He went home sad and afflicted, and passed all the day mourning in his lodge.

“Have you disturbed the remains of the chief’s beautiful daughter?” was his parent’s anxious question.

“No, grandmother,”—­and he uttered not another word.

Thus it went on for many days and nights.  The fox always took care to quit his watch at the early dawn of day, for he knew that her friends would suspect him, and come betimes to see if all was right.

At length he perceived that, gradually, the young girl looked less and less hideous in the morning light, and that she by degrees resumed the appearance she had presented in life, so that in process of time her beauty and look of health quite returned to her.

One day he said, “Grandmother, give me my pipe, that I may take a smoke.”

“Ah!” cried she, “you begin to be comforted.  You have never smoked since the death of the chief’s beautiful daughter.  Have you heard some good news?”

“Never you mind,” said he; “bring the pipe.”

He sat down and smoked, and smoked.  After a time he said, “Grandmother, sweep your lodge and put it all in order, for this day you will receive a visit from your daughter-in-law.”

The grandmother did as she was desired.  She swept her lodge, and arranged it with all the taste she possessed, and then both sat down to await the visit.

“When you hear a sound at the door,” said the fox, “you must give the salutation, and say, Come in.”

When they had been thus seated for a time, the grandmother heard a faint, rustling sound.  She looked towards the door.  To her surprise, the mat which usually hung as a curtain was rolled up, and the door was open.

“Peen-tee-geen n’dau-nis!"[49] cried she.

Something like a faint, faint shadow appeared to glide in.  It took gradually a more distinct outline.  As she looked and looked, she began to discern the form and features of the chief’s beautiful daughter, but it was long before she appeared like a reality, and took her place in the lodge like a thing of flesh and blood.

They kept the matter hid very close, for they would not for the world that the father or friends of the bride should know what had happened.  Soon, however, it began to be rumored about that the chief’s beautiful daughter had returned to life, and was living in the Red Fox’s lodge.  How it ever became known was a mystery, for, of course, the grandmother never spoke of it.

Be that as it may, the news created great excitement in the village.  “This must never be,” said they all.  “He barked her to death once, and who knows what he may do next time?”

The father took at once a decided part.  “The Red Fox is not worthy of my daughter,” he said.  “I had promised her to the Hart, the finest and most elegant among the animals.  Now that she has returned to life, I shall keep my word.”