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"I wish I was one!" says Mr. Darling, with considerable effusion. "I envy the people who can claim nationality with you. I'd be a Paddy myself to-morrow if I could, for that one reason." "You aren't angry, are you?" says Mona, now really contrite. "I couldn't help it, and it was like it, you know." Alas! how soon will fall upon him that eternal sleep from which no man waketh!.
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Then the young man spoke and asked, "Why is this? Why do you not give me food?" All the people came out to meet Mīka´pi, and they carried him to his father's lodge. He untied the scalps from his belt and gave them to the poor widows, saying, "These are the scalps of your enemies; I wipe away your tears." Then every one rejoiced. All Mīka´pi's women relations went through the camp, shouting out his name and singing songs about him, and all prepared to dance the dance of triumph and rejoicing. "Tin,—money," explains he. "I am so glad you are poor," says Mona. "If you were rich or even well off, I should never consent,—never!".
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