After the dance was over he had loitered and lounged about for a time with some companions of his own age, but as soon as the moon rose he had sauntered home.  His mother was busy putting things into shape, for the Delight Makers had left behind a fearful disorder.  Shyuote was there, too; he was careful not to assist his mother, but to stand in her way as much as possible, which action on his part called forth some very active scolding.  But it struck Okoya that she appeared more cheerful than before.  Her motions were brisker, her step more elastic.  Say Koitza placed the usual food before her eldest son, and at this moment Zashue came in also.  He felt exceedingly proud of his exploits as a jester, and was jollier than ever before.  Okoya listened for a while to the clumsy and not always chaste jokes of his parent, and then retired to the estufa.  The next morning, bright and refreshed, he strolled back to the house for breakfast, expecting to meet his father, who would assign him his day’s work.

Zashue had gone already.  Nobody asked where, but it was taken for granted that he had gone to see the old chief of the Delight Makers about the approaching days of penitential retirement.  His mother was up; and she addressed her son in a pleasant manner, set food before him, and then inquired,—­

“Sa uishe, who was the girl that danced by your side?”

“It was Mitsha Koitza,” Okoya replied without looking up.

“Mitsha Koitza,” she repeated, “where does she belong?”

“Tyame hanutsh.”

“Who is her father?”

“Tyope Tihua.  Do you like her?” and he looked at his mother pleadingly, as if asking her forgiveness and her consent to his choice.

The woman’s brow clouded at the mention of a name so hateful to her.  She looked hard at her son and said in a tone of bitter reproach,—­

“And you go with that girl?”

“Why not!” His face darkened also.

“Have I not told you what kind of man Tyope is?”

“The girl is no Koshare,” he answered evasively.

“But her mother is, and he.”

Both became silent.  Okoya stared before him; his appetite was gone; he was angry, and could not eat any more.

What right had this woman, although she was his mother, to reprove him because he was fond of a girl whose father she did not like!  Was the girl responsible for the deeds of her parents?  No!  So he reasoned at once, and then his temper overcame him.  How could his mother dare to speak one single word against the Koshare!  Had she not betrayed him to them?  In his thoughts the hatred which she pretended to display against the Koshare appeared no longer sincere; it seemed to him hypocrisy, duplicity, deception.  Such deceit could mean only the darkest, the most dangerous, designs.  With the Indian the superlative of depravity is witchcraft.  Okoya revolved in his mind whether his mother was not perhaps his most dangerous enemy.