Never before did Hiawatha appear so handsome, and Minnehaha thought him even nobler than when he came to woo her by the waterfall in the land of the Dacotahs.
Turning Hiawatha saw the two strange guests who had not said a word when he had entered, but crouched silently in the darkest corner of the wigwam, with their hoods drawn over their white faces. Only their eyes gleamed like dull coals as they gazed upon the firelight. But Hiawatha did not ask a single question, although he wondered greatly, and he set about preparing the deer for their evening meal.
When the meat was ready, the two guests, still without saying a word, sprang like wolves from their corners, seized upon the choicest parts, the white fat that Hiawatha had saved for Minnehaha, and retreated with their portions back to the shadow of their corner. And although Hiawatha and Minnehaha and Nokomis were amazed by the strange actions of their guests, they did not show it by word or look, but acted as if nothing had happened. Only Minnehaha found time to whisper to Hiawatha: "They are famished; let them eat of what they will."
Many days passed, and the two strange women still sat cowering in their corner of the wigwam; but at night, when everybody slept, they went out into the gloomy forest and brought back wood and pine-cones for the fire. Whenever Hiawatha returned from hunting or fishing, and the evening meal had been prepared, they would leap from their dark corner, seize the very choicest portions that had been set aside for Minnehaha, and without any question being asked them, or any blame for their strange conduct, they would flit back into the darkest shadow and devour their food like hungry wolves.
Never once did Nokomis or Minnehaha or Hiawatha reprove them by a single word or look, preferring to endure the insult rather than to break in any way the law of hospitality and the sacred custom of free-giving; and through it all the pale, sad women never said a word.
One night, however, Hiawatha lay awake, watching the embers of the fire, when he heard loud groans and sobbing, and saw the two strange guests sitting bolt upright on their couches, weeping bitterly. And Hiawatha asked them: "O my guests, why is it that you are so unhappy and weep together in the middle of the night? Has old Nokomis or Minnehaha wronged you in any way or failed to treat you with proper courtesy?"
The two women left off weeping, and answered in low and gentle voices: "Hiawatha, we are spirits. We are the souls of those who once lived here on earth, and we have come from the kingdom of Chibiabos to warn you.
"Every cry of sorrow for the dead is heard in the Land of Spirits, and calls back those of us for whom you mourn. We are much saddened by this useless sorrow, and we have come from the Blessed Islands to ask you to tell all your people what we say. Do not vex our ears with weeping, and do not lay upon our graves so many robes, and kettles, and wampum-belts, for the spirits find these a heavy burden. Only give us food to carry with us on our journey, and see that a fire is lighted for us on the four nights following our death. For the journey to the Land of Spirits takes four days and four nights, and the cheerful firelight saves us from groping in the darkness. Now farewell, Hiawatha. We have put you to a great trial and have found you brave and noble. Do not fail in the greater trial and the harder struggle that you will shortly have to suffer."
Their voices died away, and sudden darkness filled the wigwam. Hiawatha heard the rustle of their garments as they passed him, saw a gleam of starlight as they lifted the curtain from the doorway; and when he rekindled the fire he found that the pale, sad women, his strange guests, had disappeared.