“Tyope is wise.”

“And he is also very bad,” the younger brother exclaimed.  This made Zashue angry.

“If he is such a bad man why do you want to throw away Okoya, that jewel,” he said with a grin of irony, “on that bad man’s daughter?  It seems that you have called me in, only in order to slander the best of my brethren.  I am Koshare, and will remain Koshare, whether it pleases you, koitza, or not.  The mot[=a]tza here,” alluding to Hayoue, “has still less to say about it.  He is Cuirana and has his people; I am Koshare and have my people.  Okoya may do as he pleases.  If he thinks that his father’s brother is nearer to him than his father himself, let him believe it forever.  Now let me alone; and as to his makatza, do as you please.  I will return to my brethren!” He rose angrily and went out.

Hayoue shook his head and looked sad; Say drew a suppressed sigh and stared before her in silence.  After a while she rose and fed the fire, and a more vivid glow spread over the room where both sat again motionless, absorbed by their own thoughts.

A shuffling sound was heard outside, a muffled step in the outer room.  Then the woman’s father entered the kitchen with the usual salutation, spoken in a hoarse voice.

“Guatzena.”  He sat down near the hearth, where his daughter had placed a deerskin for him.

Holding both hands up to the fire, his quick glance shot from one of those present to the other, scanning the expression of their features.  Then he asked quietly,—­

“Where is Zashue?”

“He went to the Koshare,” Hayoue explained.

“Why did you call me?”

Say answered in a meek, submissive manner,—­

“We wished to speak to you, nashtio, for Okoya, my child, has told me something that may be good, although it may also not be good.  It is something I like to see, and yet it also makes my heart heavy.  He has spoken about it to satyumishe, too,”—­she nodded at Hayoue,—­“before he said anything to me.  Therefore Hayoue came to see me, and we thought it would be well to seek your advice.  For, umo, you are wise and we are foolish; you are old and we are but children.  Therefore listen to our speech kindly, and then open our hearts with your speech as a father should with his children.”

The old man was flattered by this address from his daughter, and glanced at Hayoue with the air of one who feels proud of the achievements of his child.  The young man, too, bowed in approbation.  Topanashka turned to Say, and said in an affable tone,—­

“Speak, sa uishe; I am glad to listen.”

“Sa nashtio,” she began, “Okoya is young, but he is no longer a child.  His eyes have seen a girl and that girl has pleased his heart.  So he has gone to that girl and may be with her at present.  I hold this to be good, umo.  What do you think?”

“It is well, and it is good for him and for the tribe,” the old man asserted.