“‘You are a good player,’ said Waida Dikit, ‘but I know a better one. He is Kanhlalas, the Weasel that lives down there in the field. I will send for him.’
“In a little while Kanhlalas came, bringing his own flute. When he was comfortably seated in the middle of the wigwam, Waida Dikit said to him: ‘Saroki Sakahl thinks he is a fine player. If you play he will know what a good player really is.’
“Kanhlalas took his flute, swelled out his chest, and began playing. He played all day and all night without stopping. By morning he was so out of breath that there appeared a white stripe down the middle of his breast. He merely swelled out his chest a little more and went on playing. Waida Dikit and Saroki Sakahl became frightened.
“‘Stop!’ cried both of them. ‘Something will happen. We know that you are the best player now.’
“But Kanhlalas would not listen nor would he stop playing. He only played harder and harder. By the end of the third day his breath was entirely gone and he had to stop. But it was too late!
“His whole breast was white as snow and from that day to this every weasel has had a white breast.”
As Mrs. Remington concluded the story the campers signified their disapproval of such a short tale by demanding another, but Dr. Baker declared it was time they started for home.
“But do wait and let us have one dance to pay Mrs. Remington for the story,” cried Nita, springing up ever ready to perform.
“Girls, show our visitors the dance-song of ‘Summertime,’” suggested the Guide.
The Band then performed the song to graceful steps and motions and the audience loudly applauded when it was finished.