There was a sudden collision. The tumbler's stout little feet
came plump against the breast of Ra-bun-ta, and so sudden and
unexpected was the shock that both recoiled, and runner and
gymnast alike tumbled over in a writhing heap upon the very edge
of one of the big bonfires, Then there was a great shout of
laughter, for the Indians dearly loved a joke, and such a rough
piece of unintentional pleasantry was especially relished.
"Wa, wa, Ra-bun-ta," they shouted, pointing at the discomfited
runner as he picked himself out of the fire, "knocked over by a
girl!"
And the deep voice of the old chief said half sternly, half
tenderly:
"My daughter, you have wellnigh killed our brother Ra-bun-ta with
your foolery. That is scarce girls' play. Why will you be such a
po-ca-hun-tas?"[1]
[1] Po-ca-hun-tas, Algonquin for a little "tomboy."
The runner joined in the laugh against him quite as merrily as
did the rest, and made a dash at the little ten-year-old tumbler,
which she as nimbly evaded, "Ma-ma-no-to-wic,"[1] he said, "the
feet of Ma-ta-oka are even heavier than the snake of
Nun-ta-quaus, her brother. I have but escaped them both with my
life.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211