“’Peboan, you are the winter manitou, and the Great Spirit calls you! Now go!’ As Seguin said these words she gently waved her wand over the old man’s head as it sank between his shoulders.
“The winter manitou made no reply, but drew his furs closer about his shivering form, and then, as he heard the song of the spring birds, and the rustling of the leaves in the sunshine, he sank to the ground.
“As a ray of the warm sun filtered through the top of the tepee and fell upon the old man, who lay exhausted on the earth; Seguin again raised her wand, and the winter manitou disappeared. His furs had turned to dancing leaves; his tepee to a tall tree. Then Seguin stooped, and gathering a handful of the leaves from the tree she breathed on them—very softly—and then threw them on the earth. They immediately stood upright, each holding forth a tiny pink flower, gay with a delicate perfume.
“‘Grow and blossom,’ cried the spring maiden softly, ‘and bloom a welcome to the hearts of those who are depressed by winter’s gales, for you are a token that Peboan, the winter manitou is gone. You are the first flower that comes in the spring.’ Now what is the name of it?” ended Nathalie abruptly.
“Snowdrop!” called Helen quickly. Nathalie shook her head.
“Violet!” timidly ventured some one.
“Violet?” the Sport repeated scornfully. “Who ever heard of a pink violet? Nathalie said this flower was pink.”
Mrs. Morrow broke the sudden silence that followed the Sport’s remark by saying softly, “I think it is the arbutus!”
“That’s it!” cried Nathalie, and then to her bewilderment every one began to clap again. As the clapping continued, the girls meanwhile, watching her with sparkling eyes, Nathalie turned and whispered to the doctor, “Why, what are they clapping for?”
But before he could reply the Sport shouted, “Hurrah for the Story Lady!”