"Musq'oosis," she corrected. "That name mean little bear. He is my friend. He friend to my fat'er, too. He is little. Got crooked back. Know everything."
"Where do you live, Bela?" he asked.
"Over the lake by Hah-wah-sepi," she answered readily. On second thought, she corrected the statement. "No; before I am live there. My mot'er live there. Now I live where I am. Got no home. Got no people."
"But if your mother lives there, that's your home, isn't it?" said Sam the respectable.
Bela shrugged. "She got stay wit' her 'osban'," she replied. "He no good. He w'at you call 'obo!"
"What did you leave for?" asked Sam.
She frowned at the difficulty of explaining this in English. "Those people are poor an' foolish, an' dirty people," she said. "They not lak me ver' moch. I not lak them ver' moch. Only my mot'er. But I am live there before for 'cause I not know not'ing. Well, one day I hit my fat'er wit' a stick—no, hit my mot'er's 'osban' wit' a stick. So my mot'er tell me my fat'er a white man. Her fat'er white man, too. So I mos' white. So I go 'way from those people."
"But you've got to have some home—somebody to live with!" said Sam anxiously.
She glanced at him through her lashes. She shrugged. "Musq'oosis tell me what to do," she said simply. "He is my friend."
Sam in his concern for her situation forgot himself.