“Ophelia!” gasped the girls, when she came into the house. “What has happened? Have you been scalded?”
“I’ve been doing your old Sun Dance,” said Ophelia, painfully.
Never in all their lives had they seen such a case of sunburn. Every inch of her body was covered with blisters as big as a hand. The sun had burned right through the flimsy garment she wore. There was a pattern around her neck where the embroidery had left its trace. She screamed every time they tried to touch her. Nyoda worked quickly and deftly and the luckless sun dancer was wrapped from head to foot in soft linen bandages until she looked like a mummy.
Sahwah sought Nyoda in tribulation. “Was it my fault,” she asked, “for reading her that book? She never would have thought of it if I hadn’t given her the idea.”
“No,” answered Nyoda, “it wasn’t your fault. It said emphatically in the book that the coat of tan should be acquired gradually. You couldn’t foresee that she would stand in the sun that way. So don’t worry about it any longer.”
“Still, I feel in a measure responsible,” said Sahwah, “and I ought to be the one to take care of her. Let me sleep in the room with her to-night and get up if she wants anything.” Sahwah’s desire to help was so sincere that she insisted upon being allowed to do it, and took upon herself all the care of the sunburned Ophelia, which was no small job, for the pain from the blisters made her frightfully cross.
Nyoda was surprised to see Sahwah keeping at it with such persistent good nature and apparent success, for as a rule she was not a good one to take care of the sick; she was in too much of a hurry. She would generally spill the water when she was trying to give a drink to her patient, or fall over the rug, or drop dishes; and the effect she produced was irritating rather than soothing. But in this case she seemed to be making a desperate effort to do things correctly so she would be allowed to continue, and fetched and carried all the afternoon in obedience to Ophelia’s whims. She read her stories to while away the painful hours and when supper time came made her a wonderful egg salad in the form of a water lily, and cut sandwiches into odd shapes to beguile her into eating them. When evening came and Ophelia was restless and could not go to sleep she sang to her in her clear, high voice, songs of camp and firelight. One by one the Winnebagos drifted in and joined their voices to hers in a beautifully blended chorus.
“Gee, that’s what it must be like in heaven,” sighed the child of the streets, as she listened to them. The Winnebagos smiled tenderly and sang on until she dropped off to sleep.
Sahwah slept with one eye open listening for a call from Ophelia. She heard her stirring restlessly in the night and went over and sat beside her. “Can’t you sleep?” she asked.
“No,” complained Ophelia. “Say, will you tell me that story again?”