“Ho!” exclaimed the Indian, with a look of surprise in spite of himself, “how do you know?”
“I didn’t know. I only guessed; but your question shows me I’m right. Any more?”
“Yes, two more, but bigger.”
“Of course bigger, for it’s not likely they were all born at the same time,” returned Mowat, with a grin.
“What iss this man wantin’, Tonal’? I can’t make him out at all,” asked MacSweenie.
It was found that Nazinred had been pointing with eager pertinacity at something lying on one of the shelves which had caught his eye, but the name of which he did not know.
“Oh! I see,” added the trader, “it iss a cocktail feather you want.”
“Yes, for my daughter,” exclaimed the Indian as he received the feather and regarded it with some uncertainty—as well he might, for the feather in question was a thing of brilliant scarlet made up of many feathers,—rigid and over a foot in height.
“It’s not a good plaything for a child,” remarked Mowat.
“My daughter is not a child—she is a woman.”