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"Just the shade of the
lavender on the toe of the moccasin--and in a great ragged mass! Would any
one believe it?"
"Not without seeing it," he said emphatically.
"And there, Douglas! Exactly the colour of the moccasins--see that
cluster! There are no words, Douglas!"
"Shall you go farther?" he asked.
"No," she answered. "I'm going back to weave my basket. There is nothing
to surpass the orchids in rarity and wondrous beauty."
"Good!" he cried. "I'll go ahead and you follow."
So they returned to the osiers. Leslie pondered deeply a few seconds, then
resolutely putting Douglas aside, she began cutting armloads of pale
yellow osiers. Finding a suitable place to work, she swiftly and deftly
selected perfect, straight evenly coloured ones, cutting them the same
length, then binding the tip ends firmly with raffia she had brought to
substitute for grass. Then with fine slips she began weaving, gradually
spreading the twigs while inwardly giving thanks for the lessons she had
taken in basketry.


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