“Let us ask Brave to go with us,” they said; and they went in a body to see him.
“All right,” said Brave; “I will go with you. But I have something to do first. You go on around the hill that way, and I will hasten around this way, and meet you a little later near the grave.”
So the six little boys went on as bidden until they came to a place near the grave. There they halted.
“Where is Brave?” they asked.
Now Brave, full of mischief, had thought to play a jest on his little friends. As soon as they were well out of sight he had sped around the hill to the shore of the lake and sticking his hands in the mud had rubbed it over his face, plastered it in his hair, and soiled his hands until he looked like a new risen corpse with the flesh rotting from his bones. He then went and lay down in the grave and awaited the boys.
When the six little boys came they were more timid than ever when they did not find Brave; but they feared to go back to the village without seeing the grave, for fear the old men would call them cowards.
So they slowly approached the grave and one of them timidly called out:
“Please, grandmother, we won’t disturb your grave. We only want to see where you lie. Don’t be angry.”
At once a thin quavering voice, like an old woman’s, called out:
“Han, han, takoja, hechetuya, hechetuya! Yes, yes, that’s right, that’s right.”