o soft in his manners was the monedo, that the mother feared that he
would yet decoy the son and make way with him as he had done with his
father and his seven brothers, in spite of all her struggles to save
him.

And yet she strove with all her might to strengthen her son in every
good course. She taught him, as best she could, what was becoming for
the wise hunter and the brave warrior. She remembered and set before him
all that she could recall of the skill and the craft of his father and
his brothers who were lost.

The widow woman also instructed her daughter in whatever could make her
useful as a wife; and in the leisure-time of the lodge, she gave her
lessons in the art of working with the quills of porcupine, and
bestowed on her such other accomplishments as should make her an
ornament and a blessing to her husband's household. The daughter, Minda
by name, was kind and obedient to her mother, and never failed in her
duty. Their lodge stood high up on the banks of a lake, which gave them
a wide prospect of country, embellished with groves and open fields,
which waved with the blue light of their long grass, and made, at all
hours of sun and moon, a cheerful scene to look upon.

Across this beautiful prairie, Minda had one morning made her way to
gather dry limbs for their fire; for she disdained no labor of the
lodge. And while enjoying the sweetness of the air and the green beauty
of the woods, she strolled far away.

She had come to a bank, painted with flowers of every hue, and was
reclining on its fragrant couch, when a bird, of red and deep-blue
plumage softly blended, alighted on a branch near by, and began to pour
forth its carol. It was a bird of strange character, such as she had
never before seen. Its first note was so delicious to the ear of Minda,
and it so pierced to her young heart, that she listened as she had never
before to any mortal or heavenly sound. It seemed like the human voice,
forbidden to speak, and uttering its language through this wild
wood-chant with a mournful melody, as if it bewailed the lack of the
power or the right to make itself more plainly intelligible.

The voice of the bird rose and fell, and circled round and round, but
whithersoever floated or spread out its notes, they seemed ever to have
their center where Minda sat; and she looked with sad eyes into the sad
eyes of the mournful bird, that sat in his red and deep-blue plumage
just opposite to the flowery bank.