He went home sad and afflicted, and passed all the day mourning in his lodge.
“Have you disturbed the remains of the Chief’s beautiful daughter?” was his parent’s anxious question.
“No, grandmother,”—and he uttered not another word.
Thus it went on for many days and nights. The fox always took care to quit his watch at the early dawn of day, for he knew that her friends would suspect him, and come betimes to see if all was right.
At length he perceived that, gradually, she looked less and less hideous in the morning light, and that she by degrees resumed the appearance she had presented in life, so that in process of time, her beauty and look of health quite returned to her.
One day he said, “Grandmother, give me my pipe, that I may take a smoke.”
“Ah!” cried she, “you begin to be comforted. You have never smoked since the death of the chief’s beautiful daughter. Have you heard some good news?”
“Never you mind,” said he, “bring the pipe.”
He sat down and smoked, and smoked. After a time he said, “Grandmother, sweep your lodge and put it all in order, for this day you will receive a visit from your daughter-in-law.”