"WITHOUT YOU I COULDN'T HAVE WRITTEN IT."
With Billy's instructions the Chief set up the radio. It was a portable set and as soon as they attached the aerial and Billy turned the dials the sound of fine music began to float on the air.
"Alive!" shrieked Bah, turned on her heels, and fled!
Billy, still holding the unopened letter, ran after her. He found her hidden in a thicket and brought her back to her parents, who stood transfixed before the radio, which was still sending forth music.
"Don't be afraid, Bah," said Billy. "It's not this box making the noise. The music comes through the air from a big city!"
The Chief and his wife were almost as impressed as Bah, but they did not show their feelings. They could only stand and stare while Billy, holding on to Bah with one hand for fear that she would run away again, read the following letter:
"Dear Little Bah:
Your story 'The Little Indian Weaver,' written by yourself about yourself, has won the Composition Contest. The prize, a radio, we are sending you today. It was a great pleasure to receive such a charming little story from a real Indian girl. The white children who read it will, we are sure, enjoy it, and learn a great deal from you. Thank you, and we hope you will like the radio!
The Children's Magazine."
"But—but," said Bah, "I not write story!"