mest thou hither?' 'I am come to seek
the song-god, and to wed his daughter.' 'My father,' said the maiden,
'is more a god than a man; eat nothing he hands you, never sit on a high
seat, lest death follow.' So they were united in marriage. But the god,
like AEetes, was wroth, and began to set Siati upon perilous tasks:
'Build me a house, and let it be finished this very day, else death and
the oven await thee.' {99a}

Siati wept, but the god's daughter had the house built by the evening.
The other adventures were to fight a fierce dog, and to find a ring lost
at sea. Just as the Scotch giant's daughter cut off her fingers to help
her lover, so the Samoan god's daughter bade Siati cut her body into
pieces and cast her into the sea. There she became a fish, and recovered
the ring. They set off to the god's house, but met him pursuing them,
with the help of his other daughter. 'Puapae and Siati threw down the
comb, and it became a bush of thorns in the way to intercept the god and
Puanli,' the other daughter. Next they threw down a bottle of earth
which became a mountain; 'and then followed their bottle of water, and
that became a sea, and drowned the god and Puanli.' {99b}

This old Samoan song contains nearly the closest savage parallel to the
various household tales which find their heroic and artistic shape in the
Jason saga. Still more surprising in its resemblances is the Malagasy
version of the narrative. In the Malagasy story, the conclusion is
almost identical with the winding up of the Scotch fairy tale. The girl
hides in a tree; her face, seen reflected in a well, is mistaken by women
for their own faces, and the recognition follows in due course. {99c}

Like most Red Indian versions of popular tales, the Algonquin form of the
Jason saga is strongly marked with the peculiarities of the race. The
story is recognisable, and that is all.

The opening, as usual, differs from other openings. Two children are
deserted in the wilderness, and grow up to manhood. One of them loses an
arrow in the water; the elder brother, Panigwun, wades after it. A
magical canoe flies past: an old magician, who is alone in the canoe,
seizes Panigwun and carries him off. The canoe fleets along, like the
barques of the Phaeacians, at the will of the magician, and reaches the
isle where, like the Samoan god of song, he dwells with his two
daughters. 'Here, my daughter,' said he, 'is a young man for your
husband.' But