persistent question was always, "Who were your parents?"

Blue-Star Woman was left an orphan at a tender age. She did not remember
them. They were long gone to the spirit-land,-and she could not
understand why they should be recalled to earth on her account. It was
another one of the old, old teachings of her race that the names of the
dead should not be idly spoken. It had become a sacrilege to mention
carelessly the name of any departed one, especially in matters of
disputes over worldy possessions. The unfortunate circumstances of her
early childhood, together with the lack of written records of a roving
people, placed a formidable barrier between her and her heritage. The
fact was events of far greater importance to the tribe than her
reincarnation had passed unrecorded in books. The verbal reports of the
old-time men and women of the tribe were varied,--some were actually
contradictory. Blue-Star Woman was unable to find even a twig of her
family tree.

She sharpened one end of a long stick and with it speared the fried
bread when it was browned. Heedless of the hot bread's "Tsing!" in a
high treble as it was lifted from the fire, she added it to the six
others which had preceded it. It had been many a moon since she had had
a meal of fried bread, for she was too poor to buy at any one time all
the necessary ingredients, particularly the fat in which to fry it.
During the breadmaking, the smoke-blackened coffeepot boiled over. The
aroma of freshly made coffee smote her nostrils and roused her from the
tantalizing memories.

The day before, friendly spirits, the unseen ones, had guided her
aimless footsteps to her Indian neighbor's house. No sooner had she
entered than she saw on the table some grocery bundles. "Iye-que,