She Tells Her Story - Letter to The Gnome

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: Dear Gnome,

: Well I finally got that birch bark stripped and dried out enough to make paper for a letter, but then I had to find me some ink for my goosequill pen, and that took a while.  Fort'nately there was a blackberry patch under the birches, and mixed with a leetle mud for stickin' power, I hope the blackberry juice holds onto the bark long enough for ye to read the story o' my  trek around the colonies and the western territories where I never been afore.  

: I was bendin' over pickin' some fine mushrooms for ye, and when I straightened up to take the crick outten my back, everwhere I looked I seed a red face and the trappin's o' the Hurons.  Well, sartain I was surrounded, and there was no use fightin' it, so they took me prisoner.  Come to find out they thought I was La Longue Carabine until they tied me up to a sappling by my wrists, and then one of  'em looked closer at my hands and pointed to my thumbs.  "Not La Longue Carabine", he said.  "Thumbs too short."

: It was then they discovered, besides not bein' La Longue Carabine,  I was a woman instead, and they figgered I might could be useful for carryin' their pelts to their huntin' camp.  So off we went into the howlin' wilderness at a mighty pace and kept on for most o' two days afore they run across a Delaware huntin' party. By this time, they decided I was not so good for carryin' pelts, since I tended to lag some under more than a hundred pounds.  So they traded me to the Delaware tribe for a quart o' parched corn and a mule which the Delawares had stole from a French trapper a while back.

: Well, the Delawares was a skinny and starvin' pack of Indians, but they was a gentle folk and let me and Hector go with 'em 'cause Hector is a good squirrel catcher, and they love squirrel stew, which we ate mornin' and night ever day on the whole trip, and I don't care if I never eat a squirrel agin, sartain.  Thus, we traveled all across Pennsylvania and further and finally around the bottom of a lake which makes the Glimmerglass look like a frog pond in the woods, and then the Delawares, also bein' tired o' squirrel stew by this time, met up with a northern war tribe and traded me for a pot o' bear grease and two venison haunches.

: This tribe did not speak any language I had come across, despite knowin' most o' the eastern languages and much o' the Delaware tongue.  They kept pointin' to themselves and sayin' "Men O' Mini Knees", but I never seed as their knees was much smaller than anybody elses, so I don't know where they come by that name.  Then they started pointin' northward and sayin' "Wiscone's Sin", by which I believe they meant an evil place o' some sort, but since I never heerd o' any partic'lar sins Uncle Wiscone committed that might could've got a place named after him, I decided to wait 'til I got home to ask the details.  Then these Indians started pointin' agin and sayin, "Men O' Mini Knees Falls".  Well, sartain, I figgered men with mini knees would have a harder time gettin' along a trail than ordinary, but I didn't want to offend anybody, so I said nothin' - just nodded and followed along.

: Unfort'natly, I'm runnin' outten birch bark and BLOB BLOB SMEAR the black.....r r ry j........smear  is about gone, so wi . . . . l finish the st.......smear drip.....ory when I get BLOT BLOT BLOT m......or.....e. 

: She
: driiiiiiiiippppppppppp


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