“What sayest my nána?” said the old woman; for, like grandmothers nowadays, she was very soft and gentle to her grandson.
“I have seen the maiden of Mátsaki and my thoughts kill me with longing, for she is passing beautiful and wisely slow. I do not wonder that she asks hard tasks of her lovers; for it is not of their bundles that she thinks, but of themselves. Now, I strengthen my thoughts with my manliness. My heart is hard against weariness, and I would go and speak to the beautiful maiden.”
“Yo á! my poor boy,” said the grandmother. “She is as wonderful as she is wise and beautiful. She thinks not of men save as brothers and friends; and she it is, I bethink me, who sends the may-flies and gnats and mosquitoes, therefore, to drive them away. They are but disguised beings, and beware, my grandson, you will only cover yourself with shame as a man is covered with water who walks through a rain-storm! I would not go, my poor grandchild. I would not go,” she added, shaking her head and biting her lips till her chin touched her nose-tip.
“Yes, but I must go, my grandmother. Why should I live only to breathe hard with longing? Perhaps she will better her thoughts toward me.”
“Ah, yes, but all the same, she will test thee. Well, go to the mountains and scrape bitter bark from the finger-root; make a little loaf of the bark and hide it in your belt, and when the maiden sends you down to the corn-field, work hard at the hoeing until sunrise. Then, when your body is covered with sweat-drops, rub every part with the root-bark. The finger-root bark, it is bitter as bad salt mixed in with bad water, and the ‘horn-wings’ and ‘long-beaks’ and ‘blue-backs’ fly far from the salt that is bitter.”
“Then, my gentle grandmother, I will try your words and thank you,”—for he was as gentle and good as his grandmother was knowing and crafty. Even that day he went to the mountains and gathered a ball of finger-root. Then, toward evening, he took a little bundle and went up the trail by the river-side to Mátsaki. When he climbed the ladder and shouted down the mat door: “Shé! Are ye within?” the people did not answer at once, for the old ones were angry with their daughter that she had sent off so many fine lovers. But when he shouted again they answered:
“Hai, and Ée, we are within. Be yourself within.”
Then without help he went down the ladder, but he didn’t mind, for he felt himself poor and his bundle was small. As he entered the fire-light he greeted the people pleasantly and gravely, and with thanks took the seat that was laid for him.
Now, you see, the old man was angry with the girl, so he did not tell her to place cooked things before him, but turned to his old wife.
“Old one,” he began—but before he had finished the maiden arose and brought rich venison stew and flaky héwe, which she placed before the youth where the fire’s brightness would fall upon it, with meat broth for drink; then she sat down opposite him and said, “Eat and drink!” Whereupon the young man took a roll of the wafer-bread and, breaking it in two, gave the girl the larger piece, which she bashfully accepted.