"Do-ne-ho-ga-weh knows that we could not tell him all of our tale when so many ears were listening. He knows, too, that we are pressed for time."
"Ja," squeaked Corlaer, "der roy-an-eh will come back."
An hour passed, and I began to doubt my friends' wisdom. I was sleepy and tired. I had had overmuch of the coarse native-grown tobacco. But in the event I was rewarded, for a shadow darkened the entrance and the Guardian of the Western Door stood before us.
He sat between Ta-wan-ne-ars and me, and crammed tobacco into his pipe-bowl.
"You are not sleeping, O my nephew," he commented.
"We have that upon our minds which will not let us sleep," answered Ta-wan-ne-ars.[[16]]
[[16]] This conversation was translated for me later by Ta-wan-ne-ars.—H.O.
"Would it ease the weight on your minds to confide your troubles in me?"
"That is my thought, O my uncle."
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh bowed gravely to all of us.