He smoked in silence,puffing rapidly.Then--My name is Brick Willock.How came you to be named Lahoma Willock?
Lahoma suggested thoughtfully--All white people named Willock?There's a few,Willock shook his head,with less agreeable names.
But after all,I'm glad you have my name.Yes--the more I think on it,the more pleased I get.I reckon we're sort of kinfolks,anyhow.Well,honey,this is enough talk about being civilized;now let's make the first move on the way.You want to see your mother's grave,and lay some of these wild flowers on it.That's a part of being civilized,caring for graves is.It's just savages as forgets the past and consequently never learns nothing.Come along.Them moccasins will do famous until I can get you shoes from the settlements.It's seventy mile to Vernon,Texas,and none too easy miles.But I got a pony the first time I ventured to Doan's store,and it'll carry you,if I have to walk at your side.We'll make a festibul march of that journey,and lay in clothes as a girl should wear,and books to last through the winter.
Willock rose and explained that they must cross the mountain.As they traversed it,he reminded her that she had not gathered any of the flowers that were scattered under sheltering boulders.
Why?asked Lahoma,showing that her neglect to do so was intentional.
Well,honey,don't you love and honor that mother that bore so much pain and trouble for you,traveling with you in her arms to the Oklahoma country,trying to make a home for you up there in the wilderness,and at last dying from the hardships of the plains.Ain't she worth a few flowers.