people: "Wait a moment before you invite any one. If other plans are
being discussed, do not interfere, but go elsewhere."

The old folks knew the meaning of my pauses; and often they coaxed my
confidence by asking, "What do you seek, little granddaughter?"

"My mother says you are to come to our tepee this evening," I instantly
exploded, and breathed the freer afterwards.

"Yes, yes, gladly, gladly I shall come!" each replied. Rising at once
and carrying their blankets across one shoulder, they flocked leisurely
from their various wigwams toward our dwelling.

My mission done, I ran back, skipping and jumping with delight. All out
of breath, I told my mother almost the exact words of the answers to my
invitation. Frequently she asked, "What were they doing when you entered
their tepee?" This taught me to remember all I saw at a single glance.
Often I told my mother my impressions without being questioned.

While in the neighboring wigwams sometimes an old Indian woman asked me,
"What is your mother doing?" Unless my mother had cautioned me not to
tell, I generally answered her questions without reserve.

At the arrival of our guests I sat close to my mother, and did not
leave her side without first asking her consent. I ate my supper in
quiet, listening patiently to the talk of the old people, wishing all
the time that they would begin the stories I loved best. At last, when I
could not wait any longer, I whispered in my mother's ear, "Ask them to
tell an Iktomi story, mother."