which the squaw dipped a ladle, and handed a wooden bowl of the smoking contents to Nattie. The little girl took it, because she feared to do otherwise. It seemed to be corn boiled in the broth of meat. It had a savory smell, which made Nattie wish to taste it, but she waited to see if any of her companions were to be served with a similar dish.
"Come, eat your mess," said the squaw, scowling at the girl. "We all supped while you was asleep, yonder; and I sha'n't keep the pot hot another time."
"Yes, drink your broth," said the old Indian, North Wind. "It will keep your cheek full, your eye keen and your heart strong. No better is made in any of our wigwams."
Still, Nattie hesitated. There was no spoon in her bowl, and she didn't see how she could eat without one.
"Why don't you eat your supper?" asked the squaw.
