“Mine is getting smaller, right away, now!” cried Warren.
“Mine too!” echoed Lester.
Brush gave us a look of disgust, and said, “Boys, I think you are the biggest fools I ever saw—rubbing out clouds, the idea!”
But we rubbed away, and paid no attention to the contemptuous glances our friend gave us. My hands began to come down lower and lower; and then I felt myself rising from the ground, higher and higher I went, just like a big bird, and suddenly landed on a heavy black cloud. I looked down; there were the boys still rubbing away, and Brush still carving. I could see the winding river far below and the birds flitting about. I wondered what it all meant. I felt the cloud moving away with me; the boys were growing smaller and smaller, and I noticed that I was passing over the Indian village. Where is the cloud going with me, and will it ever stop? I heard a sound that seemed familiar to me—is it a bell? Could there be bells in the cloud? I asked myself.
“Wake up, you fools! Supper-bell has rung! Rubbing out clouds, were you!” said Brush, in derisive tones.
Warren sat up, blinking his eyes, and asked, “Where are we?”
That night, when the boys had settled down in their beds and Graybeard had gone downstairs, Edwin asked, “Boys, where’ve you been this afternoon? You came to supper late; Graybeard looked hard at you.”
“We’ve been up the hill,” I answered; “I told the boys to hurry along and leave me; but they wouldn’t.”
“Who was that Indian woman talking to you before dinnertime?”
“That was my aunt; she saw me when she was going by, and she made me sit down and she looked at my foot. She took a great big splinter out of my toe. My! it hurt.”
“You’re going to get well now. Why didn’t you put that splinter in some buffalo hair, then ’t would’ve turned into a baby.”
“Nonsense!” said Brush, “who ever heard of such a thing.”
“There’s a story like that,” replied Edwin.
“Tell that story! tell that story!” cried the boys in chorus.
“But you don’t listen; you go to sleep, or you ask fool questions and stop me.”
“We won’t stop you; we’re going to lie awake.”
“All right. I’ll tell you that story. Say ‘ong!’ pretty soon, then I’ll know you’re awake.”
We all snuggled down, then in chorus cried, “Ong!” and Edwin began:
“ ’Way long time ago, four brothers lived on earth. Good hunters, they shoot straight, kill deer, buffalo, elk, and all kinds of animals. They got plenty of meat and skins. One night, the youngest man came home very lame; his foot was all swelled up; he had to use his bow for a cane, and he was groaning, groaning all the time. He lay down and was real sick, one, two, three days. The other men, they went hunting. When they were gone, the youngest man got up, took his knife, cut open his toe, and took out a big thorn, a great big—”
Whack! whack! whack! Quick as a flash the boys put their feet against the footboard and pulled the bedclothes taut so that the rest of the blows fell harmless upon us. We had been surprised by Graybeard. Edwin, in his earnestness, and in his belief that a foreign language can be better understood when spoken loudly, had been shouting his story in a voice that reached Graybeard and woke him up. After warning us against loud talking, the old man went downstairs as stealthily as he had come.
“Well, boys,” said Brush, “that came like a cyclone, didn’t it?”
We all agreed that it did.
“Frank, did he hurt your foot?” asked Warren.
“No, the boys kept the quilt up, so he couldn’t hit me.”
“What did I say last?” asked Edwin.
“You said,” I reminded him, “that he cut open his toe and took out a big thorn.”
“Oh, yes,” he continued; “he took out a big thorn, a great big thorn. He wanted to show it to his brothers, so he pulled out some buffalo hair from his robe and put the thorn inside and laid it away, way back in the middle of the tent. Then he went after some water to wash his foot. When he was coming back, he heard something crying like everything; not like raccoon, not like any kind of bird or animal, something different. He stood still and listened; it sounded like coming from inside the tent! So he went slow, easy, and looked in the tent; there was something moving and crying loud. Then the young man went inside the tent, and he saw a baby, a little girl baby, and no thorn. He knew that thorn had turned into a girl baby, crying like everything. The young man was very glad; he danced on his one well foot; he took up the girl baby in his big arms and moved like a tree when the wind blows, and he sang soft, and the girl baby shut her eyes and went to sleep, e‑a‑s‑y—just like you!”
“No! We ain’t asleep. Go on.”
“Well, those big brothers came home, and they were all very glad. They took the girl baby all round. Then the oldest brother, he said, ‘She is going to be our sister. I wish she would grow right up and run round the tent.’ Then he lifted her four times, and the girl baby grew quick, and ran round the tent, talking. Then another brother, he said, ‘I wish my sister would grow up and get big enough to go after water.’ Then he lifted the little girl four times, and she got big enough to go after water. Then the next one, he said, ‘I wish my sister would grow big enough to make moccasins and cook and make lots of things.’ Then he lifted her four times, and the girl grew right up and knew how to make lots of things. Then the youngest man, he said, ‘I wish my sister grown up
