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“Oh, mother!” sobbed Nancy; but she had to go. Her forlorn little figure disappeared lingeringly between the garden vines and bean poles.

“Hold your dress back,” called her mother. “Don’t you spoil it any more than you’ve done already.”

To Nancy, looking through a mist of tears, the green-clad bean poles seemed dancing forward and the tomato vines creeping to meet her. Crossing the meadow she wet her feet in her best shoes. But all this was nothing. That stout Indian Princess displayed suddenly a sense of humor and a witty shrewdness which seemed abnormal. Her stolid eyes twinkled under their heavy brows when Nancy explained, tremblingly, how she had brought the basket back; her mother would not let her buy it on Sunday.

“Me no buy basket Sunday,” said the Princess, and she looked loftily away from the sweet-grass basket shaking in Nancy’s shaking hand. She was not in the least moved by Nancy’s horrified, distressed face. Perhaps something of the ancient cruelty of her race possessed her; perhaps it was only the contagion of Yankee shrewdness. Nancy dared not go home with the basket; she went home without it or her fifty cents.

All that afternoon Nancy stayed up in her chamber and wept, while her best dress was soaking to remove the green stain, if it was Sunday. She felt as if her heart were broken. She had lost her self-respect, the sweet-grass basket, and her fifty cents, besides getting a great green stain on her best dress. Flora tried to comfort her.

“Don’t cry,” said she. “It’s too bad! The Princess is real mean.” And then Nancy sobbed harder.

When her mother was getting supper, her father followed into the pantry.

“I declare I feel sorry for the child,” said he. “She’s worked real hard to get that money, and she’ain’t ever had so much as Flora. If it wasn’t Sunday I’d go down there this minute, and get back the money or the basket from those Injuns.”

“You’d look pretty going, and you a deacon of the church, after the way the Princess put it,” returned Nancy’s mother. “I’m sorry enough for Nancy, but she ought to have a little lesson. You can go over there to-morrow morning and get the basket back.”

There was a beautiful custard pudding for supper, but Nancy did not want any.

“Sit up and eat your supper,” said her mother. “Your father’s going down to the Injuns in the morning, and see what he can do about it.”

However, Nancy still did not care for the custard pudding; everything tasted of tears.

The next morning, before Nancy’s father had a chance to go to the Indians, the Princess herself came to the back door. Whether she came from honesty or policy nobody could tell; but she came, and she brought the sweet-grass basket. She rapped on the door, and Nancy opened it. The Princess extended the basket without a word. Nancy wiped her hands, which were damp from washing the breakfast dishes, on her apron, then she took the basket. Then the Princess struck off across the garden.

Nancy carried the basket into the kitchen. She had a shamefaced and resolute expression. Flora was in there, and her father and mother.

She went straight to Flora, and held out the basket. Flora drew back, and looked at her.

“Take it,” said Nancy. “It’s for you.”

Flora looked at her aunt.

“Take it, if she wants you to,” said Mrs. Mann.

Flora took it. “Thank you,” said she. She went soberly out of the room with the basket. Nancy returned to her dish-washing at the sink, her father stared out of the window, her mother came and shoved her aside, and took the dish-cloth out of her hands.

“There, I’ll wash this heavy spider,” said she. “You can go and put on your other dress. I want you to go down to the store for me, and I’m going to let you buy a couple of yards of that pretty pink calico for a new apron.”

Nancy had admired that pink calico. As she went out of the kitchen her father caught her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake; then he patted her head.

“Don’t run too fast, and get all tired out,” said he.

Nancy put on her buff calico, and went to the store. It was an errand to take about an hour. She had been gone about a half-hour when the Indian Princess again came through the bean poles and tomato vines. This time she was all strung about with baskets. She stood at the kitchen door, and parleyed with Mrs. Mann and Flora. When she went away she had a fifty-cent piece in one brown fist, and she was eating a molasses cooky.

Nancy came home with the pink calico, and half a pound of cream of tartar; her mother and Flora were in the sitting-room, and they laughed when she entered.

Nancy looked soberly at them. “Here’s the calico, and the cream tartar,” said she.

“See what Flora has got for you,” said her mother.

Nancy stared around. There on the table stood two sweet-grass baskets exactly alike.

“The Princess came again, and she had another basket. I got it for you,” said Flora.

“Thank you,” said Nancy, in a sober voice, but the dark depths of the Shaker bonnet seemed fairly illumined with smiles.