“How, grandchild,” he mumbled, for he was old enough to be grandparent to every living thing, “how! I cannot see you. Pray, speak your name!”
“Grandfather, I am Manstin,” answered the rabbit, all the while looking with curious eyes about the wigwam.
“Grandfather, what is it so tightly packed in all these buckskin bags placed against the tent poles?” he asked.
“My grandchild, those are dried buffalo meat and venison. These are magic bags which never grow empty. I am blind and cannot go on a hunt. Hence a kind Maker has given me these magic bags of choicest foods.”
Then the old, bent man pulled at a rope which lay by his right hand. “This leads me to the brook where I drink! and this,” said he, turning to the one on his left, “and this takes me into the forest, where I feel about for dry sticks for my fire.”
“Grandfather, I wish I lived in such sure luxury! I would lean back against a tent pole, and with crossed feet I would smoke sweet willow bark the rest of my days,” sighed Manstin.
“My grandchild, your eyes are your luxury! you would be unhappy without them!” the old man replied.
“Grandfather, I would give you my two eyes for your place!” cried Manstin.
“How! you have said it. Arise. Take out your eyes and give them to me. Henceforth you are at home here in my stead.”
At once Manstin took out both his eyes and the old man put them on! Rejoicing, the old grandfather started away with his young eyes while the blind rabbit filled his dream pipe, leaning lazily against the tent pole. For a short time it was a most pleasant pastime to smoke willow bark and to eat from the magic bags.