The corn was ripe in the field which was not far away. After the lesson she would pick an ear of corn, dry it nicely and dress it in a wee Indian blanket. She would make some beads for its neck. She would stick in two black beads for eyes. She would—
"Bah! you do not heed the lesson!"
It was Mother. And Mother was scolding. There were few times in Bah's life when she could remember Mother having been cross. Bah was at once attentive.
"I am sorry, Ma Shima (my mother)," she said, in the Navajo language. "I was dreaming of something sweet."
"It is bad medicine to dream when one is awake, Bah," said Mother. "You will never learn to weave—and a Navajo woman who cannot weave blankets is indeed a useless one."
Bah hung her head in shame. But Mother laughed.
"Do not look that way, my little one, but try now to make the little pattern which I teach you."
Bah did try. She had to rip out several rows of bad weaving caused by her dreams of her corn ear doll. But not once, until the lesson was over, did Bah think again of the doll.
The weaving lesson was at last over, and Bah ran quickly to the cornfield, where she began to look eagerly for a proper ear of corn with which to make a proper Indian doll.