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 these new house-keepers were not as tidy as the old squaw had been. They did not scrape and scour the kettle after the succotash was boiled; and, at length, the broth cooked in it became bitter, and Nattie could not eat it. They did not wash the wooden bowls after using them, but merely rinsed them with cold water, so they became greasy and slimy with the thick broth.

These things stirred Nattie's wrath; and, one day, when the succotash was unsalted, burnt, and altogether unrelishable, she flamed out:

"You are nasty squaws, and you make such mean broth that I can't eat it."

"Then let the pale-face make the broth herself," said the youngest, with a sullen frown.

"I will," returned Nattie; "or, I will teach you to make it as the old chief's wife made hers."

"We can cook broth good enough for ourselves now," said the oldest; "let them that want better, make it, if they can."

"I know that I can make better," answered