THE CEREMONIAL DRUM 179

through the opening in the totem pole, down the vil-
lage street and into the forest. He had run screaming
with terror, as he realized how terrible was the ca:
tastrophe of the broken hat!

This was only one of the many misfortunes that had
befallen Yulan recently; one of the many mischievous
pranks which had tried his father’s patience sorely,
and had won for him such a reputation for mischief
and ill luck that even the slaves poked fun at him
as he passed and called him “One-who-is-always-
in-trouble.”

It seemed to Yulan, as he lay there with his head
pillowed on the warm sand, that he had suffered
altogether too often for the pranks of others, pranks
in which he had taken no part whatever. For in-
stance, there was the time of his disgrace the week
before, when Slik, the puppy, had been entirely to
blame. Yulan had to smile when he thought of that,
though he hated to think of how angry his father
had been.

Mischievous little Slik had followed Yulan into
the house one day and had wandered, unnoticed,
along the upper platform, sniffing at the furs and
chests until he came to the feather-bed of the sha-
man—a feather-bed of sewed skins stuffed with the
feathers and down of wild-fowl.

Here Slik had stopped, smelling the feathers under
the skins, and proceeded to tear the feather-bed to
pieces with his sharp little teeth. This way and that