The poppies were still asleep. Docas tried to poke some of them open, but they closed tightly again. He pulled some of the little green caps off the buds, but the little golden buds refused to open.
“They want the sun to drive away the mist before they wake up. Everything is sleepy this morning except mother. I think I’m sleepy myself.” With that he fell asleep among the poppies, with the tall grasses nodding over him. After a little Ama came over that way, brushing the grass tops as she came. Suddenly she stumbled and looked down.
“Why! There’s a child! It’s my own little Docas!” she exclaimed.
Docas rubbed his eyes and looked at her. Then he rolled out of her way and jumped up.
By that time the basket was full of seeds, so they started back to the rancheria. Ama slung the deep basket on her back, carrying it by a strap across her forehead.
“I can carry the new basket,” said Docas.
After they came to the rancheria, Ama made the grass-seed into bread for breakfast.
DOCAS’S NEW SKIRT
MASSEA and some of the other Indian men went out to hunt deer. Docas ran to meet them as they came home.
“How many did you get? One, two, three, four, five, six,” he said, counting the deer.