Hawk-in-the-Tree answered him in his own tongue, for she had learned it from a prisoner when she was a child. Until recently, the Mohawks had never lacked opportunity of acquiring the Maliseet language.
“I sometimes fish in that pool, chief. But I will go away and fish somewhere else,” she replied, modestly.
“Do not go,” he said. “Come down and fish here if you want to. The pools of the river are free to all honest Maliseets.”
Without more ado, the girl crawled forward, turned, and slid down to the flat rock beside Walking Moose. In her left hand she held a short coil of transparent fish-line made from the intestines of some animal. Her small face was flushed. She stood beside Walking Moose with downcast eyes. The young man gazed at her with frank interest.
“You are a stranger,” he said. “You do not belong to my village.”
“Have you ever seen me before, chief?” she asked.
“I am not sure,” he replied, puckering his brows in reflection. “But I know that you do not live in my village. You do not look like those young women.”
“They are more pleasant of appearance, perhaps?”
“Perhaps you say the truth, but I think your cheeks are pinker and your eyes brighter than the young women I know.”
“I must fish,” she said, “else my poor old grandfather will go hungry.”
Walking Moose, feeling an interest that was new to him, and prompted by a little devil that had never troubled him before, dropped his bow and put out his hand and took the coiled fish-line from the girl. Their fingers touched—and he was astonished at the thrill which he felt.
“You must tell me who you are, and where you come from,” he said, and his voice had a foolish little break in it. This vocal tremor was not lost on the girl.
“I belong to a small village on the great river, three days’ journey from here,” she said. “My old grandfather is my only friend. His name is Never Sleep. Because of his sharp tongue he became disliked by the people of the village, and so we journeyed to this place, and built a little hidden lodge. Never Sleep is very old, and spends all his days in brewing healing liquors from roots and barks. It is my work to keep the pot boiling.”
“You are a good girl to take such care of your old grandfather,” he said. “But why have you not brought him into my village to dwell?”
