tribe.”
Omri glanced at Bright Stars. How much had she told him of the tragedy which had overtaken their village? She seemed to understand his thought and signaled him quickly behind Little Bear’s back. Omri nodded. Much better not to say too much until Little Bear was stronger. He hadn’t asked any questions yet.
Patrick had stayed for breakfast and then, reluctantly, phoned his mother. He came back up to Omri’s room looking bleak.
“She says I’ve got to come back,” he said. “We’re leaving today. I asked if I could stay and come back later, but she said I have to leave here in an hour.”
Omri didn’t say anything. He didn’t see how Patrick could bear to leave. To make matters worse, Omri’s parents had particularly asked if he could stay over another night. They were going to a party that evening and would be home late. Adiel and Gillon would be out too. There’d be a baby-sitter of course, but she was a stodgy old lady, and Patrick would be company for Omri. Omri thought Patrick’s mother was being entirely unreasonable, and said so. Patrick was inclined to agree.
Meanwhile, they had this hour. They decided to spend it talking and doing things for the Indians. The first thing Little Bear asked for was his old longhouse, built byhimself when he’d been with Omri last year. Fortunately, Omri still had it, or what was left of it. It had been made on a seed tray packed with earth, but this had dried out in the interval, so that several of the upright posts had come adrift and some of the bark tiles, so carefully shaped by Little Bear and hung on the crosspieces, had shriveled and dropped off.
When Little Bear saw his derelict masterwork he had to be forcibly restrained from leaping out of bed immediately to repair it.
“How Omri let fall down? Why Omri not mend?” he shouted wrathfully.
Omri knew better than to argue.
“I couldn’t do it like you can,” he said. “My fingers are too big.”
“Too big!” agreed Little Bear darkly. He stared at the longhouse from his bed. Omri had spent the early hours, before anyone was awake, making him a better bed from two matchboxes, giving him a headboard to sit up against. His mind was roving in all directions, thinking of ways to make Little Bear and Bright Stars more comfortable. He still had the old tepee … As soon as the Indian was a bit better, he would probably prefer to use that, for privacy. Omri had fixed a ramp leading onto the seed tray, and Bright Stars had begun to go up and down it carrying bedding into the tepee, like a little bird making its nest. A fat little bird … Omri wondered, watching her stagger to and fro, how long it would be before her baby came.
He was busy giving her a water supply. It was a sort of pond. The container was the lid of a coffee jar, sunk into the earth of the seed tray near the tepee. He was now making a proper bucket out of one of the toothpaste caps, by piercing two holes in the sides with a needle heated red-hot in the flame of an old candle he’d found, and threading in a handle made from a bit of one of his mother’s fine hairpins. That would make it easier to carry. Of course, that was just the beginning of all the things that would be needed if they stayed long.
Bright Stars vanished into the tepee, and Little Bear, who had been watching her too, beckoned Omri closer.
“Soon I father!” he said proudly, and hit himself on the chest. A flash of pain crossed his face.
“Yes,” said Omri, “so you’d better rest up and get well.”
“I well!” He shifted restlessly about on the matchbox bed. Suddenly he said: “Where other brother?”
“What do you mean—my brothers?”
“No! Little Bear brother! Blood brother, like Omri.”
It occurred to Omri and Patrick at the same moment whom he meant.
Patrick had also been busy. He had gone outside earlier and dug up a very small turf of grass from the garden—a piece of living lawn about six inches square, a paddock for the pony to
Omri glanced at Bright Stars. How much had she told him of the tragedy which had overtaken their village? She seemed to understand his thought and signaled him quickly behind Little Bear’s back. Omri nodded. Much better not to say too much until Little Bear was stronger. He hadn’t asked any questions yet.
Patrick had stayed for breakfast and then, reluctantly, phoned his mother. He came back up to Omri’s room looking bleak.
“She says I’ve got to come back,” he said. “We’re leaving today. I asked if I could stay and come back later, but she said I have to leave here in an hour.”
Omri didn’t say anything. He didn’t see how Patrick could bear to leave. To make matters worse, Omri’s parents had particularly asked if he could stay over another night. They were going to a party that evening and would be home late. Adiel and Gillon would be out too. There’d be a baby-sitter of course, but she was a stodgy old lady, and Patrick would be company for Omri. Omri thought Patrick’s mother was being entirely unreasonable, and said so. Patrick was inclined to agree.
Meanwhile, they had this hour. They decided to spend it talking and doing things for the Indians. The first thing Little Bear asked for was his old longhouse, built byhimself when he’d been with Omri last year. Fortunately, Omri still had it, or what was left of it. It had been made on a seed tray packed with earth, but this had dried out in the interval, so that several of the upright posts had come adrift and some of the bark tiles, so carefully shaped by Little Bear and hung on the crosspieces, had shriveled and dropped off.
When Little Bear saw his derelict masterwork he had to be forcibly restrained from leaping out of bed immediately to repair it.
“How Omri let fall down? Why Omri not mend?” he shouted wrathfully.
Omri knew better than to argue.
“I couldn’t do it like you can,” he said. “My fingers are too big.”
“Too big!” agreed Little Bear darkly. He stared at the longhouse from his bed. Omri had spent the early hours, before anyone was awake, making him a better bed from two matchboxes, giving him a headboard to sit up against. His mind was roving in all directions, thinking of ways to make Little Bear and Bright Stars more comfortable. He still had the old tepee … As soon as the Indian was a bit better, he would probably prefer to use that, for privacy. Omri had fixed a ramp leading onto the seed tray, and Bright Stars had begun to go up and down it carrying bedding into the tepee, like a little bird making its nest. A fat little bird … Omri wondered, watching her stagger to and fro, how long it would be before her baby came.
He was busy giving her a water supply. It was a sort of pond. The container was the lid of a coffee jar, sunk into the earth of the seed tray near the tepee. He was now making a proper bucket out of one of the toothpaste caps, by piercing two holes in the sides with a needle heated red-hot in the flame of an old candle he’d found, and threading in a handle made from a bit of one of his mother’s fine hairpins. That would make it easier to carry. Of course, that was just the beginning of all the things that would be needed if they stayed long.
Bright Stars vanished into the tepee, and Little Bear, who had been watching her too, beckoned Omri closer.
“Soon I father!” he said proudly, and hit himself on the chest. A flash of pain crossed his face.
“Yes,” said Omri, “so you’d better rest up and get well.”
“I well!” He shifted restlessly about on the matchbox bed. Suddenly he said: “Where other brother?”
“What do you mean—my brothers?”
“No! Little Bear brother! Blood brother, like Omri.”
It occurred to Omri and Patrick at the same moment whom he meant.
Patrick had also been busy. He had gone outside earlier and dug up a very small turf of grass from the garden—a piece of living lawn about six inches square, a paddock for the pony to
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