Page:The art of story-telling, with nearly half a hundred stories, y Julia Darrow Cowles .. (IA artofstorytellin00cowl).pdf/84

 the smoke of many wigwams. Once more shall we hear the voice of many hunters, and ever and anon the war-whoop of the warriors. You have wakened us from our long winter sleep. Take you now my daughter, the fair Etanda, for your wife. But leave me not. You shall stay with me, and be a great chief after me." So Ithenthiela remained in the shining white home of Itakempka.

And still the Red Children in the distant northern lands tell of Ithenthiela when the northern lights flit across the sky.

"Ah!" they cry, with their faces bowed before that splendid light, which is to them the most mysterious thing of nature. "See the fingers of Ithenthiela are beckoning us to the home which he found for us beyond the sky."