The Delight Makers

  CHAPTER XII.

  At the time when the tribal council of the Queres was holding the stormysession which we have described in the preceding chapter, quite adifferent scene was taking place at the home of the wife of Tyope. Thathome, we know, belonged to Hannay, the woman with whom Tyope hadconsorted after his separation from Shotaye; and it was also thedwelling in which he resided when other matters did not keep him away.The tie that bound Tyope to his second wife was of rather a sensualnature. Hannay was a very sensual woman, but in addition to this shepossessed qualities that made her valuable to her husband. She wasextremely inquisitive, listened well, knew how to inquire, and was anactive reporter. On her side there was no real affection for Tyope; buther admiration for his intellectual qualities, so far as she was able toappreciate them, knew no bounds. It amounted almost to awe. Theirconnection was consequently a partnership rather than anything else,--apartnership based on physical affinities, on mutual interest, and onhabit. Of the higher sort of sympathy there was no trace. Neither hadroom for it among the many occupations which their mode of life andmanner of intercourse called forth.

  If Tyope was shrewd and cunning, and if he made of his own woman hiseye, ear, and mouth, as has been said in one of the previous chapters,Hannay was not a fool. She did not of course understand anything of hisplans and schemes, and he never thought it necessary to inform her; butshe knew how to manage him whenever anything aroused her curiosity. Shecontrived to gratify this sometimes in a way that her husband failed todetect,--by drawing from his talk inferences that were exceedinglycorrect and which he had no thought of furnishing. For Tyope knew hiswife's weakness; he knew that if her ears and her eyes were sharp, hertongue was correspondingly swift; and he tried to be as guarded aspossible toward her on any topic which he did not wish to become publicproperty. Nevertheless Hannay succeeded in outwitting her husband morethan once, and in guessing with considerable accuracy things that he didnot regard as belonging within the field of her knowledge. So, forinstance, while he had carefully avoided stating to her the object ofthe council, she nevertheless had put together in her own mind a numberof minor points and hints to which he attached no importance, and hadthus framed for herself a probable purpose of the meeting that fell notmuch short of the real truth.

  The main desire that occupied Hannay's mind for the present was theunion between Okoya and her daughter Mitsha. Okoya had, unknown tohimself, no stronger ally than the mother of the girl. The motive thatactuated her in this matter was simply the apparent physical fitness ofthe match and the momentary advantages that she, considering her own ageand the loose nature of Indian marriages, might eventually derive fromthe daily presence of Okoya at her home. In other words, she desired thegood-looking youth as much for herself as for her child, and saw nothingwrong in this. From the day when Okoya for the first time trod the roofof her dwelling in order to protect Mitsha, she had set her cap for him.But she knew that there was no love on the part of Tyope for therelatives of Okoya, paternal or maternal, and she was too much afraidof him to venture open consent to a union that might be against hiswishes. In her mind Tyope was the only stumbling-block in the path ofthe two young people; that is, in the way of her own desires.

  She had consequently set to work with a great deal of tact and prudencein approaching Tyope about the matter. After a number of preparatoryskirmishes, she at last ventured to tell him of it. To her astonishmenthe took it quite composedly, saying neither yes nor no, and displayingno feeling at all. He saw not the least objection to having Okoya visither house as often as he might please; in fact, he treated the matterwith great indifference. This was a decided relief to her, and sheanxiously waited for Okoya's first visit to impress him most favourablyregarding not merely herself but her husband.

  Tyope indeed did not attach the slightest importance to Okoyapersonally. The youth had no value for him at present; he did notdislike him; he did not notice him at all. The boy was asunobjectionable to him as any one else whom he did not need for hispurposes. But there were points connected with the union that affectedTyope's designs very materially, and these would come out in course oftime, although he foresaw them already. In the first place,intermarriage between the clans of Tanyi and Tyame was not favourable tohis scheme, which consisted in expelling gradually or violently fourclusters,--Tanyi, Tyame, Huashpa, and Tzitz, from the Rito. Thelast-named cluster he wanted to get rid of on account of Shotaye, whomhe feared as much as he hated; the other three he wished to dispossessof their houses, which were the best secured against decay on theTyuonyi, in order to lodge therein his own relatives and theirpartisans. Had Okoya aspired to the hand of a daughter of the Turquoiseclan, Tyope would have been in favour of his pretensions at once.

