Such was the girl who now went to the folding aperture of the tent, and desired Wingenund to come in. The youth entered, followed by a boy bearing a large covered dish or basket of wicker–work, which having placed on the table, he withdrew. Prairie–bird could not fail to observe in her young brother’s countenance and carriage an unusual stateliness and dignity, and she remarked at the same time the circumstance of his having brought with him the boy to carry her basket, a service which he had been accustomed to perform with his own hands. Making him a sign to sit down, she thus accosted him, in terms allusive to the customs of the tribe:— “Has my young brother dreamt? Has the breath of the Great Spirit passed over his sleep?” “It is so,” replied Wingenund. “The chiefs and the braves have sat at the council–fire; the name of Wingenund was on their tongues, the deeds of his fathers are not forgotten; he is not to do the work of squaws; his name will be heard among the warriors of the Lenapé.” From this reply Prairie–bird knew that her young brother was about to undergo the fasting, and other superstitious ordeals, through which those youths were made to pass who wished to be enrolled among the warriors of the tribe at an earlier age than usual. These superstitious observances were repugnant to her good sense and enlightened understanding; and as she had hitherto acted in the capacity of monitress and instructress, she was perhaps not pleased at the prospect of his suddenly breaking loose from her gentle dominion: she said to him, therefore, in a tone more grave than usual,— “Wingenund has heard the Black Father speak;—were his ears shut? Does he not know that there is one God above, who rules the world alone? The totems[29], and the symbols and the dreams of the medicine–men, are for those poor Indians whose minds are under a cloud. Wingenund cannot believe these things!” “My sister speaks wisely,” replied the youth; “the wind cannot blow away her words: but Wingenund is of the Lenapé, the ancient people; he wishes to live and die among their braves; he must travel in the path that his fathers have trod, or the warriors will not call his name when the hatchet is dug up.” “Let not the hatchet be dug up,” said the maiden, anxiously. “Have I not told my brother that God is the avenger of blood spilt by man? why should his foot be set on the war–path?”