“Does he speak good or ill?” Say insisted.

“Good,” muttered Okoya, casting his eyes to the ground.  The mild, soft smile which played over his mother’s features as he uttered the word escaped him.  When he raised his eyes again her looks were serious, though not stern.  He was completely bewildered.  What had occurred to cause his mother to speak in this manner?  Had she changed her mind since morning, and why so suddenly?  He had, of course, no thought of attributing to Shotaye and to her influence this surprisingly favourable change, for he did not know the intimate relations existing between her and his mother.  So he remained silent, staring, wrapped in his own musings.  His mother looked at him in silence also, but with a half-suppressed smile.

At last she asked,—­

“Sa uishe, will you eat?”

“Yes,” he replied, considerably relived by this turn in the conversation.  He rose and moved briskly toward the entrance to the cooking apartment; but Say held him back.

“Tell me, but tell me the truth; did Hayoue say it was well for you to go with Mitsha?”

Okoya was so embarrassed by this direct query that he could not answer at once.  He stood still and hung his head.

“Tell me, child,” Say insisted.

“He said”—­the words were scarcely audible—­“that it was well.”

“Did he also say it was good for you to listen to the words of Tyope and his woman?”

Now light began to dawn upon the boy.  He felt a presentiment of something favourable.  “No,” he exclaimed, “he said that I must beware of Tyope and of his koitza; but that Mitsha I could trust.”

“Then it is well, sa uishe,” replied the mother; “come in and eat.”

Okoya could hardly believe his senses.  Had his mother really said, “It is well?” Was it possible that she was satisfied and in sympathy with his feeling toward Mitsha?  Such was his surprise that he performed his prayers before squatting down to the meal without a thought of the kopishtai, to whom he scattered crumbs mechanically.  He forgot to eat, and stared like a blind man with eyes wide open, heedless of the food, heedless of everything around him.

“Eat,” said Say to him.  Twice she repeated the invitation ere he came to himself and reached out for the first morsel.  Aware of his mute astonishment and conscious of his perplexity, his mother finally asked,—­

“What is the matter with you, mot[=a]tza?”

He merely shook his head and stared.

Very few young Indians in Okoya’s condition would have placed so much stress on their mother’s consent or dissent.  All or nearly all of them would simply have left the old home and would have joined their betrothed at her mother’s house; and only the clan, and not the family, could have interfered with their action.  In the case of Okoya it was different, and unusual circumstances complicated the matter.  Mitsha’s clan was that of Topanashka,