The children were worn out with their day’s adventure, and their mother intimated that Mary ought at once to bathe them and put them to bed.  This, however, did not satisfy Mary.  It had become her custom to dress them up in the afternoons and keep them appareled in their brightest costumes during the rest of the day; therefore now the weary children, after being bathed, were again dressed in their best and brought out for inspection and a light supper before retiring.  The bath and the supper had so refreshed them that when Mary had tucked them into their beds they were wide awake and asked her to tell them a story.  But sleep was what they needed now more than anything else, and she tried to quiet them without any further words, but so thoroughly aroused were they that they declared that if she refused they knew somebody who would be glad to have them visit him again, and that he would tell them lots of beautiful things.

This hint that they might return to the wigwam of Souwanas was too much for Mary, who very freely gave utterance to her sentiments about him.  The children gallantly came to the defense of the old Indian and also of Nanahboozhoo, of whom Mary spoke most slightingly, saying that he was a mean fellow who ought to be ashamed of many of his tricks.

“Well,” replied Sagastao, “if you will tell us better stories than those Souwanas can tell us about Nanahboozhoo, all right, we will listen to them.  But, mind you, we are going to hear his Nanahboozhoo stories too.”

“O, indeed,” said Mary, with a contemptuous toss of her head, “there are many stories better than those of his old Nanahboozhoo.”

“Won’t it be fun to see whose stories we like the best, Mary’s or Souwanas’s!” said Minnehaha, who foresaw an interesting rivalry.

Mary had now committed herself, and so, almost without realizing what it would come to, she found herself pitted against Souwanas, the great story-teller of the tribe.  However, being determined that Souwanas should not rob her of the love of the children, she was tempted to begin her story-telling even though the children were exhausted, and so it was that when the lad asked a question Mary was ready.

“Say, Mary,” said Sagastao, “the mosquitoes bit us badly to-day.  Do you know why it is that there are such troublesome little things?  Is there any story about them?”

“Yes.  Wakonda, one of the strange spirits, sent them,” said Mary, “because a woman was lazy and would not keep the clothes of her husband and children clean and nice.”

“Tell us all about it,” they both cried out.

Mary quieted them, and began the story.

“Long ago, when the people all dressed in deerskins, there was a man whose name was Pug-a-mah-kon.  He was an industrious fellow, and had often to work a good deal in dirty places.  The result was that, although he had several suits of clothes, he seemed never to have any clean ones.