"My name NOT Lahoma Gledware," she interposed in some severity.
"My name, Lahoma Willock. Beautiful name--lovely, like flower
--Willock; call me Lahoma Willock--like song of little stream.
Gledware, hard--rough."

Brick Willock stared at her in amazement. "Where'd you get that
from?"

"My name Lahoma Willock--Red Feather tell me."

He smoked in silence, puffing rapidly. Then--"My name is Brick
Willock. How came you to be named Lahoma Willock?"

Lahoma suggested thoughtfully--"All white people named Willock?"

"There's a few," Willock shook his head, "with less agreeable names.
But after all, I'm glad you have my name. Yes--the more I think on
it, the more pleased I get. I reckon we're sort of kinfolks, anyhow.
Well, honey, this is enough talk about being civilized; now let's
make the first move on the way. You want to see your mother's grave,
and lay some of these wild flowers on it. That's a part of being
civilized, caring for graves is. It's just savages as forgets the
past and consequently never learns nothing. Come along. Them
moccasins will do famous until I can get you shoes from the
settlements. It's seventy mile to Vernon, Texas, and none too easy
miles. But I got a pony the first time I ventured to Doan's store,
and it'll carry you, if I have to walk at your side. We'll make a
festibul march of that journey, and lay in clothes as a girl should
wear, and books to last through the winter."