She poked her finger into the opening to get at the animal within, shook it violently, then raised it to her ear again, and finally burst into a hearty laugh, and laid it down, acknowledging, by her looks, that this was beyond her comprehension.
I had one shell of peculiar beauty--my favorite in the whole collection--a small conch, covered with rich, dark veins.

Each of the visitors successively took up this shell, and by words and gestures expressed her admiration, evidently showing that she had an eye for beauty--this was on the occasion of the parting visit of my red daughters.
Shortly after the payment had been completed, and the Indians had left, I discovered that my valued shell was missing from the collection.

Could it be that one of the squaws had stolen it?
It was possible--they would occasionally, though rarely, do such things under the influence of strong temptation.

I tried to recollect which, among the party, looked most likely to have been the culprit.

It could not have been the Washington woman--she was partly civilized, and knew better.
A few weeks afterwards Mrs._Yellow Thunder_ again made her appearance, and carefully unfolding a gay-colored chintz shawl, which she carried rolled up in her hand, she produced the shell, and laid it on the table before me.