“Ah, my grandmother, I will do just as you tell me this time,” said the boy.
“Now, will you?” said she. “Now, can you be certain?—will you promise me that you will keep your eyes shut, and join me, at least in your heart, in the prayer which I sing when I fly down? Yan lehalliah kiana. Never open your eyes; if you do, the gods will teach you a lesson, and your poor old grandmother, too.”
“I will do just as you tell me,” said he, as he reached over and took up his plumes and held them ready.
“Not so fast, my child,” said she; “you must promise me.”
“Oh, my grandmother, I will do just as you tell me,” said he.
“Well, step into my basket, very carefully now. As I go down I shall go very prayerfully, depending on the gods to carry so much more than I usually carry. Do you not wink once, my grandson.”
“All right; I will keep my eyes shut this time,” said he. So he sat down and squeezed his eyes together, and held his plumes tight, and then the old grandmother launched herself forth on her skin wings. After she had struggled a little, she began to sing:
“Ha ash tchaa ni,—Ha ash tchaa ni:
Tche pa naa,—thlen-thle.
Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!”