“Why not?”
“I don’t like him, he is so little.”
“Never mind, go back and give him something to eat; call him uncle.”
Keriha went back and stared at the stranger. After a while the little man looked up and asked,—
“Why do you look at me so? I left a small bag of roots north of the house. Would you bring it here? The roots are very good to eat.”
Keriha went. The bag was small. There were roots in one corner of it, not many. He snatched at the bag, but could not lift it; he tried with both hands, couldn’t stir it; tried every way, couldn’t move it; scratched his arms and legs in trying, left the bag, and went back without it.
“I cannot lift that bag,” said he to the little man. “How did you bring it, you are so small?”
The stranger, who was Nodal Monoko, went out, brought the bag to the house in one hand, and put it down outside. Norwanchakus knew who the stranger was, and he brought up a great sturgeon. Keriha cooked the fish, put it down before their guest, and said, “Eat this.”
The little man said nothing, waited till the fish was cool, then raising it to his mouth in one hand, he swallowed all at a mouthful.
Keriha cooked for the little man all the forenoon, while Norwanchakus was fishing. About midday their wood was nearly all burned.