“You see, little Wasis shouts back war-cries,” said the Wise Old Woman.
This angered the Chief, and he said: “I will overcome him with my magic power.”
Then he began to mutter queer songs, and to dance around the baby.
This pleased little Wasis, and he smiled and watched the Chief, never moving to go to him. He just sat and sucked his sugar.
At last the Chief was tired out. His red paint was streaked with sweat; his feathers were falling, and his legs ached. He sat down and looked at the old woman.
“Did I not say that baby is mightier than you?” said she. “No one is mightier than he. A baby rules the wigwam, and everyone obeys him.”
“It is truly so,” said the Chief, and went outside.
The last sound he heard as he walked away was the “Goo, Goo” of little Wasis as he crowed in victory. It was his war-cry. All babies mean just that when they gurgle so at you.
Copyright by E. M. Newman
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