Then Storm knew that he was no longer naked, but clad in the splendid dress whose earthly counterpart he should put on for the first time to-morrow.
"This Easter morning," said Hiawatha, "before the day breaks, your wife and your mother here have asked me, Storm, to tell you a few things about my Indian people."
They sat down in comfort round the fire, the three women on the chief's right, Storm on his left, after the Indian manner. Rain lighted Hiawatha's pipe, then that of her man.
"I am the cracked earth," said Storm cheerily, "which prays for rain."
"It seems to me," the chief's retort was prompt, "that a cracked mouth makes fun of our holy animals."
"They seem so silly."
"What, even in your Bible?"
Storm thought for a moment, concerning the four beasts full of eyes, within and without. There were the jolliest horses. There was the symbolism of the sheep, of the lamb.
"Truths," Hiawatha spoke with reverence, "veiled in allegory, illustrated by symbols."
"But are there animals, real ones?"