king his bill, and hopping to right and left, upon
the ground, extending his wings to their full length and fluttering them
back to his breast.

When the woodpecker at last reached the lodge, Manabozho made various
remarks upon the weather, the appearance of the country, and especially
on the scarcity of game.

"But we," he added, "we always have enough. Come in, and you shall not
go away hungry, my noble bird!"

Manabozho had always prided himself on being able to give as good as he
had received; and to be up with the woodpecker, he had shifted his
lodge so as to inclose a large dry tamarack-tree.

"What can I give you," said he to the woodpecker; "but as we eat so
shall you eat."

With this he hopped forward, and, jumping on the tamarack-tree, he
attempted to climb it just as he had seen the woodpecker do in his own
lodge. He turned his head first on one side, then on the other, in the
manner of the bird, meanwhile striving to go up, and as often slipping
down. Ever and anon he would strike the tree with his nose, as if it had
been a bill, and draw back, but he pulled out no raccoons; and he dashed
his nose so often against the trunk that at last the blood began to
flow, and he tumbled down senseless upon the ground.

The woodpecker started up with his drum and rattle to restore him, and
by beating them violently he succeeded in bringing him to.

As soon as he came to his senses, Manabozho began to lay the blame of
his failure upon his wife, saying to his guest:

"Nemesho, it is this woman-relation of yours--she is the cause of my not
succeeding. She has made me a worthless fellow. Before I took her I also
could get raccoons."

The woodpecker said nothing, but flying on the tree he drew out several
fine raccoons.

"Here," said he, "this is the way we do!" and left him in disdain,
carrying his bill high in the air, and stepping over the door-sill as if
it were not worthy to be touched by his toes.

After this visit, Manabozho was sitting in the lodge one day with his
head down. He heard the wind whistling around it, and thought that by
attentively listening he could hear the voice of some one speaking to
him. It seemed to say to him:

"Great chief, why are you sorrowful? Am not I your friend--your guardian
spirit?"

Manabozho immediately took up his rattle, and without rising from the
ground where he was sitting, began to sing the chant which has at every
close the refrain of, "Wha lay le aw."

When