bout Mitsha, and in Say's estimation he could not
have chosen a better person in whom to confide. Hayoue, she knew,
harboured toward Tyope sentiments akin to her own. His advice to Okoya
must therefore have been sound. On the other hand she was herself, since
the talk with Shotaye, greatly drawn toward Mitsha. This made her
anxious to find out what Hayoue thought of the girl. So she put the
direct question,--

"You spoke with your nashtio about Mitsha?"

"I did."

"What says he of the makatza?"

Had the room been better lighted Say would have seen how flushed Okoya's
face became, notwithstanding the tawny colour of his complexion. The boy
saw at once that he had confessed much more than he had intended,--that
the secret of his interview of the morning was divulged. Recede he could
not; neither could he conceal his embarrassment. He began to twist the
end of his wrap, and stammered,--

"He says not much." And then he stared at the doorway with that stolid
air which the Indian assumes when he is in trouble.

"Does he speak good or ill?" Say insisted.

"Good," muttered Okoya, casting his eyes to the ground. The mild, soft
smile which played over his mother's features as he uttered the word
escaped him. When he raised his eyes again her looks were serious,
though not stern. He was completely bewildered. What had occurred to
cause his mother to speak in this manner? Had she changed her mind since
morning, and why so suddenly? He had, of course, no thought of
attributing to Shotaye and to her influence this surprisingly favourable
change, for he did not know the intimate relations existing between her
and his mother. So he remained silent, staring, wrapped in his own
musings. His mother looked at him in silence also, but with a
half-suppressed smile.

At last she asked,--

"Sa uishe, will you eat?"

"Yes," he replied, considerably relived by this turn in the
conversation. He rose and moved briskly toward the entrance to the
cooking apartment; but Say held him back.

"Tell me, but tell me the truth; did Hayoue say it was well for you to
go with Mitsha?"

Okoya was so embarrassed by this direct query that he could not answer
at once. He stood still and hung his head.

"Tell me, child," Say insisted.

"He said"--the words were scarcely audible--"that it was well."

"Did he also say it was good for you to listen to the words of Tyope and
his woman?"

Now light began to dawn upon the boy. He felt a presentime