CHAPTER X. MOTHER LOVE AND SAVAGE PASSION CONFLICT
It was Sunday, a day later, when Susie came into the living-room and noticed her mother sewing muskrat around the top of a moccasin. It was a man’s moccasin. The woman had made no men’s moccasins since her husband’s death. The sight chilled the girl.
“ Mother,” she asked abruptly, “what do you let that hold-up hang around here for?”
“ Who you mean?” the woman asked quickly.
“ That Smith!” Susie spat out the word like something offensive.
The Indian woman avoided the girl’s eyes.
“ I like him,” she answered.
“ Mother!”
“ Maybe he stay all time.” Her tone was stubborn, as though she expected and was prepared to resist an attack.
“ You don’t—you can’t —mean it!”. Susie’s thin face flushed scarlet with shame.
“ Sa
