"She would not come home."
"Neither would you, lazy brat, else you would have been here a long while ago! Do not cry, my heart,"—she turned to the weeping child,—"do not weep. He will not hurt you any more, the bad, bad mocking-bird. Weep not." She took the crying child into her arms in order to carry her into the kitchen, but on the way she turned back and called,—
"Shyuote!"
"What do you want," growled the boy, and stumbled after her.
"Do you know where your nashtio is?"
"He is coming."
"Go and tell him to come. Say that Hayoue is here, and that he wants to see him."
"Did I not tell you that he was coming?" muttered the unruly lad. This answer was too much for Hayoue, who until now had been a mere listener. He said in a peculiar tone of command,—
"Will you go or not, you silly, lazy, good-for-nothing whelp! Go at once, or I will lead you where your father is;" and he pretended to rise.
Shyuote had not noticed the presence of his uncle. His sudden appearance upon the scene was to him an unwelcome sight, and he sped away with unusual and commendable alacrity. Hayoue was greatly amused and laughed aloud.