Taking a stout birch branch, he ran one end of the branch through the gills of the fish to carry his catch over his shoulder. As he turned to say good-bye to the brave who had kept him company at the lakeside, he was surprised to find him gone. Beneath the tree, he saw only the flattened fir needles where the brave had lain watching him. He looked all around and could find no further trace of him. Flying Owl moved even faster toward home, because now he certainly had a great deal to tell his friends. He reached home in plenty of time before supper and handed the fish to his mother, telling her that, like his father, he had brought their meal for the evening. His mother was very proud and told him so. Then she asked, “Did you have any strange and wonderful adventures today, my little Flying Owl?” The boy was just about to blurt out that he had, when he decided that he should wait to tell his father first about everything that had happened. So all he said was, “We will talk later, mother. I have much to tell you.” Impatient now to break the news to his father, he went outside to look for him. Flying Owl found him talking with another brave and waited respectfully until his father had finished and was starting home. Planting himself in front of his father, Flying Owl began to tell his story, but he was speaking so fast that his father could hardly understand him. “Wait, my son! You must speak more slowly. I want to hear about everything that happened to you today, but your words tumble out so swiftly that my brain can’t make any sense of them. Now start from the beginning again.” Flying Owl took a deep breath and began slowly this time to tell his father all about his adventure at the great still lake in the deep forest. As he talked, his father’s face looked more and more puzzled. When Flying Owl had finished, his father put one hand on his son’s shoulder, and they started for the wigwam. Nothing more was said about the adventure until they reached home. While Flying Owl was washing, his father turned to his mother and asked her what she thought of their son’s story. “He has not told me about it yet. He wanted to wait until he found you and tell you first.” When the family had begun eating the supper of fish Flying Owl had caught, the young brave told his story once again for his mother’s benefit. When he had ended it, his parents looked at each other and smiled and said no more about it. When the children had gone to bed, Flying Owl’s mother said to her husband, “Surely you do not believe this story that Flying Owl has told us. It must be something he imagined. He probably had a dull day and believed that he had to think up some adventure to tell his father.”