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HIAWATHA'S WOOING
"WOMAN is to man as the cord is to the bow," thought Hiawatha. "She bends him, yet obeys him; she draws him, yet she follows. Each is useless without the other." Hiawatha was dreaming of the lovely maiden, Minnehaha, whom he had seen in the country of the Dacotahs.
"Do not wed a stranger, Hiawatha," warned the old Nokomis; "do not search in the east or in the west to win a bride. Take a maid of your own people, for the homely daughter of a neighbor is like the pleasant fire on the hearth-stone, while the stranger is cold and distant, like the starlight or the light of the pale moon."
But Hiawatha only smiled and answered: "Dear Nokomis, the fire on the hearth-stone is indeed pleasant and warm, but I love the starlight and the moonlight better."
"Do not bring home an idle woman," said old Nokomis, "bring not home a maiden who is unskilled with the needle and will neither cook nor sew!" And Hiawatha answered: "Good Nokomis, in the land of the Dacotahs lives the daughter of an Arrow-maker, and she is the most beautiful of all the women in the world. Her name is Minnehaha, and I will bring her home to do your bidding and to be your firelight, your moonlight, and your starlight, all in one."
"Ah, Hiawatha," warned Nokomis, "bring not home a maid of the Dacotahs! The Dacotahs are fierce and cruel and there is often war between our tribe and theirs." Hiawatha laughed and answered: "I will wed a maid of the Dacotahs, and old wars shall be forgotten in a new and lasting peace that shall make the two tribes friends forevermore. For this alone would I wed the lovely Laughing Water if there were no other reason."
Hiawatha left his wigwam for the home of the old Arrow-maker, and he ran through the forest as lightly as the wind, until he heard the clear voice of the Falls of Minnehaha.
At the sunny edges of the forest a herd of deer were feeding, and they did not see the swift-footed runner until he sent a hissing arrow among them that killed a roebuck. Without pausing, Hiawatha caught up the deer and swung it to his shoulder, running forward until he came to the home of the aged Arrow-maker.
The old man was sitting in the doorway of his wigwam, and at his side were all his tools and all the arrows he was making. At his side, also, was the lovely Minnehaha, weaving mats of reeds and water-rushes, and the old man and the young maiden sat together in the pleasant contrast of age and youth, the one thinking of the past, the other dreaming of the future.
The old man was thinking of the days when with such arrows as he now was making he had killed deer and bison, and had shot the wild goose on the wing. He remembered the great war-parties that came to buy his arrows, and how they could not fight unless he had arrow-*heads to sell. Alas, such days were over, he thought sadly, and no such splendid warriors were left on earth.
The maiden was dreaming of a tall, handsome hunter, who had come one morning when the year was young to purchase arrows of her father. He had rested in their wigwam, lingered and looked back as he was leaving, and her father had praised his courage and his wisdom. Would the hunter ever come again in search of arrows, thought the lovely Minnehaha, and the rushes she was weaving lay unfingered in her lap.
Just then they heard a rustle and swift footsteps in the thicket, and Hiawatha with the deer upon his shoulders and a glow upon his cheek and forehead stood before them in the sunlight.
"Welcome, Hiawatha," said the old Arrow-maker in a grave but friendly tone, and Minnehaha's light voice echoed the deep one of her father, saying: "Welcome, Hiawatha."
Together the old Arrow-maker and Hiawatha entered the wigwam, and Minnehaha laid aside her mat of rushes and brought them food and drink in vessels of earth and bowls of basswood. Yet she did not say a word while she was serving them, but listened as if in a dream to what Hiawatha told her father about Nokomis and Chibiabos and the strong man, Kwasind, and the happiness and peace of his own people, the Ojibways. Hiawatha finished his words by saying very slowly: "That this peace may always be among us and our tribes become as brothers to each other, give me the hand of your daughter, Minnehaha, the loveliest of women."
"PLEASANT WAS THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD"—[Page 199]
The aged Arrow-maker paused before he answered, looked proudly at Hiawatha and lovingly at his daughter, and then said:
"You may have her if she wishes it. Speak, Minnehaha, and let us know your will."
The lovely Minnehaha seemed more beautiful than ever as she looked first at Hiawatha and then at her old father. Softly she took the seat beside Hiawatha, blushing as she answered: "I will follow you, my husband."
Thus did Hiawatha win the daughter of the ancient Arrow-maker. Together he and his bride left the wigwam hand in hand and went away over the meadows, while the old Arrow-maker with shaded eyes gazed after them and called out sadly: "Good-bye, Minnehaha! Good-bye my lovely daughter!"
They walked together through the sunlit forest, and all the birds and animals gazed at them from among the leaves and branches.
When they came to swift rivers, Hiawatha lifted Minnehaha and carried her across, and in his strong arms she seemed lighter than a willow-leaf or the plume upon his headgear. At night he cleared away the thicket and built a lodge of branches; he made a bed of hemlock boughs and kindled a fire of pine-cones before the doorway, and Adjidaumo, the squirrel, climbed down from his nest and kept watch, while the two lovers slept in their lodge beneath the stars.