All that lonely afternoon I watched for him.

The sun fell warm but my day was dark.

Aunt Deel found me in tears sitting on the steps of the cheese house and got her Indian book out of her trunk and, after she had cautioned me to be very careful of it, let me sit down with it by myself alone, and look at the pictures.
I had looked forward to the time when I could be trusted to sit alone with the Indian book.

In my excitement over the picture of a red man tomahawking a child I turned a page so swiftly that I put a long tear in it.

My pleasure was gone.