the spot
to listen to the charming songs of the hideous Marshpee maiden.

Among the fishes which repaired every night to the vicinity of the
Little Hillock, which was the chosen resting-place of the ugly
songstress, was the great chief of the trouts, a tribe of fish
inhabiting the river near by. The chief was of a far greater size than
the people of his nation usually are, being as long as a man, and
quite as thick.

Of all the creatures which came to listen to the singing of Awashanks
none appeared to enjoy it so highly as the chief of the trouts. As his
bulk prevented him from approaching so near as he wished, he, from
time to time, in his eagerness to enjoy the music to the best
advantage, ran his nose into the ground, and thus worked his way a
considerable distance into the land. Nightly he continued his
exertions to approach the source of the delightful sounds he heard,
till at length he had ploughed out a wide and handsome channel, and so
effected his passage from the river to the hill, a distance extending
an arrow's-flight. Thither he repaired every night at the commencement
of darkness, sure to meet the maiden who had become so necessary to
his happiness. Soon he began to speak of the pleasure he enjoyed, and
to fill the ears of Awashanks with fond protestations of his love and
affection. Instead of singing to him, she soon began to listen to his
voice. It was something so new and strange to her to hear the tones of
love and courtship, a thing so unusual to be told she was beautiful,
that it is not wonderful her head was turned by the new incident, and
that she began to think the voice of her lover the sweetest she had
ever heard. One thing marred their happiness. This was that the trout
could not live upon land, nor the maiden in the water. This state of
things gave them much sorrow.

They had met one evening at the usual place, and were discoursing
together, lamenting that two who loved one another so should be doomed
to always live apart, when a man appeared close to Awashanks. He asked
the lovers why they seemed to be so sad.

The chief of the trouts told the stranger the cause of their sorrow.

"Be not grieved nor hopeless," said the stranger, when the chief had
finished. "The impediments can be removed. I am the spirit who
presides over fishes, and though I cannot make a man or woman of a
fish, I can make them into fish. Under my power Awashanks shall become
a beautiful trout."

With that he bade