“He is coming down!” cried Tsiwihl.
All were looking at the sky except the small boy, who was inside making rope as before.
“We are old,” said the second Lasaswa; “our ropes are too short. You young men must try to-morrow.”
Each old man had nine sons. Each person was one day making the trial—all were twenty days trying—no one had a rope long enough. “What shall we do now?” asked the old men on the twenty-first day.
“There is a boy in the house making rope yet; let him try,” said Norwanchakus.
“Oh, he is only playing. He hasn’t much rope; he just makes ropes of the shreds that others throw away,” said one of the old men.
“Go in and ask him,” said the second old man.
Norwanchakus went in and said, “You are a small boy, but will you try your rope for me?” and he took hold of the boy’s hand. He kept his rope in a little basket. When Norwanchakus took his hand, he seized the basket with the other hand and carried it out.
“Why do they bring out that little boy?” cried the young men. “He hasn’t any rope. We had long ropes, and all were too short; his rope is only to play with.”
“My cousin,” said Norwanchakus, “you are small, but I think you know something. Here are three presents. When you reach the sky, give them to Sas.” Then he told him what to do.