Maidwa then told him one dream. The magician groaned.
"No, that is not it," he said.
Maidwa told him of two or three others.
The magician groaned again and again and said, rather peevishly, "No, these are not the dreams."
"Keep cool," said the kettle. It had left the fire and was standing in the middle of the floor, where a pleasant breeze was blowing through the lodge. Then it added, "Have you no more dreams of another kind?"
"Yes," said Maidwa, and he told him one.
"That will do," said the kettle. "We are much pleased with that."
"Yes, that is it—that is it!" the magician added. "You will cause me to live. That was what I was wishing you to say. Will you then go and see if you can not recover my poor scalp?"
"Yes," said Maidwa, "I will go; and the day after to-morrow, when you hear the ka-kak cries of the hawk, you will know that I am successful. You must prepare your head, and lean it out through the door, so that the moment I arrive I may place your scalp on."
"Yes, yes," said the magician. "As you say it will be done."