In the afternoon the whole tribe gathered to the feast.
Men, women, children, and dogs gorged to repletion, nor was there
one person, even among the chance visitors and stray hunters from
other tribes, who failed to receive some token of the bridegroom's
largess.
Lit-lit, tearfully shy and frightened, was bedecked by her bearded
husband with a new calico dress, splendidly beaded moccasins, a
gorgeous silk handkerchief over her raven hair, a purple scarf
about her throat, brass ear-rings and finger-rings, and a whole
pint of pinchbeck jewellery, including a Waterbury watch.
Snettishane could scarce contain himself at the spectacle, but
watching his chance drew her aside from the feast.
"Not this night, nor the next night," he began ponderously, "but in
the nights to come, when I shall call like a raven by the river
bank, it is for thee to rise up from thy big husband, who is a
fool, and come to me.
"Nay, nay," he went on hastily, at sight of the dismay in her face
at turning her back upon her wonderful new life. "For no sooner
shall this happen than thy big husband, who is a fool, will come
wailing to my lodge. Then it is for thee to wail likewise,
claiming that this thing is not well, and that the other thing thou
dost not like, and that to be the wife of the Factor is more than
thou didst bargain for, only wilt thou be content with more
blankets, and more tobacco, and more wealth of various sorts for
thy poor old father, Snettishane.
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