“Are you not ashamed of yourself, you big, ugly uak,” she scolded, “to beat your poor little sister?”

“She would not come home.”

“Neither would you, lazy brat, else you would have been here a long while ago!  Do not cry, my heart,”—­she turned to the weeping child,—­“do not weep.  He will not hurt you any more, the bad, bad mocking-bird.  Weep not.”  She took the crying child into her arms in order to carry her into the kitchen, but on the way she turned back and called,—­

“Shyuote!”

“What do you want,” growled the boy, and stumbled after her.

“Do you know where your nashtio is?”

“He is coming.”

“Go and tell him to come.  Say that Hayoue is here, and that he wants to see him.”

“Did I not tell you that he was coming?” muttered the unruly lad.  This answer was too much for Hayoue, who until now had been a mere listener.  He said in a peculiar tone of command,—­

“Will you go or not, you silly, lazy, good-for-nothing whelp!  Go at once, or I will lead you where your father is;” and he pretended to rise.

Shyuote had not noticed the presence of his uncle.  His sudden appearance upon the scene was to him an unwelcome sight, and he sped away with unusual and commendable alacrity.  Hayoue was greatly amused and laughed aloud.

“That urchin,” he said, “is more afraid of me than of Zashue and you together.  The brat is no good, and will never do for anything but a Koshare.  How different is Okoya!”

Say had again squatted near the hearth.  She gathered the crying child into her arms.  The little girl continued to sob for a while, and at first refused to eat.  Finally Say persuaded her to take one of the corn-cakes, and still sobbing, she pushed the greater portion of it gradually into her little mouth.  Thus chewing, sobbing, and resting on the lap of her mother, the child forgot all fear, and ultimately forgot herself and fell asleep.

“Umo,” Say began again, “I think it is better to speak to Zashue about it.  Not that he has anything to do in the matter, but then you know how it is.  Sooner or later he must hear of it, and if we tell him first he may perhaps assist us in teaching Okoya and advising him about the future.  All the boy needs is counsel, for we cannot prevent him from going to live with the people of Tyame hanutsh with this girl.”

“The people of Tyame,” Hayoue remarked, “are good.  It is only that woman of Tyope’s who is bad, and after all she is not all-powerful.”

“How would it do,” suggested Say, “to call sa nashtio?”

Hayoue looked at her like one to whom has come a sudden revelation.

“Topanashka, the maseua,” he said; “you are right, koya, this is a wise thought.  Nashtio is very wise.  He will give us counsel that we can trust, but do you think he is here?”

“He was in his cell while it rained.”

Hayoue rose.  “I will go and call him,” he said.  “He can help us.  Zashue listens to the talk of the old man, and what he says goes far with my brother.”  With this Hayoue, ere Say could interpose a word, went out and left her alone with the sleeping child.