rejoice in one more day checked from the long time of
fasting. So eight days passed, and the old man was proud and happy.
Already his dear son had done more than any Ojibway lad, and the whole
tribe was praising Iadilla, saying what a great chief he would be in the
days to come.

But on the ninth morning, when the father peeped into the lodge to see
how bravely his son was faring, the boy turned his head toward the door
and spoke for the first time in all those long days. He was very thin
and pale, and his voice sounded weak.

"My father," he said, "I have slept, and my dreams were sad. I have
slept, and my dreams were of failure and weakness. The time does not
please my Guardian Spirit. It is not now that I can become a warrior. I
am not yet strong and old enough. O my father, I cannot bear the fast
longer! I am so hungry, so thirsty, so faint! Let me break my fast, and
try again in another year."

But the father sternly refused, for he was ambitious. "Nay, lad," he
cried, frowningly. "Would you fail me now? Think of the glory, think of
being the greatest of Ojibways. It is but a few short days now. Courage,
Iadilla, be a man in strength and patience."

Iadilla said no more. He wrapped himself closer in his blanket and drew
his belt tighter about his slender waist, trying to stifle the hunger
gnawing there. So he lay silently until the eleventh day. That morning
his father came to the lodge, beaming proudly.

"Bravo, my Iadilla!" he cried. "Only one day more, and you will be
released from your fast." But Iadilla clasped his hands beseechingly.

"My father," gasped the poor boy. "I cannot bear it another day. I am
not fit to be a great chief. I have failed. Give me food, or I die!"

But again the father refused. "It is but a day now," he said, "but a few
short hours. Bear a little longer, Iadilla. To-morrow I myself will
bring you the finest breakfast that ever a lad ate. Courage, boy, for
the few hours that remain."

Iadilla was too weak to answer. He lay motionless, with only a gentle
heaving of his breast to show that he still lived. His father left him
for the last time, and went to prepare the morrow's goodly breakfast,
while the tribe planned a fine festival in honor of the young hero.

Early on the morrow came Iadilla's father to the tent, proudly bearing
the breakfast for his brave boy, and smiling to think how gladly he
would be received. But he stopped outside the tent door surprised to
hear some one