d the magician with the result of this victory, by
which he was defeated. And the wise man threw up eyes and hands at his
ingratitude.

"I set the Great Bear after Amoyah for you! I made the Eeon-a acquainted
with his boastful lies, and he bewitched Amoyah's ball-sticks that his
fine play might come to nothing."

Very little to the purpose, the disaffected man of facts reflected,
remembering the impression produced by his rival's display of skill.
Somehow Amoyah seemed beyond the reach of logic. "Why did you not
instead bewitch the woman?" Tus-ka-sah asked.

But this wiliest of the cheera-taghe shook his head.

"If she had been a _mere_ woman," he said. "But a widow is a witch
herself."

"_Eeon-a, Ha-hoo-jah! Eeon-a, Ha-hoo-jah!"_ sang Amoyah at the door of
the winter house.

Eeon-a, the Great Bear, made no sign and slept in peace at his town
house in the mountains.

And since then, as always before, under the first icy moon of the winter
the company of bears with their feather-crested shadows take up their
mysterious march seven times around the "beloved square" of their
ancient secluded town in the Great Smoky Mountains, which it is said may
be seen to this day--by all who can find it!

THE VISIT OF THE TURBULENT GRANDFATHER

It was long remembered in the Cherokee nation. Their grandfather came to
the Overhill towns on the banks of the Tennessee River in a most
imperious frame of mind.

"Give me a belt!" he cried in irrelevant response to every gracious
overture of hospitality. For although presents were heaped upon him, the
official belt of the Cherokee nation was not among them, and he cast
them all aside as mere baubles.

Even the clever subterfuges of that master of statecraft, the half-king,
Atta-Kulla-Kulla, might not avail. "_N'tschutti!_" (Dear friend) he said
once in eager propitiation; "_Gooch ili lehelecheu_?" (Does your father
yet live?) He spoke in a gentle voice and slowly, the Delaware language
being unaccustomed to his lips. "Tell the great sakimau I well remember
him!" And he laid a string of beads on the arm of the quivering Lenape,
for their grandfather was of that nationality.

But what flout of Fate was this? Not the coveted string of wampum, the
official token, its significance not to be argued away, or overlooked,
or mistaken--but instead a necklace of pearls, the fine freshwater gems
of the region, so often mentioned by the elder writers and since held to
be mythical or