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Old Martha Blair declares the girl loves him better than her eyes." Thyra made a sound like a strangled moan in the middle of August's speech. She heard the rest of it immovably. When it came to an end she stood and looked down upon him in a way that silenced him. "You've told the news you came to tell, and gloated over it, and now get you gone," she said slowly.
"Child, is it true your father is selling the big painted stove?" August nodded his head, then burst into a passion of tears. "Well, for sure he is a fool," said the neighbor. "Heaven forgive me for calling him so before his own child! but the stove was worth a mint of money. August's sobs went on their broken, impetuous course. "I loved it! I loved it!" he moaned.
Till then it had been a lifeless, meaningless bunch of flowers, which some one, for no motive, had tossed up on that dusty shelf in the closet. At August's smile it became something else. Still she asked lightly enough, "Was ist loss, August?" His smile deepened and broadened. "Fur die Andere," he explained. Agatha demanded in English, "What do you mean by feardy ondery?" "Oddaw lehdy."
August's replies were slow and labored; he could not speak the Navajo language fluently, but he understood it. "The White Prophet is welcome," was the chief's greeting. "Does he come for sheep or braves or to honor the Navajo in his home?" "Eschtah, he seeks the Flower of the Desert," replied August Naab. "Mescal has left him.
August Naab roared his merriment and Hare laughed till he cried. The incident was as surprising to him as it was amusing. These serious Mormons and silent Navajos were capable of mirth. Hare would have stayed up as late as any of them, but August's saying to him, "Get to bed: to-morrow will be bad!" sent him off to his blankets, where he was soon fast asleep.
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