Maidwa listened to all the old magician had to say with solemn attention.
The magician renewed his discourse, and inquired of Maidwa as to his dreams, or what he saw in his sleep, at such times as he had fasted and darkened his face to procure guardian spirits.
Maidwa then told him one dream. The magician groaned.
"No, that is not it," he said.
Maidwa told him of two or three others.
The magician groaned again and again, and said, rather peevishly, "No, these are not the dreams."
"Keep cool," said the kettle, which had left the fire, and was standing in the middle of the floor, where a pleasant breeze was blowing through the lodge, and added, "Have you no more dreams of another kind?"
"Yes," said Maidwa; and he told him one.
"That will do," said the kettle. "We are much pleased with that."
"Yes, that is it—that is it!" the magician added. "You will cause me to live. That was what I was wishing you to say. Will you then go and see if you can not recover my poor scalp?"