“I think I will give my twenty-five cents, after all,” she said, after a moment’s silence, “and let my doll go without a fur cape; there is a lovely fur cape for sale at the doll store for twenty-five cents, and I meant to have it; but I believe I won’t.”
“You want to match Nell’s ‘wubber dollie,’” said Mabel, with a good-natured laugh; “but I don’t believe you can.”
TEWEELEMA.
SOME summer day you may be in Saratoga, N. Y. Among other sights you may see Indian encampments. Thither they come to sell their curious manufactures—bows, arrows, bead bags and many other queer things.
The squaws (women) will be among them, dressed as Indian women have always dressed, but hardly so well as “Teweelema.”
If you wish to see her you can now find her on her goodly farm near Lakeville, Mass., or traveling among the neighboring villages selling her wares—moccasins, necklaces of shells and beads, etc. She can chop a tree down or spade up the ground, and do almost any man’s work. She and her sister manage the farm. Her name is Wootonekanuske.
At Oneida, N. Y., you may always see a few Indian women on the cars or at the station, looking something like Teweelema.
But in a few more years there may not be any Indians left east of the Mississippi River. The Gospel is now among them, and maybe you will never again read of so fierce a warrior as Sitting-Bull or King Philip, Teweelema’s great, great, greatest grandfather.