The Indian in the Cupboard Read Online Free Page A

back, and stared with proud defiance at Omri’s face, which was now level with his own.
    For Omri, the feeling of holding this little creature in his fingers was very strange and wonderful. If he had had any doubts that the Indian was truly alive, the sensation he had now would have put them to rest. His body was heavier now, warm and firm and full of life—through Omri’s thumb, on the Indian’s left side, he could feel his heart beating wildly, like a bird’s.
    Although the Indian felt strong, Omri could sense how fragile he was, how easily an extra squeeze could injure him. He would have liked to feel him all over, his tiny arms and legs, his hair, his ears, almost too small to see—yet when he saw how the Indian, who was altogether in his power, faced him boldly and hid his fear, he lost all desire to handle him—he felt it was cruel, and insulting to the Indian, who was no longer his plaything but a person who had to be respected.
    Omri put him down gently on the chest of drawers where the cupboard stood. Then he crouched down till his face was again level with the Indian’s.
    “Sorry I did that,” he said.
    The Indian, breathing heavily and with his arms still folded, said nothing, but stared haughtily at him, as if nothing he did could affect him in any way.
    “What’s your name?” asked Omri.
    “Little Bear,” said the Indian, pointing proudly to himself. “Iroquois brave. Son of chief. You son of chief?” he shot at Omri fiercely.
    “No,” said Omri humbly.
    “Hm!” snorted Little Bear with a superior look. “Name?”
    Omri told him. “Now we must find you another place to sleep—outside the cupboard. Surely you sleep in tepees sometimes?”
    “Never,” said Little Bear firmly.
    “I’ve never heard of an Indian who didn’t,” said Omri, with equal firmness. “You’ll have to tonight, anyway.”
    “Not toy,” said the Indian. “This no good. And fire. I want fire.”
    “I can’t light a real fire in here. But I’ll make you a tepee. It won’t be very good, but I promise you a better one tomorrow.”
    He looked around. It was good, he thought, that he never put anything away. Now everything he needed was strewn about the floor and on tables and shelves, ready to hand.
    Starting with some pick-up sticks and a bit of string, he made a sort of cone shape, tied at the top. Around this he draped first a handkerchief, and then, when that didn’t seem firm enough, a bit of old felt from a hat that had been in the dressing-up crate. It was fawn-colored, fortunately, and looked rather like animal hide. In fact, when it was pinned togetherat the back with a couple of safety pins and a slit cut for an entrance, the whole thing looked pretty good, especially with the poles sticking up through a hole in the top.
    Omri stood it up carefully on the chest of drawers and anxiously awaited Little Bear’s verdict. The Indian walked around it three times slowly, went down on hands and knees and crawled in through the flap, came out again after a minute, tugged at the felt, stood back to look at the poles, and finally gave a fairly satisfied grunt. However, he wasn’t going to pass it without any criticism at all.
    “No pictures,” he growled. “If tepee, then need pictures.”
    “I don’t know how to do them,” said Omri.
    “I know. You give colors. I make.”
    “Tomorrow,” said Omri, who, despite himself, was beginning to feel very sleepy.
    “Blanket?”
    Omri fished out one of Action Man’s sleeping rolls.
    “No good. No keep out wind.”
    Omri started to object that there was no wind in his bedroom, but then he decided it was easier to cut up a square out of one of his old sweaters, so he did that. It was a red one with a stripe around the bottom, and even Little Bear couldn’t hide his approval as he held it up, then wrapped it around himself.
    “Good. Warm. I sleep now.”
    He dropped on his knees and crawled into the tent. After a moment he stuck his head out.
    “Tomorrow