“It is the chant of the Stone Throwers—­ the Little People!” said Mayaro, laughing.  “Ye two are fit to hear it.”

“They are singing the Song of the Hidden Children,” I whispered to Lois.  “Is it not strangely pretty?”

“It is wild music, but sweet,” she murmured, “—­ the music of the Little People—­ che-kah-a-hen-wah.”

“Can you catch the words?”

“Aye, but do not understand them every one.”

“Some day I will make them into an English song for you.  Listen!  ’The Voices’ are beginning!  Listen attentively to the Chant of Ta-neh-u-weh-too!”

[* “Hidden in the Husks.”]

The Night Hawk was singing now, as he walked through the sunlit glade, hip-deep in scented ferns and jewel-weed.  Two brilliant humming-birds whirled around him as he strode.

  A VOICE

  “Who shall find my Hidden Maid
  Where the tasselled corn is growing? 
  Let them seek her in Kandaia,
  Let them seek her in Oswaya,
  Where the giant pines are growing,
  Let them seek and be afraid! 
  Where the Adriutha flowing
  Splashes through the forest glade,
  Where the Kennyetto flowing
  Thunders through the hemlock shade,
  Let them seek and be afraid,
  From Oswaya To Yndaia,
  All the way to Carenay!”

  ANOTHER VOICE

  “Who shall find my Hidden Son
  Where the tasselled corn is growing? 
  Let them seek my Hidden One
  From the Silver Horicon
  North along the Saguenay,
  Where the Huron cocks are crowing,
  Where the Huron maids are mowing
  Hay along the Saguenay;
  Where the Mohawk maids are hoeing
  Corn along the Carenay,
  Let them seek my Hidden Son,
  West across the inland seas,
  South to where the cypress trees
  Quench the flaming scarlet flora
  Of the painted Esaurora,
  Drenched in rivers to their knees!
  Honowehto!  Like Thendara!
  [ “They have vanished.”]
  Let them hunt to Danascara
  Back along the Saguenay,
  On the trail to Carenay,
  Through the Silver Horicon
  Till the night and day are one! 
  Where the Adriutha flowing
  Sings below Oswaya glowing. 
  Where the sunset of Kandaia
  Paints the meadows of Yndaia,
  Let them seek my Hidden Son
  ’Till the sun and moon are one!”

  TE-KI-E-HO-KEN
  [ “Two Voices (together).”]

"Nai Shehawa!  She lies sleeping, [ “Behold thy children!”] Where the green leaves closely fold her!  He shall wake first and behold her Who is given to his keeping; He shall strip her of her leaves Where she sleeps amid the sheaves, Snowy white, without a stain, Nothing marred of wind or rain.  So from slumber she shall waken, And behold the green robe shaken From his shoulders to her own! Ye-ji-se-way-ad-kerone!” ["So ye two are laid together.”]

The pretty song of the Hidden Children softened to a murmur and died out as our trail entered the swamp once more, north of the oval glade.  And into its sombre twilight we passed out of the brief gleam of sunshine.  Once more the dark and bitter water coiled its tortuous channel through the slime; huge, gray evergreens, shaggy and forbidding, towered above, closing in closer and closer on every side, crowding us into an ever-narrowing trail.