I am lost, lost beyond hope." "Rest easy, sister.

Believe me," the medicine-woman assured her, "you are saved; they can do you no harm." It rained softly in the court-yard; inside of the room it went on, pat, pat, pat, pat, dripping through the ceiling.
Shotaye resumed the conversation.
"Speak, sa tao," she said; "speak, and tell me what you think.

Why is it that you still believe that bad men will be able to do you harm?
Don't you know, sister, that you are safe from them now, and that they cannot injure you any more ?" Say Koitza shook her head gloomily and replied, pointing to her ear and eye,-- "Sanaya, what the ear hears and the eye sees, the heart must fain believe." "Then speak to me; tell me, sa uishe, what it is that your ear has heard, your eye has seen, that makes your heart so sad." The woman spoke softly, entreatingly, as if she was soothing a sick child.

But the object of her sympathy sighed, and continued, in the same tone of utter despondency,-- "Sister, had you been present at the ayash tyucotz, when all the people danced and sang, your eyes would have seen what the heart could not approve.

I saw my son Okoya Tihua, the child of Tanyi hanutsh, dancing beside Mitsha Koitza, the girl from Tyame; and she is the daughter of our base enemy." [Illustration: Type of old Indian woman] "Is that all that causes you trouble, koya ?" Shotaye very placidly asked.