"You are not right, nashtio; it is not concerning Mitsha that I want to speak to you."
"About what else, then?" Hayoue looked up in surprise, as if unable to comprehend how a boy of the age of Okoya could think of anything else than of some girl.
His brother's son took from his neck the little satchel containing sacred meal. Without a word he opened it, and scattered the flour in the usual way to the six regions. Then he pointed to the clouds and whispered, "The Shiuana are good," at the same time handing the bag to his uncle. The latter's astonishment had reached its maximum; the boy's actions were utterly incomprehensive to him.
Again the sound of distant thunder vibrated from the west, and the cliffs sighed in return.
"They are calling us," Okoya whispered.
Hayoue became suddenly very sober. He performed the sacrifice in silence, and then assumed the position of an earnest and attentive listener.
"Do you like the Koshare?" began Okoya, in a whisper.
"No. But why do you ask this?"
"Because I don't like them either."
"Is that all you had to tell me? I could have told you that in their own presence." Hayoue seemed to be disappointed and vexed.