plicitly. This implicit, slavish obedience to signs and tokens of
a natural order to which a supernatural origin is assigned, is the
Indian's religion. The life of the Indian is therefore merely a
succession of religious acts called forth by utterances of what he
supposes to be higher powers surrounding him, and accompanying him on
every step from the cradle to the grave. The Indian is a child whose
life is ruled by a feeling of complete dependence, by a desire to
accommodate every action to the wills and decrees of countless
supernatural beings.

In the eyes of Say Koitza, the whole afternoon appeared now like an
uninterrupted chain of dispensations from Those Above. She was, of
course, convinced that the rain had come in response to the prayers and
ceremonies of yesterday's dance. That same rain had driven Shotaye to
shelter under her roof, had given the medicine-woman an opportunity to
clear the mind of Say of many a dismal fear, many a distressing
apprehension and suspicion. The rainbow, in her eyes, was a token that
what the cave-dweller said was true; it was also the messenger through
whose agency Okoya, and later on Hayoue, had drifted into her home with
cheering tidings. Even Shyuote had arrived at the right moment, in time
to be sent after the husband and father. So happy felt Say, that in view
of Shyuote's opportune coming, she almost regretted having scolded the
boy.

An intense feeling of gratitude toward the powers above filled her
heart. Among these powers there are two that appear not so much superior
to the rest as more intimately connected with the fate of man,--as more
directly influencing his weal and woe. These are the prominent figures
of the sun-father and his spouse the moon-mother. It is principally the
latter that moves the hearts of men, and with whom mankind is in most
constant relations. Say Koitza felt eager to thank the Mother Above for
all she had received that day. She went to the recess in the kitchen
wall where the yaya, that fabric of snow-white down tied into a graceful
bunch of drooping plumage, was carefully stored away, wrapped in a cover
of deerskin. She took out the plumage and placed it before her on the
floor, scattered sacred meal around it, and whispered a prayer of
thanks. Hardly had she replaced it, when the sound of voices approached
the outer doorway. It was Zashue and Shyuote, who were coming home
together.

Zashue seemed vexed at being called home. He looked around w