"Me no hurt white folks; me bunkum Indian."
"Well, what's your name, then? What do they call you?"
No answer, but a shake of the head.
"I reckon they call you John, don't they?"
Here the boy's mother appeared at the door.
"His name no John! Eshy-ishy-oshy-neeshy-George-Wampum-Shoony-Katoo! short name, speak um quick!—Jaw-awn. Great long name!" drawled she, stretching it out as if it were made of India rubber, and scowling with an air of disgust.
"What does she mean by calling 'John' long?" thought Horace.
The woman wore a calico dress, short enough to reveal her brown, stockingless feet and gay moccasins.
Her hair was crow-black, and strayed over her shoulders and into her eyes. Horace concluded she must have lost her back-comb.
While he was looking at her with curious eyes, her daughter came to the door, feeling a little cross at the stranger, whoever it might be; but when she saw only an innocent little boy, she smiled pleasantly, showing a row of white teeth. Horace thought her rather handsome, for she was very straight and slender, and her eyes shone like glass beads. Her hair he considered a great deal blacker than black, and it was braided and tied with gay ribbons. She was dressed in a bright, large-figured calico, and from her ears were suspended the longest, yellowest, queerest ear-rings. Horace thought they were shaped like boat-paddles, and would be pretty for Prudy to use when she rowed her little red boat in the bathing-tub. If they only "scooped" a little more they would answer for teaspoons. "Plenty big as I should want for teaspoons," he decided, after another gaze at them.