“Now,” added Mosique, “my dear Little Birds, you know I have lived in my wigwam for a long time. I have never troubled any one, and no one has troubled me. This is the first one who ever came to disturb me. Here he lies. Tell your leader, the great Woodpecker, my worst enemy,[34] what I say. I have never talked so much before in all my life; but do you tell him that if he ever comes to try to destroy my wigwam, I will serve him the same as that Hawk. I do not wish to defy him myself, but you can tell him for me.”
The Little Birds sewed leaves together, placed the Honorable Mosique on them, raised him high in air, and sang songs of rejoicing over him:—
“K’mūs’m S’n nāhā kisi nāhāhāt ō-usell ennīt kīlon wecki w’litt hassūl tīgiqu’,” or “our Grandfather Wood Worm has killed Hūhuss. This is what makes us so happy.”
Then they flew up almost to the sky, came down again, left Mosique in his wigwam and presented him with a tiny Wīsūwīgesisl, or Little Yellow Bird,—one of their best singers,—to be his comrade and musician.
Every morning she sings: “Ētuch ūlināgusk tīke ūspesswin!” (Oh, what a lovely, bright morning! Awake, all ye who sleep!)
This delighted Mosique.
Time passed, and the Raven fancied the looks of Mosique’s Singer, with her bright yellow feathers shining like gold. He said: “There is but one way to get the beautiful Singer, and that is to kill Mosique.
“But that is well-nigh impossible. While he is in his wigwam, no living creature can destroy him. There is but one way to kill him; but it is a sure way, I never knew it to fail. I have a piece of punk which my grandfather, the White Otter, gave me, that will do the work.”
So next morning, it being very windy, he went to the foot of the big tree where Mosique lived, put the punk close against the tree, set it on fire, and it soon blazed up. Now this was sure death to Mosique.
(Here part of the story seems to be missing, telling how the Worm escaped this “sure death,” but I have been unable to recover it, in spite of all my efforts.—A. L. A.)