“Spread soft wings, spread dark-roofed wings, Pacohuila,” said Kishwégin, and Ciccio, in his shirt-sleeves solemnly spread his arms.
“Stoop, stoop, Allaye, beneath the wings of Pacohuila,” said Kishwégin, faintly pressing Alvina on the shoulder.
Alvina stooped and crouched under the right arm of Pacohuila.
“Has the bird flown home?” chanted Kishwégin, to one of the strains of their music.
“The bird is home—” chanted the men.
“Is the nest warm?” chanted Kishwégin.
“The nest is warm.”
“Does the he-bird stoop—?”
“He stoops.”
“Who takes Allaye?”