to return again to the sweet roots.

I remember well how we used to exchange our necklaces, beaded belts, and
sometimes even our moccasins. We pretended to offer them as gifts to one
another. We delighted in impersonating our own mothers. We talked of
things we had heard them say in their conversations. We imitated their
various manners, even to the inflection of their voices. In the lap of
the prairie we seated ourselves upon our feet, and leaning our painted
cheeks in the palms of our hands, we rested our elbows on our knees, and
bent forward as old women were most accustomed to do.

While one was telling of some heroic deed recently done by a near
relative, the rest of us listened attentively, and exclaimed in
undertones, "Han! han!" (yes! yes!) whenever the speaker paused for
breath, or sometimes for our sympathy. As the discourse became more
thrilling, according to our ideas, we raised our voices in these
interjections. In these impersonations our parents were led to say only
those things that were in common favor.

No matter how exciting a tale we might be rehearsing, the mere shifting
of a cloud shadow in the landscape near by was sufficient to change our
impulses; and soon we were all chasing the great shadows that played
among the hills. We shouted and whooped in the chase; laughing and
calling to one another, we were like little sportive nymphs on that
Dakota sea of rolling green.

On one occasion I forgot the cloud shadow in a strange notion to catch
up with my own shadow. Standing straight and still, I began to glide
after it, putting out one foot cautiously. When, with the greatest care,
I set my foot in advance of myself, my shadow crept onward too. Then