“Follow me,” said the Beau-Man, “and I will direct you how you shall act.”
Moowis was, indeed, a very sightly person, and as the Beau-Man led him into the new encampment where the girl dwelt, the many colours of his clothes, the profusion of his ornaments, his manly deportment, his animated countenance, drew all eyes to him. He was hospitably received, both old and young showing him great attention. The chief invited him to his lodge, and he was there treated to the moose’s hump and the finest venison.
No one was better pleased with the handsome stranger than Ma-mon-dá-go-Kwa. She fell in love with him at first sight, and he was an invited guest at the lodge of her mother the very first evening of his arrival. The Beau-Man went with him, for it was under his patronage that he had been introduced, and, in truth, he had another motive in accompanying him, for he had not yet wholly subdued his feelings of admiration for the object against whom he had, nevertheless, exerted all his necromantic power, and he held himself ready to take advantage of any favourable turn which he secretly hoped the visit might take in relation to himself. No such opportunity, however, arose. Moowis attracted the chief attention, every eye and heart was alert to entertain him. In this effort on the part of his entertainers they had well-nigh brought about his destruction by dissolving him into his original elements of rags, snow, and dirt, for he was assigned the most prominent place near the fire, where he was exposed to a heat that he could by no means endure. However, he warded this calamity off by placing a boy between him and the fire; he shifted his position frequently, and evaded, by dexterous manœuvres and timely remarks, the pressing invitation of his host to sit and enjoy the warmth. He so managed these excuses as not only to conceal his dread of immediate dissolution, but to secure the further approbation of the fair forest girl, who was filled with admiration of one who had so brave a spirit to endure the paralysing effects of cold.
The visit proved that the rejected lover had well calculated the effects of his plan. He withdrew from the lodge, and Moowis triumphed. Before the Beau-Man left he saw him cross the lodge to the coveted abinos, or bridegroom’s seat. The dart which Ma-mon-dá-go-Kwa had so often delighted in sending to the hearts of her admirers she was at length fated to receive. She had married an image.
As the morning began to break the stranger arose, adjusted his warrior’s plumes, and took his forest weapons to depart.
“I must go,” said he, “for I have important work to do, and there are many hills and streams between me and the object of my journey.”
“I will go with you,” said Ma-mon-dá-go-Kwa.
“The journey is too long,” replied her husband, “and you are ill able to encounter the perils of the way.”
“It is not so long but that I will go,” answered his wife, “and there are no dangers I will not share with you.”
Moowis returned to the lodge of his master, and told him what had occurred. For a moment pity took possession of the young man’s heart. He regretted that she whom he so loved should thus have thrown herself away upon an image, a shadow, when she might have been the mistress of the best lodge in the camp.
“It is her own folly,” he said; “she has turned a deaf ear to the counsels of prudence. She must submit to her fate.”
The same morning Moowis set forth, and his wife followed him at a distance. The way was rough and intricate, and she found that she could not keep up with him, he walked so quickly. She struggled hard and obstinately to overtake him, but Moowis had been for some time out of sight when the sun rose and commenced upon his snow-formed body the work of dissolution. He began to melt away and fall to pieces. As Ma-mon-dá-go-Kwa followed in his track she found piece after piece of his clothing in the path. She first found his mittens, then his moccasins, then his leggings, then his coat, and after that other parts of his garments. As the heat unbound them the clothes also returned to their filthy condition. Over rocks, through wind-falls, across marshes, Ma-mon-dá-go-Kwa pursued him she loved. The path turned aside in all directions. Rags, bones, leather, beads, feathers, and soiled ribbons she found, but caught no sight of Moowis. She spent the day in wandering, and when evening came she was still alone. The snow having now melted, she had completely lost her husband’s track, and she wandered about uncertain which way to go and in a state of perfect despair. At length with bitter cries she lamented her fate.
“Moowis, Moowis,” she cried, “nin ge won e win ig, ne won e win ig!”—“Moowis, Moowis, you have led me astray, you are leading me astray!”
With this cry she wandered in the woods.
The cry of the lost Ma-mon-dá-go-Kwa is sometimes repeated by the village girls who have made of it a song—
Moowis! Moowis!
Forest rover,
Where art thou?
Ah! my bravest, gayest lover,
Guide me now.
Moowis! Moowis!
Ah! believe me,
List my moan:
Do not, do not, brave heart, leave me
All alone.
Moowis! Moowis!
Footprints vanished!
Whither wend I?
Fated, lost, detested, banished
Must I die!
Moowis! Moowis!
Whither goest thou,
Eye-bright lover?
Ah! thou ravenous bird that knowest,
I see thee hover,
Circling, circling
As I wander,
And at last
When I fall thou then wilt come
And feed upon my breast.
THE GIRL WHO MARRIED THE PINE-TREE.
Upon the side of a certain mountain grew some pines, under the shade of which the Puckwudjinies, or sprites, were accustomed to sport at times. Now it happened that in the neighbourhood of these trees was a lodge in which dwelt a beautiful girl and her father and mother. One day a man came to the lodge of the father, and seeing the girl he loved her, and said—
“Give me Leelinau for my wife,” and the old man consented.
Now it happened that the girl did not like her lover, so she escaped from the lodge and went and hid herself, and as the sun was setting she came to the pine-trees, and leaning against one of them she lamented her hard fate. On a sudden she heard a voice, which seemed to come from the tree, saying—
“Be my wife, maiden, beautiful Leelinau, beautiful Leelinau.”
The girl was astonished, not knowing whence the voice could have come. She listened again, and the words were repeated, evidently by the tree against which she leaned. Then the maid consented to be the wife of the pine-tree.
Meanwhile her parents had missed her, and had sent out parties to see if she could be found, but she was nowhere.
Time passed on, but Leelinau never returned to her home. Hunters who have been crossing the mountain, and have come to the trees at sunset,