“Ha ash tchaa ni,—Ha ash tchaa ni:
Tche pa naa,—thlen-thle.
Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!”
She was not near the ground when she finished it the fourth time, and the boy would not stand it any more. Lo! he opened his eyes, and the old grandmother knew it in a moment. Over and over, boy over bat, bat over boy, and the basket between them, they went whirling and pitching down, the old grandmother tugging at her basket and scolding the boy.
“Now, you foolish, disobedient one! I told you what would happen! You see what you have done!” and so on until they fell to the ground. It fairly knocked the breath out of the boy, and when he got up again he yelled lustily.
The old grandmother picked herself up, stretched herself, and cried out anew: “You wretched, foolish, hard-hearted boy; I never will do anything for you again—never, never, never!”
“I know, my grandmother,” said the boy, “but you kept up that ‘Thlen! Thlen! Thlen!’ so much. What in the world did you want to spend so much time thlening, thlening, and buzzing round in that way for?”
“Ah, me!” said she, “he never did know anything—never will be taught to know anything.”
“Now,” said she to him, “you might as well come and eat with me. I have been gathering cactus-fruit, and you can eat and then go home.” She took him to the place where she had poured out the contents of the basket, but there was scarcely a cactus-berry. There were cedar-berries, cones, sticks, little balls of dirt, coyote-berries, and everything else uneatable.
“Sit down, my grandson, and eat; strengthen yourself after your various adventures and exertions. I feel very weary myself,” said she. And she took a nip of one of them; but the boy couldn’t exactly bring himself to eat. The truth is, the old woman’s eyes were bad, in the same way that bats’ eyes are usually bad, and she couldn’t tell a cactus-berry from anything else round and rough.