Shawondasee heaved a mighty sigh as he spoke—a sigh that stirred all the winds of the South Land—and behold! the air was filled with the silvery white locks of the Dandelion maiden.
“DAY AFTER DAY ... SHE STOOD AND WAITED FOR HIS COMING”
Far and wide they floated, and wherever one fell, there a new flower sprang up, and it was called the Dandelion.
The old grandmother had finished her story and her moccasin at the same time.
“And so Shawondasee never married the Dandelion maiden?” questioned Leelinau.
“No,” answered the grandmother. “He was far too fat and lazy to win a maiden of spirit. But then,” she added, “it was no great loss to either. No Indian of good sense would wed a maiden with yellow hair.”