Listen! 'The Voices' are beginning! Listen attentively to the Chant of *Ta-neh-u-weh-too!" [* "Hidden in the Husks."] The Night Hawk was singing now, as he walked through the sunlit glade, hip-deep in scented ferns and jewel-weed.

Two brilliant humming-birds whirled around him as he strode.
A VOICE "Who shall find my Hidden Maid Where the tasselled corn is growing?
Let them seek her in Kandaia, Let them seek her in Oswaya, Where the giant pines are growing, Let them seek and be afraid! Where the Adriutha flowing Splashes through the forest glade, Where the Kennyetto flowing Thunders through the hemlock shade, Let them seek and be afraid, From Oswaya To Yndaia, All the way to Carenay!" ANOTHER VOICE "Who shall find my Hidden Son Where the tasselled corn is growing?
Let them seek my Hidden One From the Silver Horicon North along the Saguenay, Where the Huron cocks are crowing, Where the Huron maids are mowing Hay along the Saguenay; Where the Mohawk maids are hoeing Corn along the Carenay, Let them seek my Hidden Son, West across the inland seas, South to where the cypress trees Quench the flaming scarlet flora Of the painted Esaurora, Drenched in rivers to their knees! *Honowehto! Like Thendara! [* "They have vanished."] Let them hunt to Danascara Back along the Saguenay, On the trail to Carenay, Through the Silver Horicon Till the night and day are one! Where the Adriutha flowing Sings below Oswaya glowing.
Where the sunset of Kandaia Paints the meadows of Yndaia, Let them seek my Hidden Son 'Till the sun and moon are one!" *TE-KI-E-HO-KEN [* "Two Voices (together)."] * "Nai Shehawa! She lies sleeping, [* "Behold thy children!"] Where the green leaves closely fold her! He shall wake first and behold her Who is given to his keeping; He shall strip her of her leaves Where she sleeps amid the sheaves, Snowy white, without a stain, Nothing marred of wind or rain.
So from slumber she shall waken, And behold the green robe shaken From his shoulders to her own! *Ye-ji-se-way-ad-kerone!" [* "So ye two are laid together."] The pretty song of the Hidden Children softened to a murmur and died out as our trail entered the swamp once more, north of the oval glade.
And into its sombre twilight we passed out of the brief gleam of sunshine.

Once more the dark and bitter water coiled its tortuous channel through the slime; huge, gray evergreens, shaggy and forbidding, towered above, closing in closer and closer on every side, crowding us into an ever-narrowing trail.
But this trail, since we had left the sunny glade, had become harder under foot, and far more easy to travel; and we made fast time along it, so that early in the afternoon we suddenly came out into that vast belt of firm ground and rocky, set with tremendous oaks and pines and hemlocks, on the northern edge of which lies Catharines-town, on both banks of the stream.
And here the stream rushed out through this country as though frightened, running with a mournful sound into the northern forest; and the pines were never still, sighing and moaning high above us, so that the never ceasing plaint of wind and water filled the place.
And here, on a low, bushy ridge, we lay all day, seeing in the forest not one living thing, nor any movement in that dim solitude, save where the grey and wraith-like water tossed a flat crest against some fallen tree, or its dull and sullen surface gleamed like lead athwart the valley far ahead.
My Indians squatted, or sprawled prone along the ridge; Lois lay flat on her stomach beside me, her chin resting on her clasped hands.

We talked of many things that afternoon--of life as we had found it, and what it promised us--of death, if we must find it here in these woods before I made her mine.

And of how long was the spirit's trail to God--if truly it were but a swift, upward flight like to the rushing of an arrow already flashing out of sight ere the twanging buzz of the bow-string died on the air.