The maiden was dreaming of a tall, handsome hunter, who had come one morning when the year was young to purchase arrows of her father. He had rested in their wigwam, lingered and looked back as he was leaving, and her father had praised his courage and his wisdom. Would the hunter ever come again in search of arrows, thought the lovely Minnehaha, and the rushes she was weaving lay unfingered in her lap. Just then they heard a rustle and swift footsteps in the thicket, and Hiawatha with the deer upon his shoulders and a glow upon his cheek and forehead stood before them in the sunlight. "Welcome, Hiawatha," said the old Arrow-maker in a grave but friendly tone, and Minnehaha's light voice echoed the deep one of her father, saying: "Welcome, Hiawatha." Together the old Arrow-maker and Hiawatha entered the wigwam, and Minnehaha laid aside her mat of rushes and brought them food and drink in vessels of earth and bowls of basswood. Yet she did not say a word while she was serving them, but listened as if in a dream to what Hiawatha told her father about Nokomis and Chibiabos and the strong man, Kwasind, and the happiness and peace of his own people, the Ojibways. Hiawatha finished his words by saying very slowly: "That this peace may always be among us and our tribes become as brothers to each other, give me the hand of your daughter, Minnehaha, the loveliest of women." [Illustration: "PLEASANT WAS THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD"--_Page 199_] The aged Arrow-maker paused before he answered, looked proudly at Hiawatha and lovingly at his daughter, and then said: "You may have her if she wishes it. Speak, Minnehaha, and let us know your will." The lovely Minnehaha seemed more beautiful than ever as she looked first at Hiawatha and then at her old father. Softly she took the seat beside Hiawatha, blushing as she answered: "I will follow you, my husband." Thus did Hiawatha win the daughter of the ancient Arrow-maker. Together he and his bride left the wigwam hand in hand and went away over the meadows, while the old Arrow-maker with shaded eyes gazed after them and called out sadly: "Good-bye, Minnehaha! Good-bye my lovely daughter!" They walked together through the sunlit forest, and all the birds and animals gazed at them from among the leaves and branches. When they came to swift rivers, Hiawatha lifted Minnehaha and carried her across, and in his strong arms she seemed lighter than a willow-leaf or the plume upon his headgear. At night he cleared away the thicket and built a lodge of branches; he made a bed of hemlock boughs and kindled a fire of pine-cones before the doorway, and Adjidaumo, the squirrel, climbed down from his nest and kept watch, while the two lovers slept in their lodge beneath the stars. XI HIAWATHA'S WEDDING FEAST