d refused to join in that wicked dance we rejoiced.
When you yielded our hearts became sad, and we silently got away. I
went out into the woods and wept. When I returned the women had shut
themselves up in their tents, and the men were all off to the big dance
house. I found your clothes and fire bag just where you had thrown them
off, in danger of being dragged away or torn to pieces by the foolish
young dogs. So, unseen by anybody, I gathered them up and put them
away.

"During the days and nights you danced I was angry and miserable, and at
times could not keep from weeping that a man who had known Memotas, and
for days had been with him, and had heard so much about the good way,
should then go back to the old dark way which gives no comfort to
anyone.

"When you fell senseless in the circle, I watched where they carried
you. I visited the tent in the night, and I heard your sad moans, and I
knew you were unhappy. At daybreak, as you had fallen into a deep
sleep, I built the fire and prepared the food, and carried you your
clothing; and if it had not been for the breeze which swept through the
door, when I last opened it, you would never have known anything about
me."

Her story greatly interested Oowikapun; and as he listened to her thus
talking as he had never heard an Indian woman speak before, he saw the
benefit which had come as the result of a year spent among Christians,
even though it were only a year in childhood. When she finished he
said: "I am glad I have met you and heard your story."

"Why should you be glad?" she replied. "I am sure you must be offended
that a woman should have dared to speak so plainly to you."

"I deserve all that you have said, and more too," he added after a
pause.

"In which trail are you in the future going to walk?" she asked. This
straight, searching question brought vividly before his vision the
dream, and the two ways which there he saw, and he felt that a crisis in
his life had come; and he said, after a pause: "I should like to walk in
the way marked out by the book of heaven."

"And so would I," she replied, with intense earnestness; "but it seems
hard to do so, placed as I am. You think me brave here thus reproving
you, but I am a coward in the village. I have called it love for my
uncle's life that has kept me back from defying the conjurers, and
telling everybody I want to go in the way the Good Spirit has given us;
but it is cowardice, and I am asha