He had left behind him the land of snow and ice. The air became mild,
the dark clouds of winter had rolled away from the sky; a pure field
of blue was above him, and as he went he saw flowers beside his path,
and heard the songs of birds. By these signs he knew that he was going
the right way, for they agreed with the traditions of his tribe. At
length he spied a path. It led him through a grove, then up a long and
elevated ridge, on the very top of which he came to a lodge. At the
door stood an old man, with white hair, whose eyes, though deeply
sunk, had a fiery brilliancy. He had a long robe of skins thrown
loosely around his shoulders, and a staff in his hands.
The young Chippewayan began to tell his story; but the venerable
chief arrested him before he had proceeded to speak ten words. "I have
expected you," he replied, "and had just risen to bid you welcome
to my abode. She whom you seek passed here but a few days since, and
being fatigued with her journey, rested herself here. Enter my lodge
and be seated, and I will then satisfy your inquiries, and give you
directions for your journey from this point." Having done this, they
both issued forth to the lodge door.
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