She had thought
that the Great Spirit was unmindful of the cares of his children.
And who would have thought that care was known to Wanska, with her merry
laugh, and her never-ceasing jokes, whether played upon her young
companions, or on the old medicine man who kept everybody but her in
awe of him.
She seemed to be everywhere too, at the same time. Her canoe dances
lightly over the St. Peter's, and her companions try in vain to keep up
with her. Soon her clear voice is heard as she sings, keeping time with
the strokes of the axe she uses so skilfully. A peal of laughter rouses
the old woman, her mother, who goes to bring the truant home, but she is
gone, and when she returns, in time to see the red sun fade away in the
bright horizon, she tells her mother that she went out with two or three
other girls, to assist the hunters in bringing in the deer they had
killed. And her mother for once does not scold, for she remembers how
she used to love to wander on the prairies, when her heart was as light
and happy as her child's.
When Wanska was told that the Deer-killer loved Wenona, no one heard her
sighs, and for tears, she was too proud to shed any.
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