"Down to—the Injuns."
"What for? What are you holding behind you?"
Nancy did not answer.
"Bring your hand round!" commanded her mother.
Nancy slowly swung around the hand holding the sweet-grass basket.
"Did you go down to the Injuns to-day, and spend that money you earned for that basket?" asked her mother.
"Yes, ma'am."
Her mother looked at her. The tears were streaming over her hot cheeks and her scratched nose; her best hat had slipped back, and the brim was bent; there was a great green stain on the front of her best dress, and a rent on the side.
"I can never get that green off your dress in the world," said her mother. "You'll have to wear it so. Going down to the Injuns to buy baskets on Sunday, in your best dress and hat! And you went so Flora shouldn't get it. I can see right through you. Now, Nancy Mann, you just march straight back with that basket. You ain't going to do any trading on the Sabbath day while you belong to me."
"Oh, mother!" sobbed Nancy; but she had to go. Her forlorn little figure disappeared lingeringly between the garden vines and bean poles.