ind you hear him
whisper to you. He gives his war-whoop in the thunder. He watches you
by day with his eye, the sun; at night, he gazes upon your sleeping
countenance through the moon. In short, it is the Mystery of Mysteries,
who controls all things, to whom you will make your first offering. By
this act, you will ask him to grant to you what he has granted to few
men. I know you wish to be a great warrior and hunter. I am not
prepared to see my Hakadah show any cowardice, for the love of
possessions is a woman's trait and not a brave's."

During this speech, the boy had been completely aroused to the spirit
of manliness, and in his excitement was willing to give up anything he
had--even his pony! But he was unmindful of his friend and companion,
Ohitika, the dog! So, scarcely had Uncheedah finished speaking, when he
almost shouted:

"Grandmother, I will give up any of my possessions for the offering to
the Great Mystery! You may select what you think will be most pleasing
to him."

There were two silent spectators of this little dialogue. One was
Wahchewin, the other was Ohitika. The woman had been invited to stay,
although only a neighbor. The dog, by force of habit, had taken up his
usual position by the side of his master when they entered the teepee.
Without moving a muscle, save those of his eyes, he had been a very
close observer of what passed.

Had the dog but moved once to attract the attention of his little
friend, he might have been dissuaded from that impetuous exclamation:
"Grandmother, I will give up any of my possessions!"

It was hard for Uncheedah to tell the boy that he must part with his
dog, but she was equal to the situation.

"Hakadah," she proceeded cautiously, "you are a young brave. I know,
though young, your heart is strong and your courage is great. You will
be pleased to give up the dearest thing you have for your first
offering. You must give up Ohitika. He is brave; and you, too, are
brave. He will not fear death; you will bear his loss bravely.
Come,--here are four bundles of paints and a filled pipe,--let us go to
the place!"

When the last words were uttered, Hakadah did not seem to hear them. He
was simply unable to speak. To a civilized eye, he would have appeared
at that moment like a little copper statue. His bright black eyes were
fast melting in floods of tears, when he caught his grandmother's eye
and recollected her oft-repeated adage: "Tears for woman and the
war-who