the
eating of the oysters, and how the earth had not opened and swallowed
him. His mind was made up. It was absolutely certain that his tribe and
Verva's kin had never been within a thousand miles of each other. In a
few impassioned words he explained to Verva his faith, his simple creed
that a thing was not necessarily wrong because the medicine-men said so,
and the tribe believed them. The girl's own character was all
trustfulness, and Why-Why was the person she trusted. "Oh, Why-Why,
dear," she said blushing (for she had never before ventured to break the
tribal rule which forbade calling any one by his name), "Oh, Why-Why, you
are _always_ right!"

And o'er the hills, and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Through all the world she followed him.

LA MORT WHY-WHY.

Two years had passed like a dream in the pleasant valley which, in far
later ages, the Romans called Vallis Aurea, and which we call Vallauris.
Here, at a distance of some thirty miles from the cave and the tribe,
dwelt in fancied concealment Why-Why and Verva. The clear stream was
warbling at their feet, in the bright blue weather of spring; the scent
of the may blossoms was poured abroad, and, lying in the hollow of Why-
Why's shield, a pretty little baby with Why-Why's dark eyes and Verva's
golden locks was crowing to his mother. Why-Why sat beside her, and was
busily making the first European pipkin with the clay which he had found
near Vallauris. All was peace.

* * * * *

There was a low whizzing sound, something seemed to rush past Why-Why,
and with a scream Verva fell on her face. A spear had pierced her
breast. With a yell like that of a wounded lion, Why-Why threw himself
on the bleeding body of his bride. For many moments he heard no sound
but her long, loud and unconscious breathing. He did not mark the yells
of his tribesmen, nor feel the spears that rained down on himself, nor
see the hideous face of the chief medicine-man peering at his own. Verva
ceased to breathe. There was a convulsion, and her limbs were still.
Then Why-Why rose. In his right hand was his famous club, "the watcher
of the fords;" in his left his shield. These had never lain far from his
hand since he fled with Verva.

He knew that the end had come, as he had so often dreamt of it; he knew
that he was trapped and taken by his offended tribesmen. His first blow
shattered the head of t