As I ate, she talked on: “Your mother was over yesterday from the Pulling-corn village. She says she is making you a fine robe of four soft, dressed deerskins, and is decorating the back with a large picture of your Guardian Spirit, the mask being done in the little shells she bought from those southern tribesmen who came up the river in that big canoe—you remember. She gave them in exchange her whole stock of healing herbs, and had to work like a beaver to dig another lot of the little roots before winter set in.