The girl went to where Api-k[)u]nni as living in an old woman’s lodge, very poorly furnished, and told him what she was going to do, and asked him to dress her for the dance.  He said to her:  “Oh, you have wronged me by coming here, and by going to the dance.  I told you to keep it a secret.”  The girl said:  “Well, never mind; no one will know your dress.  Fix me up, and I will go and join the dance anyway.”  “Why,” said Api-k[)u]nni, “I never have been to war.  I have never counted any coups.  You will go and dance and will have nothing to say.  The people will laugh at you.”  But when he found that the girl wanted to go, he painted her forehead with red clay, and tied a goose skin, which he had, about her head, and lent her his badly tanned robe, which in spots was hard like a parfleche.  He said to her, “If you will go to the dance, say, when it comes your turn to speak, that when the water in the creeks gets warm, you are going to war, and are going to count a coup on some people.”

The woman went to the dance, and joined in it.  All the people were laughing at her on account of her strange dress,—­a goose skin around her head, and a badly tanned robe about her.  The people in the dance asked her:  “Well, what are you dancing for?  What can you tell?” The woman said, “I am dancing here to-day, and when the water in the streams gets warm next spring, I am going to war; and then I will tell you what I have done to any people.”  The chief was standing present, and when he learned who it was that his young wife loved, he was much ashamed and went to his lodge.

When the dance was over, this young woman went to the lodge of the poor young man to give back his dress to him.  Now, while she had been gone, Api-k[)u]nni had been thinking over all these things, and he was very much ashamed.  He took his robe and his goose skin and went away.  He was so ashamed that he went away at once, travelling off over the prairie, not caring where he went, and crying all the time.  As he wandered away, he came to a lake, and at the foot of this lake was a beaver dam, and by the dam a beaver house.  He walked out on the dam and on to the beaver house.  There he stopped and sat down, and in his shame cried the rest of the day, and at last he fell asleep on the beaver house.

While he slept, he dreamed that a beaver came to him—­a very large beaver—­and said:  “My poor young man, come into my house.  I pity you, and will give you something that will help you.”  So Api-k[)u]nni got up, and followed the beaver into the house.  When he was in the house, he awoke, and saw sitting opposite him a large white beaver, almost as big as a man.  He thought to himself, “This must be the chief of all the beavers, white because very old.”  The beaver was singing a song.  It was a very strange song, and he sang it a long time.  Then he said to Api-k[)u]nni, “My son, why are you mourning?” and the young man told him everything that had happened, and how he had been shamed.  Then the beaver said:  “My son, stay here this winter with me.  I will provide for you.  When the time comes, and you have learned our songs and our ways, I will let you go.  For a time make this your home.”  So Api-k)u]nni stayed there with the beaver, and the beaver taught him many strange things.  All this happened in the fall.