“Why, you will.”
“Who will take them to preside at the feast of their relatives-in-law?”
“Why, you will.”
“Who will be their relatives-in-law?”
“Why, you will.”
“Who will be the priests of their Father Society?”
And they might have talked that way till sunset had not the voices of the two boys, singing the song of victory, been heard coming over the hill. There they were, coming with two great strings of scalps as big as a bunch of buckskins.
“Oh! poor me! How shall I swing all those scalps round the pueblo?” groaned the poor old woman as she limped off to dress for the ceremony.
“Why, swing them,” answered the old Turtle, as he stretched himself up with the importance of being master of ceremonies.