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"Thank you," says Geoffrey, a little dryly, accepting her words as they are said, not as he feels they are meant. From a long parfleche sack the Raven chief took a slender stick, beautifully ornamented with many-colored feathers. To the end of the stick was tied the skin of a raven—head, wings, feet, and tail. "Don't ask me to flatter you. You will get plenty to do that by and by," says Geoffrey, rather jealously, rather bitterly..
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The place she has chosen as her mirror is a still pool fringed with drooping grasses and trailing ferns that make yet more dark the sanded floor of the stream. "I wonder you are not afraid of going too far," he puts in, warningly, his dark eyes flashing. "Why, what is the matter?" he says, seeing signs of the lively storm on all their faces. Doatie explains hurriedly. "You are an artiste," says Geoffrey, with a deep sigh when she has finished. "Who taught you, child? But there is no use in such a question. Nobody could teach it to you: you must feel it as you sing. And yet you are scarcely to be envied. Your singing has betrayed to me one thing: if ever you suffer any great trouble it will kill you.".
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