Part 8 (2/2)

At the hogan there was much excitement. As Peanuts came galloping down the village ”street” his rider saw a most unusual sight.

Chief Fighting Bull, his wife and small daughter were all grouped about an object which seemed to be attracting them. So much did it attract them that they were talking in Navajo faster and louder than Billy had ever heard them talk.

The boy jumped down from his pony and walked up to the family circle.

He saw that the object of their interest was a large wooden express box, and written across it were the words:

”Bah, The Little Indian Weaver, Daughter of Chief Fighting Bull, Navajo Reservation, near Tuba, Arizona.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”IS IT FOR ME?”]

”This came today,” said the Chief to Billy, and Bah held up an envelope which she clutched in her hand.

”And see--letter to Bah.”

Billy asked: ”Why don't you open it?”

”Yes, will do,” replied the girl. At the same time as Bah and Billy were opening the letter, the Chief, aided by his wife, was opening the large box.

”You read letter for me, please,” smiled Bah.

Billy took the letter--but just then the box was opened and inside it the astonished family beheld a radio!

”What this?” asked Fighting Bull.

Said Billy wisely: ”It's a radio--you know, you can listen to music and everything. It's lots of fun. Come on, we'll fix it up!”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”WITHOUT YOU I COULDN'T HAVE WRITTEN IT.”]

With Billy's instructions the Chief set up the radio. It was a portable set and as soon as they attached the aerial and Billy turned the dials the sound of fine music began to float on the air.

”Alive!” shrieked Bah, turned on her heels, and fled!

Billy, still holding the unopened letter, ran after her. He found her hidden in a thicket and brought her back to her parents, who stood transfixed before the radio, which was still sending forth music.

”Don't be afraid, Bah,” said Billy. ”It's not this box making the noise. The music comes through the air from a big city!”

The Chief and his wife were almost as impressed as Bah, but they did not show their feelings. They could only stand and stare while Billy, holding on to Bah with one hand for fear that she would run away again, read the following letter:

”Dear Little Bah:

Your story 'The Little Indian Weaver,' written by yourself about yourself, has won the Composition Contest. The prize, a radio, we are sending you today. It was a great pleasure to receive such a charming little story from a real Indian girl. The white children who read it will, we are sure, enjoy it, and learn a great deal from you. Thank you, and we hope you will like the radio!

The Children's Magazine.”

”But--but,” said Bah, ”I not write story!”

<script>