raised her head and uttered a shrill cry.

"Hee-Hee! Tenas Hee-Hee!" she muttered as well and as excitedly as her
toothless gums would permit.

Frona thrilled at the cry. Tenas Hee-Hee! Little Laughter! Her name
of the long gone Indian past! She turned and went over to the old
woman.

"And hast thou so soon forgotten, Tenas Hee-Hee?" she mumbled. "And
thine eyes so young and sharp! Not so soon does Neepoosa forget."

"It is thou, Neepoosa?" Frona cried, her tongue halting from the disuse
of years.

"Ay, it is Neepoosa," the old woman replied, drawing her inside the
tent, and despatching a boy, hot-footed, on some errand. They sat down
together on the floor, and she patted Frona's hand lovingly, peering,
meanwhile, blear-eyed and misty, into her face. "Ay, it is Neepoosa,
grown old quickly after the manner of our women. Neepoosa, who dandled
thee in her arms when thou wast a child. Neepoosa, who gave thee thy
name, Tenas Hee-Hee. Who fought for thee with Death when thou wast
ailing; and gathered growing things from the woods and grasses of the
earth and made of them tea, and gave thee to drink. But I mark little
change, for I knew thee at once. It was thy very shadow on the ground
that made me lift my head. A little change, mayhap. Tall thou art,
and like a slender willow in thy grace, and the sun has kissed thy
cheeks more lightly of the years; but there is the old hair, flying
wild and of the color of the brown seaweed floating on the tide, and
the mouth, quick to laugh and loth to cry. And the eyes are as clear