“Wake up, Heema! Come and get some big sticks for the fire.”
Heema rolled off the mat of tule reeds on which he had been sleeping, rubbed his eyes, and said, “I’m ready, Docas.”
Heema did not have to spend time dressing. All the Indian children ever wore was a little skirt made of rabbit-skin or deer-skin.
In a minute more Heema had piled some large sticks on the fire. Then it blazed up brightly.
“It’s foggy, and I’m cold,” said Docas. “Sit down by the fire with me and get warm.”
Docas and Heema were California Indians. They lived in an Indian rancheria, or village, near San Francisco Bay. Their father, whose name was Massea, was chief of the rancheria.
Docas was seven years old, while Heema was six. Alachu, one of their sisters, was three. Umwa was the other sister. She was so tiny that she had to be carried in a basket on her mother’s back.
DOCAS AT BREAKFAST
“PUT the stones into the fire, boys, so that they will be hot when the acorns are ground,” said Ama.
Docas pulled toward the fire five large stones that were lying near.