l now. Only
once, as far as he could remember, had he spoken of his aversion; and
then it was during an absolutely confidential conversation with his own
mother, who seemed to entertain like sentiments.

To his father he had never uttered a word; because his father was
himself a Koshare. Whatever Shyuote knew, he could only have gathered by
overhearing a conversation of the Koshare among themselves, in which it
was mentioned that he, Okoya, harboured ill-feelings toward that
brotherhood. In that case he might be exposed to serious danger, since,
as he believed, those people were in possession of knowledge of a higher
order, and practised arts of an occult nature. Against danger arising
from such a source, Okoya considered himself utterly defenceless.

The more he tried to think over these matters, the more troubled his
mind became. Only one thought appeared logical and probable and that was
that the boy had overheard one or other of the Koshare's intimate
conversations. But how came it that the Koshare knew about Okoya's
aversion toward them? Who could have told them? Only his mother knew the
secret! Had she, perhaps, she--The thought was like a spark which glowed
for a while, grew to a flame, flared and flickered unsteadily within his
heart, then began to shrink. No, no; it was impossible! it could not be!
His mother would never betray her child! The flame died out, the spark
remained fast dying. Suddenly it blazed up again as if some breath had
fanned it.

With renewed insistence, it struck Okoya that even if Shyuote had merely
overheard a conversation and the child's knowledge was derived from that
source, the most extraordinary part of the information could only have
come from one source,--the person in whom he had confided, his mother!
She alone could have told the Koshare that Okoya hated them. The spark
flared up anew; it burst out in a wild flame of suspicion. It singed
the heart and smothered feeling as well as reason. It so completely
absorbed his thoughts, that Okoya forgot everything else. Instead of
walking along at a quiet easy gait, he rushed fast and faster, wrapped
in dismal despair and in wild impotent wrath. Heedless of his little
companion he ran, panting with agitation, until Shyuote, unable to keep
pace and startled at his wild gait, pulled his garment and begged him to
stop.

"Brother," he cried, "why do you go so fast? I cannot follow you!"

Okoya came to a sudden halt, and turned toward the