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Updated: June 3, 2025
"The boys got it out of the garage and around the front of the house." "What time is it?" "A quarter to four. We'd better start, you have to buy your ticket first. Here, let me take the suitcase." "Where are my gloves?" "Here they are," said Migwan, handing them to her. They passed quickly down the front walk and into the waiting automobile.
You're a cheat, you're a cheat," it said tauntingly, and a little sparrow on the window sill outside took up the mocking refrain, "Cheat! Cheat!" Stung as though some one had pointed an accusing finger at her, Migwan flung down her pen in despair and resolutely blotted her paper.
"Oh, girls," she cried, waving a palm-leaf fan over her head like a triumphal banner, "listen! Papa has bought Lake Huron and we're all going camping!" And without noticing the tears in Katherine's eyes, she pulled her out of Migwan's lap and danced around with her. "Your papa has done what?" cried Migwan, her voice shrill with amazement. "Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Evans."
"Buying potatoes two quarts at a time must be rather expensive," she reflected. She put the prunes to soak and the potatoes in the oven and went down to the store. "How much is porterhouse steak?" she asked before she had the butcher cut any off. "Twenty-eight cents a pound," answered the man behind the counter. Migwan gave a little gasp. The money she had would not even buy a pound.
"I don't seem to be able to make anything out of it," she said at length. "Don't try to translate it," said Migwan, "just read it out loud," Nyoda complied and Sahwah caught it immediately. "It's 'Paddle your own canoe!" she cried.
"Oh, read it out loud, Migwan, I can't wait until it's passed around." Migwan promptly complied while the rest listened eagerly as she read: Good Samaritan Hospital, St. Margaret's, N.S. DEAR GIRLS: Oh, I'm so thankful I can hardly write; my pen wants to dance jigs instead of staying on the lines, but I must let you know at once because I know how anxious you have been.
Indeed, it would have taken a much more keenly interested person than Migwan to have concentrated on a geometry lesson just then. From somewhere upstairs there came an ear-splitting din.
High and dry above the stream, sheltered by great towering pine trees, covered with a thick carpet of pine needles, this little woodland chamber opened in the dense tangle of underbrush which everywhere else grew up between the trees in a heavy tangle. Down near the shore a clear little spring went tinkling down into the river. "Oh, what a cozy, cozy place!" exclaimed Migwan.
"Hinpoha'll get the Craft Work prize, without any doubt," said Migwan to Agony as they stood helping to arrange the articles in the Craft Work exhibit. "She's a real artist. The rest of us are just dabblers. It's queer, though, I admire that little plain pottery bowl I made myself more than I do Hinpoha's wonderful rose jar. I suppose it's because I made it all myself; it's like my own child.
Migwan realized with a shock that it would not pay for what her mother wanted, and her sensitive nature shrank from asking to have things charged. "I won't buy the cream puffs," she decided. "I wonder if there is anything in the house I could make into a dessert?" Search revealed nothing but a bag of prunes, which had been on the shelf for months, and were as dry as a bone.
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