"I follow you for cause I want talk," said Bela indignantly. "I think maybe you got sense. If you not want talk to me, all right; I go away again. You ain't got sense, I think. Get mad for not'ing."
Sam was a little ashamed.
"Well—I'm sorry," he muttered. "What did you want to talk about?"
She did not immediately answer. Coming closer, she dropped to her knees on the little hummock of dry earth.
"I show you how to skin him, if you want," she suggested, pointing to the other muskrat.
Sam swallowed his pride. "All right, go head," he replied.
Cutting off the paws of the little animal and making an incision over his broadest end, she deftly rolled back the skin, and drew it off inside out over his head like a glove.
Then cutting a willow stem beside her, she transformed it with two half cuts into a little spring-frame, over which she drew the late muskrat's over-coat. The whole operation did not consume five minutes.
"Easy enough when you know how," admitted Sam sheepishly.
"Hang it up to dry," she said, handing it over.