They were selfish tears. The Great Spirit does not heed them ever.
IKTOMI AND THE MUSKRAT
IKTOMI AND THE MUSKRAT
BESIDE a white lake, beneath a large grown willow tree, sat
Iktomi on the bare ground. The heap of smouldering ashes told of
a recent open fire. With ankles crossed together around a pot of
soup, Iktomi bent over some delicious boiled fish.
Fast he dipped his black horn spoon into the soup, for he was
ravenous. Iktomi had no regular meal times. Often when he was
hungry he went without food.
Well hid between the lake and the wild rice, he looked nowhere
save into the pot of fish. Not knowing when the next meal would
be, he meant to eat enough now to last some time.
"How, how, my friend!" said a voice out of the wild rice.
Iktomi started. He almost choked with his soup. He peered through
the long reeds from where he sat with his long horn spoon in
mid-air.
"How, my friend!" said the voice again, this time close at his
side. Iktomi turned and there stood a dripping muskrat who had
just come out of the lake.
"Oh, it is my friend who startled me. I wondered if among the
wild rice some spirit voice was talking. How, how, my friend!"
said Iktomi.
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