“Yes,” the boy replied innocently.

Quick as thought Mitsha turned around, and her eyes beamed on him for an instant.  He did not notice it, and she forthwith stepped up to the hearth.  Even though she lacked evening toilette, Mitsha presented a handsome picture; and her friend became absorbed in contemplation of the lithe, graceful form.  She lifted the pot from the fire, placed the customary share of its contents before Okoya, and retired to a corner, whence she soon returned with a piece of dried yucca-preserve, regarded as a great treat by the Indians, because it has a sweet taste.  As she was placing the dessert on the floor, the boy extended his hand, and she laid the sweetmeat in it instead of depositing it where she had originally intended.  Okoya’s hand closed, grasping hers and holding it fast.  Mitsha tried to extricate her fingers, but he clutched them in his.  Stepping back, she made a lunge at his upper arm which caused him to let go her hand at once.  Laughing, she then sat down between him and her mother.  The ice was broken.

“You are very strong,” Okoya assured her, rubbing the sore limb.

“She is strong, indeed,” her mother confirmed; “she can work well, too.”

“Have you any green paint?” the girl asked.

“No, but I know a place where it is found.  Do you want any?”

“I would like to have some.”

“For what do you use the green stone?”

“Next year I want to paint and burn bowls and pots.”  Mitsha had no thought of the inferences that he would draw from her simple explanation.  He interpreted her words as very encouraging for him, not only because the girl understood the art of making pottery, but he drew the conclusion that she was thinking of furnishing a household of her own.

Hannay improved the opportunity to still further praise her child.  She said,—­

“Mitsha does not only know how to paint; she can also shape the uashtanyi, the atash, and the asa.”  With this she rose, went to the wall, and began to rummage about in some recess.  Okoya had meanwhile taken one of the girl’s hands in his playing with her dainty fingers which she suffered him to do.

“See here,” the woman cried and turned around.  He dropped the girl’s hand and Hannay handed something to him.

“Mitsha made this.”  Then she sat down again.

The object which Okoya had received from her was a little bowl of clay, round, and decorated on its upper rim with four truncated and graded pyramids that rose like prongs at nearly equal intervals.  The vessel was neatly finished, smooth, white, and painted with black symbolic designs.  There was nothing artistic in it according to our ideas, but it was original and quaint.  Okoya gazed at the bowl with genuine admiration, placed it on the floor, and took it up again, holding it so that the light of the fire struck the inside also.  He shook his head in astonishment and pleasure.  Mitsha moved closer to him.  With innocent pride she saw his beaming looks, and heard the admiring exclamations with which he pointed at the various figures painted on the white surface.  Then she began to explain to him.