Partly to close out the moonlight, which was now shining faintly inside
her tent, and partly to shut her ears to the voices and laughter of her
friends, Betty turned over on her balsam pillow with her face to the
tent side, and there covering up her head lay perfectly still, so still
that she would not even put her handkerchief to her eyes, although for
some reason or other they were uncomfortably moist.
Fifteen minutes passed and there was no noise of a returning footfall,
but presently there was a faint, sweet odor in the lodge and Betty heard
a low call such as a boy would make on a wild reed whistle.
She did not stir, so the sound was repeated more shrilly, and by and by
a pair of hands forcibly pulled the blankets down from her face.
There stood Polly in her Indian costume with her intense love for the
dramatic shining in her eager face and holding above Betty's head two
perforated sticks, one painted blue to represent the sky, the other
green to represent the earth, and both of them decorated in tiny
feathers of birds and a pair of wing-like pendants.
"Betty," Polly asked quietly, "do you remember the names of these two
Indian treasures and how hard we have worked to make them as like the
originals as we could?"
"Of course, they are the calumets you are to use in the Council Fire
ceremony to-night.
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