ter that we shall lead the man-boy Andramark to
the Lodge of Nettles, there to sit alone for a space and to turn over in
his mind all that we have said to him."

"One thing more." This from a very little medicine-man who had done very
little talking. "When you run the gauntlet of the women and children
from the Hot Lodge to the river, watch neither their eyes nor their
whips; watch only their feet, lest you be tripped and thrown at the very
threshold of manhood."

Nettles, thistles, and last year's burdocks and sandspurs strewed the
floor of the lodge to which Andramark was now taken. And he was told
that he must not thrust these to one side and make himself comfortable
upon the bare ground. He might sit, or stand, or lie down; he might walk
about; but he mustn't think of going to sleep, or, indeed, of anything
but the knowledge and mysteries which had been revealed to him in the
medicine-lodge.

All that night, all the next day, and all the next night he meditated.
For the first six hours he meditated on knowledge, mystery, and the
whole duty of man, just as he had been told to do. And he only stopped
once to listen to a flute-player who had stolen into the forest back of
the lodge and was trying to tell some young squaw how much he loved her
and how lonely he was without her. The flute had only four notes and one
of them was out of order; but Andramark had been brought up on that sort
of music and it sounded very beautiful to him. Still, he only listened
with one ear, Indian fashion. The other was busy taking in all the other
noises of the night and the village. Somebody passed by the Lodge of
Nettles, walking very slowly and softly. "A man," thought Andramark,
"would not make any noise at all. A child would be in bed."

The slow, soft steps were nearing the forest back of the lodge,
quickening a little. Contrariwise, the flute was being played more and
more slowly. Each of its three good notes was a stab at the feelings,
and so, for that matter, was the note that had gone wrong. An owl
hooted. Andramark smiled. If he had been born enough hundreds of years
later he might have said, "You can't fool me!"

The flute-playing stopped abruptly. Andramark forgot all about the
nettles and sat down. Then he stood up.

He meditated on war and women, just as he had been told to do. Then,
because he was thirsty, he meditated upon suffering. And he finished the
night meditating--upon an empty stomach.

Light filtered under