"It was many years ago, at the New Year's dance at Fort Perseverance
that I first met Ojistoh. She was thirteen then, and as beautiful as
she was young. . . . No; I shall never forget those days . . . When
she spoke her voice was as gentle as the whispering south wind, and
when she ran she passed among the trees as silently and as swiftly as a
vanishing dream; but now," added Oo-koo-hoo, with a sly, teasing glance
at his wife, "but now look at her, my son . . . She is nothing but a
bundle of old wrinkled leather, that makes a noise like a she-wolf that
has no mate, and when she waddles about she goes thudding around on the
split end of her body--like a rabbit with frozen feet."

But Granny, saying never a word, seized the wooden fire-poker, and
dealt her lord and master such a vigorous blow across the shoulders
that she slew his chuckle of laughter the moment it was born. Then, as
the dust settled, silence reigned. A little later, as Granny put more
wood upon the fire, she turned to me with twinkling eyes and said:

"My son, if you could have seen the old loon when he was courting me,
it would have filled your heart with laughter. It is true he was
always a loon, for in those days Oo-koo-hoo, the great hunter, was even
afraid of his own shadow, for he never dared call upon me in daylight,
and even when he came sneaking round at night he always took good care
that it was at a time when my father was away from home. Furthermore,
he always chose a stormy evening when the snow would be drifting and
thus cover his trail; and worse still, when he came to court me he
always wore women's snowshoes; because, my son, he had not courage
enough to come as a man."

This sally, however, only made Oo-koo-hoo smile the more as he puffed
away at his brier.