He started and looked toward the dwelling, but saw only two black points peeping through the port-hole. Again the voice spoke,--

"Why don't you come in, mot[=a]tza?" Now he became conscious that Hannay was calling him into her home.

His first impulse was to run away, but that was only a pa.s.sing thought; and it became clear to him that he had reached the place whither he was going, and furthermore that the women were alone. Without a word of reply he climbed the roof and nimbly down into the apartment. He was still on the ladder when Hannay repeated the invitation,--

"Opona, sa uishe."

His greeting was responded to by a loud and warm "Raua, raua" from the mother, and a faint, slightly tremulous "Raua [=a]" from another voice, which from its softness could only be that of Mitsha. The room was dark, for the fire was about to go out; but beside the hearth cowered a female figure who had placed fresh wood on the embers and was fanning them with her breath. It was Mitsha. At the entrance of the visitor, she quickly stroked back the hair that streamed over her cheeks and turned her face half around. But this was for a moment only; as soon as the wood caught fire and light began to spread over the room she again blew into the flames with all her might. It was quite unnecessary, for the fire burned l.u.s.tily.

Hannay stood in the middle of the floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Stepping up to the boy she said,--

"You have not been here for a long time, mot[=a]tza." It sounded like a friendly reproach. He modestly grasped her fingers, breathed on her hand, and replied,--

"I could not come."

"You did not want to come," said the woman, smiling.

"I could not," he reiterated.

"You could had you wished, I know it; and I know also why you did not come." She added, "Well, now you are here at last, and it is well.

Mitsha, give your friend something to eat."

The significant word "friend" fell on fertile soil. It eased Okoya at once. He sat down closer to the hearth, where the maiden was very busy in a rather confused manner, her face turned from him. Still as often as the strands of hair accidentally parted on the left cheek, she shot quick side-glances at him. Okoya, balancing himself on his heels, quietly observed her. It was impossible to devote to her his whole attention, for her mother had already taken her seat close by him and was claiming his ear. She offered slight attraction to the eye, for her squatting figure was not beautiful. Okoya grew lively, much more lively than he had been on his first visit.

"Why should I not have wanted to see you?" he good-naturedly asked.

"I will tell you," Hannay chuckled; "because you were afraid."

"Afraid?" he cried, "afraid? Of whom?" But within himself he thought the woman was right. Hannay smiled.

"Of Mitsha," she said; adding, "she is naughty and strong." A peal of coa.r.s.e laughter accompanied this stroke of wit. The girl was embarra.s.sed; she hid her face on her lap. Okoya replied,--

"Mitsha does not bite."

"She certainly will not bite you," the mother answered, causing the maiden to turn her face away.

"Does she bite others?" Okoya asked. Again Hannay laughed aloud, and from the corner whither Mitsha had retreated there sounded something like a suppressed laugh also. It amused her to think that she might bite people. Her mother, however, explained,--

"No, Mitsha does not bite; but if other boys should come to see her she might perhaps strike them. But you, sa uishe,"--the woman moved closer to him,--"you, I am sure, she will not send away. Is it not so, Mitsha?

Okoya may come to see you, may he not?"

The poor girl was terribly embarra.s.sed by this more than direct question, and Okoya himself hung his head in confusion. He pitied the maiden for having such a mother. As Mitsha gave no answer, Hannay repeated,--

"Speak, sa uishe; will you send this mot[=a]tza away as you do the others?"

"No," breathed the poor creature thus sorely pressed. A thrill went through the frame of Okoya; he looked up, and his eyes beamed in the reflex of the fire. The woman had watched him with the closest attention, and nothing escaped her notice. Her eyes also sparkled with pleasure, for she felt sure of him.

"Well, why don't you give the mot[=a]tza some food?" she asked her daughter again. "On your account he has walked the long way from the big house. Is it not so, Okoya?"

"Yes," the boy replied innocently.

Quick as thought Mitsha turned around, and her eyes beamed on him for an instant. He did not notice it, and she forthwith stepped up to the hearth. Even though she lacked evening toilette, Mitsha presented a handsome picture; and her friend became absorbed in contemplation of the lithe, graceful form. She lifted the pot from the fire, placed the customary share of its contents before Okoya, and retired to a corner, whence she soon returned with a piece of dried yucca-preserve, regarded as a great treat by the Indians, because it has a sweet taste. As she was placing the dessert on the floor, the boy extended his hand, and she laid the sweetmeat in it instead of depositing it where she had originally intended. Okoya's hand closed, grasping hers and holding it fast. Mitsha tried to extricate her fingers, but he clutched them in his. Stepping back, she made a lunge at his upper arm which caused him to let go her hand at once. Laughing, she then sat down between him and her mother. The ice was broken.

"You are very strong," Okoya a.s.sured her, rubbing the sore limb.

"She is strong, indeed," her mother confirmed; "she can work well, too."

"Have you any green paint?" the girl asked.

"No, but I know a place where it is found. Do you want any?"

"I would like to have some."

"For what do you use the green stone?"

"Next year I want to paint and burn bowls and pots." Mitsha had no thought of the inferences that he would draw from her simple explanation. He interpreted her words as very encouraging for him, not only because the girl understood the art of making pottery, but he drew the conclusion that she was thinking of furnishing a household of her own.

Hannay improved the opportunity to still further praise her child. She said,--

"Mitsha does not only know how to paint; she can also shape the uashtanyi, the atash, and the asa." With this she rose, went to the wall, and began to rummage about in some recess. Okoya had meanwhile taken one of the girl's hands in his playing with her dainty fingers which she suffered him to do.

"See here," the woman cried and turned around. He dropped the girl's hand and Hannay handed something to him.

"Mitsha made this." Then she sat down again.

The object which Okoya had received from her was a little bowl of clay, round, and decorated on its upper rim with four truncated and graded pyramids that rose like p.r.o.ngs at nearly equal intervals. The vessel was neatly finished, smooth, white, and painted with black symbolic designs.

There was nothing artistic in it according to our ideas, but it was original and quaint. Okoya gazed at the bowl with genuine admiration, placed it on the floor, and took it up again, holding it so that the light of the fire struck the inside also. He shook his head in astonishment and pleasure. Mitsha moved closer to him. With innocent pride she saw his beaming looks, and heard the admiring exclamations with which he pointed at the various figures painted on the white surface. Then she began to explain to him.

"Lightning," said she, indicating with her finger a sinuous black line that issued from one side of the arches resting on a heavy black dash.

"Cloud," he added, referring to the arches.

"Rain," concluded the maiden, pointing at several black streaks which descended from the figure of the clouds. Both broke out in a hearty laugh. His merriment arose from sincere admiration, hers from equally sincere joy at his approbation of her work. The mother laughed also; it amused her to see how much Okoya praised her daughter's skill. She was overjoyed at seeing the two become more familiar.

Okoya returned to his former position, placing the vessel on the floor with tender care; and Mitsha resumed her sitting posture, only she sat much nearer the boy than before. He still examined the bowl with wonder.

"Who taught you to make such nice things?" he asked at last.

"An old woman from Mokatsh. Look," and she took up the vessel again, pointing to its outside, where near the base she had painted two horned serpents encircling the foot of the bowl.

"Tzitz shruy," she laughed merrily. The youth laughed, so did the women, all three enjoying themselves like big, happy children.

"For whom did you make this?" Okoya now inquired.

"For my father," Mitsha proudly replied.

"What may Tyope want with it?" asked the boy. "I have seen uashtanyi like this, but they stood before the altar and there was meal in them.

It was when the Shiuana appeared on the wall. What may sa nashtio use this for?"