“You see, we have a flock of Turkeys—”
“Yes, I know,” interrupted the old man, “for they came down here to drink yesterday and broke my morning nap with their ‘quit quit quittings!’”
“Well,” resumed the boys, “they went toward the Háwikuhkwe, and the shameless beasts, that they are, turned out and killed very nearly all of them, and we’re going to even matters with them; that’s why we are out sprouting.”
“Ah ha!” cried the old man, paddling up nearer to the bank. “Good! Well, that’s right, my grandchildren; you show that you are the wise boys that you are to come to me. I’m a great warrior, I am, for though I have neither bow nor arrow, yet the more my enemies have, the worse for themselves, that’s all. You two just wait until tomorrow,” and he stretched his head out until it looked as though he kept a snake in his shell.
“Will you help us?” asked the boys. (They knew very well he would like nothing better.)
“Of course, my grandchildren.”
“Will you come to the council?”
“Of course, my grandchildren two. How many will be there?” called the old fellow.
“The house shall be as full as a full stomach,” retorted the boys, jousting each other.
“Thluathlá!” gruffly said Etawa, for that was the Turtle’s name.