“Where were you while it was raining?”

“With Hayoue.”

“How late did he come home?” She laughed; he chimed in and answered,—­

“Late enough; I had to wait a long time before he came, and so sleepy was he,—­as tired and sleepy as a bear in spring.”

“Do you know where he spent the night?” The tone of the conversation sounded easy and pleasant.

“I don’t know the name of the makatza,”—­here Okoya laughed again and his mother caught the contagion,—­“but she must belong to Oshatsh.  He did not say much, for he was tired from yesterday.”

“Was she a short, stumpy girl?”

“I don’t know.  It must have been the same one with whom he was at the dance.  I paid no attention to her.”

“It is Haatze; I know her.  She is a strong girl and tall.”

“Do you think he goes to see her?” Okoya asked.

“It may be, and it may be not.  Hayoue goes to every one; he is like a fly,—­he sits down everywhere and stops nowhere.”

Okoya enjoyed hugely his mother’s joke.  The latter with some hesitancy continued,—­

“Does he also visit Mitsha Koitza?”

Okoya bent down to avoid her glance, then he resolutely replied,—­

“No.”

“Are you sure of it?”

“I am sure.”  He cast a furtive glance at his mother.

“Did Mitsha tell you?”

Not in the harsh tone of an inquisitor were these words uttered.  Say spoke them softly, gently; and Okoya was comforted.  He was moved by the question.

“No,” he replied in the same manner; “Hayoue spoke to me about it.”

Say felt a decided relief.  It was clear to her now where Okoya had spent the day, and how he had spent it.  She liked her husband’s younger brother and trusted him.  Although very fond of the other sex, Hayoue was still honest and trustworthy in everything else.  Her son had evidently spoken to his uncle about Mitsha, and in Say’s estimation he could not have chosen a better person in whom to confide.  Hayoue, she knew, harboured toward Tyope sentiments akin to her own.  His advice to Okoya must therefore have been sound.  On the other hand she was herself, since the talk with Shotaye, greatly drawn toward Mitsha.  This made her anxious to find out what Hayoue thought of the girl.  So she put the direct question,—­

“You spoke with your nashtio about Mitsha?”

“I did.”

“What says he of the makatza?”

Had the room been better lighted Say would have seen how flushed Okoya’s face became, notwithstanding the tawny colour of his complexion.  The boy saw at once that he had confessed much more than he had intended,—­that the secret of his interview of the morning was divulged.  Recede he could not; neither could he conceal his embarrassment.  He began to twist the end of his wrap, and stammered,—­

“He says not much.”  And then he stared at the doorway with that stolid air which the Indian assumes when he is in trouble.