THE ANCIENT ONE 29

to any one in our village, we shall all be proud of
him. Come, Kinna, let him go.”

With Kinna’s cries ringing in his ears, Quahl pad-
dled slowly away from the shore. He longed to return
and comfort his brother, longed to thank his mother
for the canoe, for the pillow, for the many fine things
she had provided, but he knew that his mother un-
derstood his silence. There had been tears in her
eyes as he stepped into the canoe, but she too had been
silent.

Very brave his mother was; very wise, also, under-
standing all things. More than anything else Quahl
would miss her love and sympathy, and her counsel,
during the long days and nights that lay ahead. He
was overjoyed to hear her voice once more before
he left the shore too far behind.

“The dish you sent by Kinna is very beautiful,”
she called. “Jt is the finest grease dish I have ever
seen. I will show it to your father when I tell him you
have gone.”

“T will return before many moons,” Quahl called
back hepefully, and paddled swiftly toward the en-
trance of the cove, nor dared to look back toward
the fast receding shore, where his mother stood mo-
tionless upon the sand; where Kinna stood knee-deep
in the surf, his arms outflung, his shrill cries borne
plainly seaward on the wind. Just before rounding
the rocky point at the entrance of the cove, Quahl
turned and waved his paddle once; and he saw his