, almost before it is light. It is not necessary for
his happiness that he should see _you_."

"Certainly there is a change in Katipah," thought Bimsha: "she has
become saucy with her tongue." But her envious heart would not allow
her to let matters be. Night and morning she cried to Katipah, "Katipah,
where is your fine husband?" And Katipah laughed at her, thinking to
herself: "To begin with, I will not be afraid of anything Bimsha may
say. Let Gamma-gata know that!"

And now every day she looked up into the sky to see what wind was
blowing; but east, or north, or south, it was never the one wind that
she looked for. The east wind came from the sea, bringing rain, and
beat upon Katipah's door at night. Then Katipah would rise and open, and
standing in the downpour, would cry, "East wind, east wind, go and tell
your brother Gamma-gata that I am not afraid of you any more than I am
of Bimsha!"

One night the east wind, when she said that, pulled a tile off Bimsha's
house, and threw it at her; and Katipah ran in and hid behind the door
in a great hurry. After that she had less to say when the east wind came
and blew under her gable and rattled at her door. "Oh, Gamma-gata," she
sighed, "if I might only set eyes on you, I would fear nothing at all!"

When the weather grew fine again Katipah returned to the shore and
flew her kite as she had always done before the love of Gamma-gata had
entered her heart. Now and then, as she did so, the wind would change
softly, and begin blowing from the west. Then little Katipah would pull
lovingly at the string, and cry, "Oh, Gamma-gata, have you got fast hold
of it up there?"

One day after dusk, when she, the last of all the flyers, hauled down
her kite to earth, there she found a heron's feather fastened among the
strings. Katipah knew who had sent that, and kissed it a thousand times
over; nor did she mind for many days afterwards what Bimsha might say,
because the heron's feather lay so close to her heart, warming it with
the hope of Gamma-gata's return.

But as weeks and months passed on, and Bimsha still did not fail to say
each morning, "Katipah, where is your fine husband to-day?" the timid
heart grew faint with waiting. "Alas!" thought Katipah, "if Heaven
would only send me a child, I would show it to her; she would believe
me easily then! However tiny, it would be big enough to convince her.
Gamma-gata, it is a very little thing that I ask!"

And now every day and al