Next day the old wolf addressed him thus:  “My brother, I am going to separate from you, but I will leave behind me one of the young wolves to be your hunter.”  He then departed.  In this act Hiawatha was disenchanted, and again resumed his mortal shape.  He was sorrowful and dejected, but soon resumed his wonted air of cheerfulness.  The young wolf that was left with him was a good hunter, and never failed to keep the lodge well supplied with meat.  One day he addressed him as follows:  “My grandson, I had a dream last night, and it does not portend good.  It is of the large lake which lies in that direction.  You must be careful never to cross it, even if the ice should appear good.  If you should come to it at night weary or hungry, you must make the circuit of it.”  Spring commenced, and the snow was melting fast before the rays of the sun, when one evening the wolf came to the lake weary with the day’s chase.  He disliked the journey of making its circuit.  “Hwooh!” he exclaimed, “there can be no great harm in trying the ice, as it appears to be sound.  Nesho, my grandfather, is over cautious on this point.”  He had gone but half way across when the ice gave way, and falling in, he was immediately seized by the serpents, who knowing he was Hiawatha’s grandson, were thirsting for revenge upon him.  Meanwhile Hiawatha sat pensively in his lodge.

Night came on, but no grandson returned.  The second and third night passed, but he did not appear.  Hiawatha became very desolate and sorrowful.  “Ah!” said he, “he must have disobeyed me, and has lost his life in that lake I told him of.  Well!” said he at last, “I must mourn for him.”  So he took coal and blackened his face.  But he was much perplexed as to the right mode of mourning.  “I wonder,” said he, “how I must do it?  I will cry ‘Oh! my grandson!  Oh! my grandson!’” He burst out laughing.  “No! no! that won’t do.  I will try ’Oh! my heart!  Oh! my heart! ha! ha! ha!’ That won’t do either.  I will cry, ’Oh my drowned grandson.’”

This satisfied him, and he remained in his lodge and fasted, till his days of mourning were over.  “Now,” said he, “I will go in search of him.”  He set out and traveled till he came to the great lake.  He then raised the lamentation for his grandson which had pleased him, sitting down near a small brook that emptied itself into the lake, and repeating his cries.  Soon a bird called Ke-ske-mun-i-see came near to him.  The bird inquired, “What are you doing here?” “Nothing,” Hiawatha replied; “but can you tell me whether any one lives in this lake, and what brings you here yourself?” “Yes!” responded the bird; “the Prince of Serpents lives here, and I am watching to see whether the body of Hiawatha’s grandson will not drift ashore, for he was killed by the serpents last spring.  But are you not Hiawatha himself?” “No,” was the reply, with his usual deceit; “how do you think he could get to this place?  But tell me, do the serpents ever appear?  When?  Where?  Tell me all about their habits.”  “Do you see that beautiful white sandy beach?” said the bird.  “Yes!” he answered.  “It is there,” continued the bird, “that they bask in the sun.  Before they come out, the lake will appear perfectly calm; not even a ripple will appear.  After midday you will see them.”