He smoked then, the girl sitting close by him on the bench and watching the strange, curling rings of reek rolling upwards towards the black and glittering rafters.
"But," said Weenah's mother, "poor Benee has walked far and is much tired. Would not Benee like to cover his feet?"
"Yes, our mother, Benee would sleep."
"And I will watch and sing," said Weenah.
"Sing the song of the forest," murmured Benee.
Then Weenah sang low beside him while Benee slept.
[CHAPTER XV--SHOOKS-GEE'S STORY--A CANNIBAL QUEEN]
What is called "natural curiosity" in our country, where almost every man is a Paul Pry, is no trait of the Indian's character. Or if he ever does feel such an impulse, it is instantly checked. Curiosity is but the attribute of a squaw, a savage would tell you, but even squaws will try to prevent such a weed from flourishing in their hearts.
That was the reason why neither the father nor the mother of Benee's little lady-love thought of asking him a single question concerning his adventures until he had eaten a hearty meal and had enjoyed a refreshing sleep.
But when Benee sat up at last and quaffed the maté that Weenah had made haste to get him, and just as the day was beginning to merge into the twilight of summer, he began to tell his friends and his love some portion of his wonderful adventures, even from the day when he had bidden the child Weenah a tearful farewell and betaken himself to a wandering life in the woods.