I didn't do nothin'," he answered, hitching up his garments as he came toward me.
"What's your name?"
"Robert Brown."
"Where you live?"
"In your village, in that little house near Ou-ni-ja-bi's."
"That's Ne-ma-ha's house."
"Yes, that's my father."
And so it was the son of that man for whom I was all bruised up.