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glad." He then drew his hunting-knife from his belt, and, slashing it through the birch-bark wrap


pings, cried: "O Kitche Manitou! These places do I cut that our sister's spirit may come and go as


she wills it, that she may visit us sometimes, that she may see our brother Machecaw


a when he is very sad." "Oh, Machecawa, my brother, it is not well that you grieve

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ss children were seated clos e to the bier, their faces b
lackened, their hair and cloth
ing torn a nd in diso rder. The
awful stillnes img s was at l
ength broken img by old O'
Jawescawa, who lef img img
t his se img img
at and, approachin img img
g the grief-st img img
ricken h img img
usband, said: "O Ma checaw

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." "Oh, Machecawa, my brother, it is not well that you grieve." Again he turned to his chief. "Our sister is gone, oh, my brother," he continued, "but you shall see her again. But she shall be change

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d, and you will not know her; but when you enter the Land of the Hereafter then you must sing always this little song, and so she will know you." In a clear and true tenor old O'Jawescawa chanted a wei

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rd, minor air with tearful falling cadences. "And when she hears that song," he went on, "then she will answer it with this"—and he sang through another little song. The long-drawn, plaintive chords,

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the sense of awe inspired by the darkness and the firelight, and of the g