They did so, and were rejoiced, as they drew them up, to see the meshes white here and there with fish. They landed in good spirits, and put away their canoe in safety from the winds.
“Wassamo,” said his cousin, “you cook that we may eat.”
Wassamo set about it immediately, and soon got his kettle on the flames, while his cousin was lying at his ease on the opposite side of the fire.
“Cousin,” said Wassamo, “tell me stories, or sing me some love-songs.”
The other obeyed, and sang his plaintive songs. He would frequently break off, and tell parts of stories, and would then sing again, as suited his feelings or fancy. While thus employed, he unconsciously fell asleep. Wassamo had scarcely noticed it in his care to watch the kettle, and, when the fish were done, he took the kettle off. He spoke to his cousin, but received no answer. He took the wooden ladle to skim off the oil, for the fish were very fat. He had a flambeau of twisted bark in one hand to give light; but, when he came to take out the fish, he did not know how to manage to hold the light, so he took off his garters, and tied them tight round his head, and then placed the lighted flambeau above his forehead, so that it was firmly held by the bandage, and threw its light brilliantly about him. Having both hands thus at liberty, he began to take out the fish. Suddenly he heard a laugh.
“Cousin,” said he, “some one is near us. Awake, and let us look out.”
His cousin, however, continued asleep. Again Wassamo heard the laughter, and, looking, he beheld two beautiful girls.
“Awake, awake,” said he to his cousin. “Here are two young women;” but he received no answer, for his cousin was locked in his deepest slumbers.
Wassamo started up and advanced to the strange women. He was about to speak to them, when he fell senseless to the earth.
A short while after his cousin awoke. He looked around and called Wassamo, but could not find him.