Donee went back to the hut, trotting along beside Oostogah, her roll
of calico under her arm. The next day she cut it out into a slip and
began to sew.

Oostogah was at work all day cutting down dead trees. When he came in
at night, Donee said: "If you sold the land for much money, could we
have a home like the miller's?"

Oostogah was as much astonished as if a chicken had asked him a
question, but he said, "Yes."

"Would I be like Jenny and Betty?"

"You're a chief's daughter," grunted Oostogah.

One day in the next week she went down to the river far in the woods,
and took a bath, combing her long straight black hair down her
shoulders. Then she put on her new dress, and went down to the
miller's house. It was all very quiet, for the children were not
there, but their mother came to the door. She laughed out loud with
pleasure when she saw Donee. The red dress was just the right color
for her to wear with her dark skin and black hair. Her eyes were soft
and shy, and her bare feet and arms (like most Indian women's) pretty
enough to be copied in marble.

"You are a good child--you're a very good child! Here are the dishes.
I wish the children were at home. Sit right down on the step now and
eat a piece of pie."

But Donee could not eat the pie, her heart was so full.