To all this the boy replied not, but lay on his
mat without a murmur of discontent, until the
ninth day; when he said:--
``My father, the dreams tell me of evil. May I
break my fast now, and at a better time make a
new one?''
``My son,'' replied the old man, ``you know not
what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory
will depart. Wait patiently a little longer. You
have but three days more to fast, then glory and
honor will be yours.''
The boy said nothing more, but, covering
himself closer, he lay until the eleventh day, when he
spoke again:--
``My father,'' said he, ``the dreams forebode
evil. May I break my fast now, and at a better
time make a new one?''
``My son,'' replied the old man again, ``you know
not what you ask. Wait patiently a little longer.
You have but one more day to fast. To-morrow I
will myself prepare a meal and bring it to you.''
The boy remained silent, beneath his covering,
and motionless except for the gentle heaving of
his breast.
Early the next morning his father, overjoyed at
having gained his end, prepared some food. He
took it and hastened to the lodge intending to set
it before his son.
On coming to the door of the lodge what was his
surprise to hear the boy talking to some one. He
lifted the curtain hanging before the doorway,
and looking in saw his son painting his breast with
vermilion.
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