At last she composed another letter:
Hawk. My friend. I not hearing from you. If you are sick you don’t write. My heart is now very sad. May be you die by this time. Long time I am here waiting. Listening for your words I am standing each day. No one my loving but you. Come home you get away quick, for I all time waiting.
Nistina.
After she had mailed this Nistina suddenly lost all interest in her studies, and went back to the lodge of her father. In her heart she said: “If he does not answer me I will go out on the hill and cry till I die. I do not care to live if he is not coming to me.”
She took her place in her father’s lodge as before, giving no explanation of her going nor the reason for her return. The kindly old chief smoked and gazed upon her sadly, and at last said, gently:
“My daughter, you are sad and silent. Once you laughed and sang at your sewing. What has happened to you? My child has a dark face.”
“I am older. I am no longer a child,” she said, unsmilingly.
And at last, in the middle of the third winter, when the white people were giving presents to each other, a letter and a little package came for Nistina, and Macosa came running with them.
“Here is your talking leaf,” she said. “Now I think you will laugh once more. Read it, for I am very curious.”