nish you. You will bear the marks
of your disgrace with you forever.' And that is why the _gura_ has a
short tail and the feathers on the head of the _chapla_ are singed even
to this day."

A chorus of "Oh's" escaped the cluster of eager listeners. "Tell us
another story."

"What do you want me to tell about?" Oomah asked indulgently.

"Tell us about the rivers."

The youth was silent for a moment, as if lost in thought. Then he began.

"The little streams that come from the mountains so far away and rush
through the forest are always talking, always babbling. They are never
silent. Have you not noticed that?"

"Yes, and they are always in a hurry," came the prompt reply. "What are
they saying?"

"They are _praying_,'Father of Waters,' they are pleading, 'wait for us
and take us into your arms and carry us away with you to the great sea
where the land ends. We are small and cannot travel the distance alone;
the hungry ground would drink us up or the wind would dry us up. But in
your embrace we will safely reach our home.'"

"Tell us, Oomah," one of the boys said in an awestruck tone, "are there
still greater rivers than the Father of Waters we know?"

"The Father of Waters is but as a drop compared to the great sea into
which it empties," Oomah said wistfully. "It is so large that there is
no other side. The fish in it are bigger than the tallest tree and when
the wind blows the waves are high as mountains."

"Oh, did you see these things Oomah," the eager listeners asked.

"No," came the reply, regretfully.

"Then, who did see them? Who told you of them?"

"Long, long ago the Cantanas were a powerful people. They built the
largest canoes and travelled to the river's end. They saw them. The
story of their wandering came to me from my mother."

"When we are men," one of the boys said, "we will make a great canoe.
Then you will take us to see the water that is so broad it has no other
side."

"No," Oomah said sadly. "It is impossible, for since that day white men
have come in countless numbers and settled along the borders of the
Father of Waters. Little by little they are pushing up the river. Some
day they will be even here."

"Not so long as there is a Cantana alive," the oldest of the youths
replied. "We will fight them and drive them back."

"I am glad to hear you say that and I would that I could be the leader
against them. But, that too is not possible," regretfully. "The white
men are numerou