there were no other reason."

Hiawatha left his wigwam for the home of the old Arrow-maker, and he ran
through the forest as lightly as the wind, until he heard the clear
voice of the Falls of Minnehaha.

At the sunny edges of the forest a herd of deer were feeding, and they
did not see the swift-footed runner until he sent a hissing arrow among
them that killed a roebuck. Without pausing, Hiawatha caught up the deer
and swung it to his shoulder, running forward until he came to the home
of the aged Arrow-maker.

The old man was sitting in the doorway of his wigwam, and at his side
were all his tools and all the arrows he was making. At his side, also,
was the lovely Minnehaha, weaving mats of reeds and water-rushes, and
the old man and the young maiden sat together in the pleasant contrast
of age and youth, the one thinking of the past, the other dreaming of
the future.

The old man was thinking of the days when with such arrows as he now was
making he had killed deer and bison, and had shot the wild goose on the
wing. He remembered the great war-parties that came to buy his arrows,
and how they could not fight unless he had arrow-heads to sell. Alas,
such days were over, he thought sadly, and no such splendid warriors
were left on earth.

The maiden was dreaming of a tall, handsome hunter, who had come one
morning when the year was young to purchase arrows of her father. He
had rested in their wigwam, lingered and looked back as he was leaving,
and her father had praised his courage and his wisdom. Would the hunter
ever come again in search of arrows, thought the lovely Minnehaha, and
the rushes she was weaving lay unfingered in her lap.

Just then they heard a rustle and swift footsteps in the thicket, and
Hiawatha with the deer upon his shoulders and a glow upon his cheek and
forehead stood before them in the sunlight.

"Welcome, Hiawatha," said the old Arrow-maker in a grave but friendly
tone, and Minnehaha's light voice echoed the deep one of her father,
saying: "Welcome, Hiawatha."

Together the old Arrow-maker and Hiawatha entered the wigwam, and
Minnehaha laid aside her mat of rushes and brought them food and drink
in vessels of earth and bowls of basswood. Yet she did not say a word
while she was serving them, but listened as if in a dream to what
Hiawatha told her father about Nokomis and Chibiabos and the strong man,
Kwasind, and the happiness and peace of his own people, the Ojibways.
Hiawatha fi