Now and then a delighted listener would cry "Hah!" but if anyone became bored and fell asleep it was considered an omen of misfortune to the sleeper, and he was chased ignominiously to his tepee.

The Iroquois romancer was better protected than the white one is.

He could finish some of his stories in one evening, but others were serials.

When he arrived at the end of the night's installment he would cry, "Si-ga!" which was equivalent to our "To be continued in our next." Then all would rise, and if tired would seek sleep, but if not they would catch the closing part of some other story-teller's romance.
At three fires Senecas were playing a peculiar little wooden flute of their own invention, that emitted wailing sounds not without a certain sweetness.

In a corner a half dozen warriors hurt in battle were bathing their wounds with a soothing lotion made from the sap of the bass wood.
Henry lingered a while in the darkest corners, witnessing the feasting, hearing the flutes and the chants, listening for a space to the story-tellers and the enthusiastic "Hahs!" They were so full of feasting and merrymaking now that one could almost do as he pleased, and he stole toward the southern end of the village, where he had noticed several huts, much more strongly built than the others.