The Little Indian Weaver Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAPPENS

  For days Bah's chief delight was her new corn ear doll. She kept itwith her constantly. It went to bed with her, sat at meals with her,and watched the daily weaving lesson.

  But one day a terrible thing happened. She was sitting by her mother'sside outside the hogan, her little fingers flying through the stringsof her loom, and one eye watching Mother's more experienced fingers asthey made a beautiful new pattern.

  Cornelia had been carefully dressed in her blanket, her beads hungabout her neck and fondly kissed by her devoted parent, and was nowlying at Bah's feet while the little girl worked hard at her lesson.

  THE WEAVING LESSON]

  "Pull your wool tighter, Bah," said Mother, in Navajo.

  Bah's fingers and tongue worked together. Children's tongues have ahabit of moving with whatever else is in motion.

  And as Bah worked, some sheep came wandering in from the field. Theywere tame sheep and often nosed about the hogan for a bit of humancompany or food, as the case might be, and this morning I fear thereason was food.

  Father sheep was very large and therefore hungrier than the rest. Hishunger made him bold. But Bah was a particular friend of his, and Idoubt whether even his appetite could have driven him to do what he didthat morning, had he been able to guess the great sorrow he was tocause.

  "You have left out a stitch, my child, and there will be a hole in thework."

  Bah's fingers stopped and so did her tongue.

  "Oh dear, must I do that all over again, Mother?" she asked.

  "If you wish to weave perfectly so that you may some day sell yourwork, then you must learn to rip and go over many times."

  Ripping is deadly work, as everyone who has ever ripped knows. And Bahwas not as interested in ripping as she had been in making her pattern.So her thoughts naturally turned to her precious Cornelia lying at herfeet.

  Her eyes turned at the same time, and horror upon horrors, what didshe see? The big black sheep was there chewing contentedly, butCornelia was gone. The little blanket was there--so were the beads andsome of the cornsilk hair. But Cornelia was gone. The sheep went onchewing and couldn't understand why Bah did not caress him as usual.

  "Bah, do pay attention to your work!"

  Mother was annoyed. Bah turned around and Mother saw a very sad sight.She saw before her another mother--a stricken little mother whose childhad just provided a meal for a hungry animal. She rocked an emptyblanket back and forth, and the tears were beginning to gather. Motherunderstood what had happened, and now her voice sounded soft and kind.

  "GO AWAY, MR. SHEEP!"]

  "Poor Bah! Your doll is gone!"

  The little girl was crying as she continued to hug the empty blanket.

  "Do not cry, my little one," said Mother. "Are there not many more cornears in the field?"

  "Yes, my Mother," sobbed the child, "but no more Cornelias!"

  And that was final. Never again could Bah go back to the cornfield.Never again! How could Mother even have suggested such a thing! Didn'tshe know that Cornelia, since the day of her birth, had been differentfrom all other ears of corn?

  Why, Cornelia was a doll--she and Billy had decided that--and the restwere vegetables! Oh, didn't Mother understand? Perhaps Mother did, forher next remark showed it.

  "One day, Bah, when I went to the Trading Post near Tuba I saw a mostbeautiful doll. She was an Indian baby--a papoose--and she was strappedupon the prettiest little laced baby cradle you ever saw. She wasdressed in a bright blanket and she had real hair and such lovely beadsaround her neck."

  A smile was trying to chase away the tears on the face of the littlemother as she listened to her own mother's recital of something toowonderful to imagine. She said sorrowfully: "Some white child will buyher, and how happy she will be. Ah, how I should like to have her."

  Mother said: "And so you shall, if you will work to have her."

  Bah's eyes asked the question: "How?" and her mother went on: "Youknow, Bah, that Mother sells or trades blankets, and that Father sellsor trades his beautiful silver and matrix jewelry to the Trading Post.We do this so that we may have, in return, things which we want andneed. Now, you want and need a little doll. Why not sell your work? Bahmust weave a little blanket and take it to the store where they willperhaps trade with you for the papoose doll."

  "Do you really think they will, Ma Shima?" asked Bah as if she couldhardly believe it, and she wiped away her tears.

  HOW BAH LONGED FOR THE PAPOOSE DOLL!]

  "Yes, I do," answered Mother. "But your blanket must be well made andof a pretty pattern--else they will not take it, for they, in turn,must sell it to the tourists."

  "Then I shall make the most beautiful blanket which has ever beenmade," laughed Bah, now thoroughly interested in her new task with itswonderful object.

  She worked all through the morning on her little blanket, with happythoughts of a real-haired Indian doll flying through her mind as herfingers flew through her work. It was not until she heard Mothergrinding the corn for lunch that she looked up, and not until then thatshe thought again of the morning's sorrow. But then she did think ofit, and her parents wondered why she could not eat her corn bread.