the roof was cleared.  The young braves from the Maize clan were ungraciously received below.  A number of their parents had assembled, and when the woman began to expostulate, they looked at the matter from her point of view.  They saw that it was an infringement, a trespass, upon the territory and rights of another clan, and treated their pugnacious sons to another instalment of bodily punishment as fast as they came tumbling from above.  The final result for the incipient warriors of the Corn people was that they were ignominiously driven home.

While peace was thus restored upon the ground it still looked quite stormy on the roof.  The woman who had so energetically interfered at last discovered Okoya, who was looking in blank amazement at this sudden change of affairs.  Forthwith she made a vicious grab at his ebony locks, with the pointed remark,—­

“Down with you, you stinking weed!”

But Mitsha interfered.

“Mother,” she said gently, “do not harm him.  He was defending his brother and me.  He is none of the others.”

“What!” the woman screamed, “was it you whom they were about to strike, these night-owls made of black corn?  You, my child?  Let me tell them again what they are,” and she ran to the brink of the roof, raised handfuls of dust from it, and hurled them in the direction of the caves of the offenders.  She stamped, she spat; she raved, and heaped upon the heads of the Corn people, their ancestors, and their descendants, every invective the Queres language contains.  To those below this appeared decidedly entertaining; the men especially enjoyed the performance, but Mitsha felt sorry,—­she disliked to see her mother display such frenzy and to hear her use such vulgar language.  She pulled her wrap, saying,—­

“It is enough now, sanaya.  Don’t you see that those who wanted to hurt me are gone?  Their fathers and mothers are not guilty.  Be quiet, mother; it is all over now.”

Her mother at last yielded to these gentle remonstrances, turned away from the brink, and surveyed the roof.  She saw Okoya standing before weeping Shyuote, and scolding him.

“What are you doing to this child?” asked Mitsha’s mother, still under the pressure of her former excitement.  She was ready for another fray.

“He is my brother, and the cause of the whole trouble,” Okoya explained to her.  “I chide him for it, as it is my duty to do.  Nevertheless, they had no right to kill him, still less to hurt the girl.”

The woman had at last had time to scrutinize the looks of the young man.  She herself was not old, and when not under the influence of passion was rather comely.  Okoya’s handsome figure attracted her attention, and she stepped nearer, eyeing him closely.

“Where do you belong?” she inquired in a quieter tone.

“I am Tanyi.”

“Who is your father?”

“Zashue Tihua.”

The woman smiled; she moved still nearer to the young man and continued,—­