man remained quietly indifferent as long as the meal lasted;
then he rose, peeped cautiously into the outer apartment, resumed his
seat, and spoke in a low tone,--

"Is it true that you have listened to kamonyitza,--'black corn'?"

The woman started. "Who says so?" she answered with sudden haste.

"The Koshare," replied the old man, looking at her with a cold steady
gaze.

"What do I care for them," exclaimed his daughter. Her lips curled with
an air of disdain.

"It may be," spoke her father, in measured tones, "that you do not wish
to hear from them; but I know that they care for your doings."

"Let them do as they please."

"Woman," he warned, "speak not thus. Their disposition toward you is not
a matter for indifference."

"What reason have they to follow my path? I am a woman like many others
in the tribe, nothing more or less. I stay with my husband," she went on
with greater animation. "I do my duty. What have the Delight Makers to
say that might not be for my good?"

"And yet, you are not precious to them--"

"Neither are they precious to me," she cried. Her eyes sparkled.

Her father heaved a deep sigh. He shook his head and said in a husky
tone,--

"Woman, your ways are wrong. I know it, and the Koshare know it also.
They may know more, much more than I could wish," he added, and looked
into her eyes with a searching sorrowful glance. An awful suspicion lay
in this penetrating look. Her face flushed, she bent her head to avoid
his gaze.

To the gloomy talk succeeded a still more gloomy silence. Then the woman
lifted her head, and began entreatingly,--

"My father, I do not ask you to tell me how you come to know all this;
but tell me, umo, what are these Delight Makers, the Koshare? At every
dance they appear and always make merry. The people feel glad when they
see them. They must be very wise. They know of everything going on, and
drag it before the people to excite their mirth at the expense of
others. How is it that they know so much? I am but a woman, and the ways
of the men are not mine," she raised her face and her eyes flamed; "but
since I hear that the Delight Makers wish me no good, I want to know at
least what those enemies of mine are."

The old man lowered his glance and sighed.

"My child," he began softly, "when I was young and a boy like your son
Okoya, I cared little about the Koshare. Now I have learned more." He
leaned his head against the wall, pressed his lips firmly t