And so little Snow-flower awoke from her swoon to a new and wonderful life. It almost seemed in later years, as she looked back to that time, that she had entered another world; for she found love, riches, education, all awaiting her.
Once or twice since, in lonely walks, she has found the Ghost flower; and always then appears the vague, misty outline of her Indian mother.
A few days ago, her little son (for she is a woman and a mother now) came into the house crying, “Mother, I saw a white blackbird. It was with a great flock of black ones; it was just like them, only it was white.”
She hurried out of the house hoping to find the spirit-bird; but it had visited her, found her happy, and hastened back to the spirit land.
II.
THE LITTLE YELLOW MOCCASINS.
A clear river goes winding down, past green and shaded banks, through the beautiful state of Iowa. It is named the Cedar, although the Oak, or the Maple, or a dozen other names would be more appropriate, for the Cedar is seldom found among the abundant trees that grow beside it.
Years ago, the Indians dwelt on its banks. They led an idyllic life: the men fished in the blue waters, or hunted and trapped in the woods; the women planted the small clearings with corn. These corn-fields may still be seen, covered with little hillocks resembling in size and shape those seen in a prairie-dog village; the corn was planted in these mounds, instead of in rows, as with us.
Here the women worked and gossiped,—the babies in their cradles, strapped to their mothers’ backs, or propped up against the trunks of trees, and staring with round black eyes at the new and strange scenes around them.
Among the women was one pretty young mother, who watched, as she worked, her little son in his cradle. She talked or sang to him as she passed him by. She named him “Little Bravo,” “Little Hunter.” She told him that she was growing very old now; that he must step out of his cradle and take care of her. Then she would laugh, showing her white teeth, and the baby would wag his head from side to side, and laugh in sympathy, revealing two cunning little teeth also. All the fond talk that a white mother lavishes on her baby was told over by this Indian mother; for mothers are alike in their love, whatever their color may be.