After many hours, a delegation was formed and they proceeded to the wigwam of Crooked Arrow. The fat ugly warrior stepped from his wigwam and suddenly his eyes grew a little wild until he saw in the delegation Black Hawk, his friend. “Why have you come to the humble wigwam of Crooked Arrow?” he asked of the leaders. “What have I done to cause you to come? If I have done wrong tell me and I shall do all in my power to make it right.” “No,” said Tall Hawk, “It is we who have done wrong. We come to invite you to rebuild your wigwam within the village circle. There is a fine place right next to mine, and I would consider it an honor if you would build there and become my neighbor. My son has told me quite a bit about you and I can see now where we have been very unfair in the way we have neglected making you a part of our tribe. Come, become a part of our family. Share our fires and our food and we shall talk together of the great hunts. This we ask you to do as a sign that you will forgive us for this wrong which has existed so long.” “Yes, I will come, but listen. You have done me no wrong. I have been happy living here on the edge of the village, watching the children play and taking part in the hunt. I have had a good life. I have never known what real friendship was from the time I was a little boy going from one to the other begging for food to keep me going. But Black Hawk has brought the meaning of friendship to my heart, and for that reason I have desired these last few days to live closer to my people. Yes, I will come. With gladness in my heart, I will come.” The group turned and started for the center of the village to proclaim what had just happened; and, as they walked, a small boy, Black Hawk, and a not so ugly, fat, young man could be seen walking hand in hand—a certain lightness in their step that had not been there before. THE BOY AND THE WARRIOR CHIEF Flying Owl was a very happy little Seneca brave. He had all he could wish for. His father was a very brave and honored member of the tribe. His mother was kind and made the best-tasting dishes of food for him when he was hungry. His sister and he would quarrel now and then, but most of the time they played and lived together very happily. Their home was strong and warm in the winter and cool in the summer. There were always many nice clothes to wear and plenty to eat. Flying Owl was learning from his father every day about the ways of the forest and the stream. When anyone watched Flying Owl at play, he would think, “Now there is a lucky and happy little boy. I wonder if he knows how fortunate he is.” But Flying Owl was a rare little Indian brave, for he did realize how lucky he was. When he was still young, Flying Owl gladly shared his toys and other things with his friends. For this reason he was very much liked by both the braves and women and by the other boys and girls of the tribe.