"Isn't she awful!" exclaimed Lydia. Begging Indians were no novelty to
Lake City children, but this one was so old and thin that Lydia was
horrified. Toothless, her black hair streaked with gray, her calico
dress unspeakably dirty, her hands like birds' claws clasping her
stick, the squaw stopped in front of the children.

"Eat!" she said, pointing to her mouth, while her sunken black eyes
were fixed on Kent's sandwiches.

Little Patience looked up and began to whimper with fear.

"Get out, you old rip!" said Kent.

"Eat! Eat!" insisted the squaw, a certain ferocity in her manner.

"Did you walk clear in from the reservation?" asked Lydia.

The squaw nodded, and held out her scrawny hand for the children's
inspection. "No eats, all time no eats! You give eats--poor old
woman."

"Oh, Kent, she's half starved! Let's give her some of our lunch,"
exclaimed Lydia.

"Not on your life," returned Kent. "Dirty, lazy lot! Why don't they
work?"

"If we'd go halves, we'd have enough," insisted Lydia.