Page:The-knickerbocker-gallery-(knickerbockergal00clarrich).djvu/98

the perished twigs than when upon the oaken crowns they shone in glossy verdure, and were vital in the spring-time of the year. The wolves howling for their evening repast might be heard in the distance, but Nito-me-ma slept sweetly on her sylvan couch, and feared no evil. On the morrow she rose up refreshed, and went away into her woody exile far from her husband's tent. She would return no more, but God would be her sole protector. For three days she travelled in the forest, till, arriving at a very secret place, where she perceived no trails had been, she kneeled upon the sod, and, by a short act of private devotion, consecrated it as her future home. It was a narrow vale, sheltered by a gigantic growth, and without brambles or under-wood. The soft green sod was a carpet for her bare feet, and a pure fountain gushed up hard by from a bed of little white pebbles. A snail's shell served as a water-cup, and searching in the neighborhood for a place to build her tent, a vast tree, hollowed out at the base, was revealed to her, quite ample in accommodation for herself and child. She now sought the means of life, that the fount which flowed in her bosom might not be dry. Roots and berries would not supply its rich life-stream, but Nito-mo-ma had not lived in the forest in vain. Wandering beyond the limits of her domain, she came upon an open place in the wilderness where the sun shone down, and her eyes were delighted by the sight of a field of wild maize. Day by day she transported the treasure to her habitation, until it was all housed and her bread was sure. From the white husks she wove a matting for her habitation, and the sweet stalks she stored away elsewhere, and she beat the grain in a rude mortar; but as she sat in the door-way, Nito-me-ma reflected that she had no fire to bake the crisp-cakes withal. But the same God who gave her daily bread struck a dry pine-tree in one of his glorious storms, and enkindled its bark as if with the very sparks of His pity. From that time the flame died not on the domestic hearth; and when the shades of night came down, it shone with soft effulgence on the mother and her child. Nito-me-ma found a sharp-edged stone in the brook, with which she hewed down a lithe sapling, and having woven a strong cord for her bow, and selected some reeds for arrows, she shot the little birds and dressed them for food, and she entrapped the mountain trout in their fastnesses, and