“Indian live in wigwam.”
“Then why don’t you live in a wigwam?”
“My wigwam far away—over there,” and he pointed to the north.
“Where will you sleep to-night?”
“Under tree.”
“Then you must take me home, I can’t sleep under a tree. I would catch my death of cold. So mamma says.”
“Must stay. Get used to it. Indian make bed of leaves for pickaninny.”
“I don’t want to sleep on leaves. I want to sleep in my little bed at home.”{173}
“Come,” said John; and he dragged the child forward.
“Where are you taking me? Oh, carry me home!” pleaded Carrie.