“If you give up now, the Manitou will never come. Hunger makes my son weak, but his heart is strong. It is only a short time more to wait. Then my son shall be the strongest of all.”
The Indian boy covered his face and lay still upon the mat. He would obey his father.
On the morning of the eleventh day the boy saw his father enter the wigwam. He slowly turned his face toward him and whispered: “Let me break my fast; I have no dreams.”
“Tomorrow I will bring you food. Tomorrow you shall come to the lodge of your father.”
The boy closed his eyes and said no more. He was very weak and faint.
The next morning the father went with the earliest morning light to the little lodge in the forest. Peeping through the door he saw his son sitting up. Beside his mat were brushes and paint. He was painting himself red and brown.
“The Manitou will free me, but it is not the spirit my father wanted,” he heard the boy say.
The father rushed into the lodge, but as he touched his boy the lad changed into a bird and flew out of the open doorway. Sitting on the top of the lodge he sang these words:
“Do not mourn for me, my father, for I am happy. I did not want to be a warrior. I wanted only to be free. I shall find food upon the fields and the hills. I will comfort you.” Then he flew away.