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Yet four years had gone; and all the tribe, and all who came and went, half-breeds, traders, and other tribes, remarked how happy was the white man with his Indian wife. They never saw anything but light in the eyes of Mitiahwe, nor did the old women of the tribe who scanned her face as she came and went, and watched and waited too for what never came–not even after four years.

Mitiahwe had been so happy that she had not really missed what never came; though the desire to have something in her arms which was part of them both had flushed up in her veins at times, and made her restless till her man had come home again. Then she had forgotten the unseen for the seen, and was happy that they two were alone together–that was the joy of it all, so much alone together; for Swift Wing did not live with them, and, like Breaking Rock, she watched her daughter’s life, standing afar off, since it was the unwritten law of the tribe that the wife’s mother must not cross the path or enter the home of her daughter’s husband. But at last Dingan had broken through this custom, and insisted that Swift Wing should be with her daughter when he was away from home, as now on this wonderful autumn morning, when Mitiahwe had been singing to the Sun, to which she prayed for her man and for everlasting days with him.

She had spoken angrily but now, because her soul sharply resented the challenge to her happiness which her mother had been making. It was her own eyes that refused to see the cloud which the sage and bereaved woman had seen and conveyed in images and figures of speech natural to the Indian mind.

“Hai-yai,” she said now, with a strange, touching sigh breathing in the words, “you are right, my mother, and a dream is a dream; also, if it be dreamed three times, then is it to be followed, and it is true. You have lived long, and your dreams are of the Sun and the Spirit.” She shook a little as she laid her hand on a buckskin coat of her man hanging by the lodge door; then she steadied herself again, and gazed earnestly into her mother’s eyes. “Have all your dreams come true, my mother?” she asked, with a hungering heart.

“There was the dream that came out of the dark five times, when your father went against the Crees, and was wounded, and crawled away into the hills, and all our warriors fled–they were but a handful, and the Crees like a young forest in number! I went with my dream, and found him after many days, and it was after that you were born, my youngest and my last. There was also”–her eyes almost closed, and the needle and thread she held lay still in her lap–“when two of your brothers were killed in the drive of the buffalo. Did I not see it all in my dream, and follow after them to take them to my heart? And when your sister was carried off, was it not my dream which saw the trail, so that we brought her back again to die in peace, her eyes seeing the Lodge whither she was going, open to her, and the Sun, the Father, giving her light and promise–for she had wounded herself to die that the thief who stole her should leave her to herself! Behold, my daughter, these dreams have I had, and others; and I have lived long and have seen the bright day break into storm, and the herds flee into the far hills where none could follow, and hunger come, and–“

“Hai-yo, see, the birds flying south,” said the girl, with a gesture toward the cloudless sky. “Never since I lived have they gone south so soon.” Again she shuddered slightly, then she spoke slowly: “I also have dreamed, and I will follow my dream. I dreamed”–she knelt down beside her mother and rested her hands in her mother’s lap–“I dreamed that there was a wall of hills dark and heavy and far away, and that whenever my eyes looked at them they burned with tears; and yet I looked and looked, till my heart was like lead in my breast; and I turned from them to the rivers and the plains that I loved. But a voice kept calling to me, ‘Come, come! Beyond the hills is a happy land. The trail is hard, and your feet will bleed, but beyond is the happy land.’ And I would not go for the voice that spoke, and at last there came an old man in my dream and spoke to me kindly, and said, ‘Come with me, and I will show thee the way over the hills to the Lodge where thou shalt find what thou hast lost!’ And I said to him, ‘I have lost nothing’; and I would not go. Twice I dreamed this dream, and twice the old man came, and three times I dreamed it; and then I spoke angrily to him, as but now I did to thee; and behold he changed before my eyes, and I saw that he was now become–” She stopped short, and buried her face in her hands for a moment, then recovered herself. “Breaking Rock it was I saw before me, and I cried out and fled. Then I waked with a cry, but my man was beside me, and his arm was round my neck; and this dream, is it not a foolish dream, my mother?”