  On the other hand, Okoya was very young; he might be flexible ifproperly handled; and in case the boy, whose father was already aKoshare and completely under Tyope's influence, could be induced to jointhe society of the Delight Makers, it would be a gain fully compensatingfor the other disadvantages of the situation. One more Koshare in Tanyi,and one who would dwell with Tyame, besides, after marriage, was a gain.It would facilitate the realization of the plan of a disruption oftribal ties by creating disunion among the clans most powerful, afterShyuamo. Tyope did not care for the expulsion of certain specialclusters as a whole, provided a certain number and a certain kind ofpeople were removed. But the matter of making a Koshare out of Okoya wasa delicate undertaking. His wife had already suggested as much to him,and he had insinuated to her that she might try, cautioning her at thesame time against undue precipitation. Finally he left the whole matterin her hands without uttering either assent or dissent, and went abouthis own more important and much more intricate affairs.

  Hannay awaited Okoya with impatience, but the youth had not appearedagain. He was afraid of Tyope and also afraid of her. The warnings ofhis mother and Hayoue he had treasured deeply, and these warnings kepthim away from the home of Mitsha. Still he longed to go there. Everyevening since the one on which Say encouraged him to go, he haddetermined to pay the first regular visit, but as often as the time camehis courage had abandoned him and he had not gone. And yet he musteither go or give up; this he realized plainly. There might be apossibility of some other youth attempting the same, and then he wouldbe too late, perhaps. There was no thought on his part of giving up; hefelt committed; and yet he was more afraid of going to call on themaiden than he would have been of encountering some wild beast. Not onMitsha's account, oh no! He longed to meet her at her own home, but hefeared both her parents.

  Say Koitza instinctively noticed her son's trouble, and she becameapprehensive lest out of timidity he might suffer to escape him what shenow more and more regarded as a golden opportunity. At last, on theevening when the council was to meet, a fact that was well known to all,she said to her son,--

  "I hear that sa nashtio maseua is going to the uuityam to-night; in thatcase Tyope will be there also." More she did not say, but Okoyatreasured the hint, and made no remark about it, but at once thoughtthat the time had come to pay a visit to the maiden. After the sun hadgone down he went out and leaned against the northern wall of the bighouse, gazing steadily at the dwellings of the Eagle clan. There weretoo many people about yet for him to attempt the call, and furthermoreit was so early that the council could hardly have assembled. By thelight of the moon he saw clearly the movements of the people, althoughit was impossible to recognize individuals at any distance. The boy satdown and waited. From where he rested he could not fail to notice whenthe delegates of the clans that inhabited the big house left for thecouncil, and that would be the signal for his own starting. His heartbeat; he felt happy and yet anxious; hope and doubt both agitated hismind.

  One of his comrades stealthily approached Okoya, sat down on the groundbeside him, threw one arm around his shoulders, and began to singloudly. Okoya chimed in, and the two shouted at the top of theiruntrained voices into the clear still night. Such is the custom inIndian villages. A third one joined them, finally a fourth. The
latterlay down on his stomach, rested his elbows on the ground, his chin inboth hands, and sang in company with the others. Soon after, two menissued from the gangway and walked down the valley; at last another wentin the same direction. These were the members of the council, and now itwas time for Okoya. As soon as the song reached a pause, he stood up,said "sha," and turned to go. One of his companions seized him by theankles, saying, "It is too early for you to go to see the girls;" andall together added, laughing, "Don't go yet, later on we will all gotogether."

  But Okoya stepped firmly on the arm of him who attempted to hold himback, so that the boy loosened his grip; then he jumped into thepassage, where they could not see him. He disliked to have any onenotice that he went to see Mitsha. Waiting in the dark passage for ashort time, he glided out at last on the side farthest from where theboys were still sitting and singing, crossed the ditch into the highcorn, and went through the latter upward until opposite the western endof the building. Crossing the ditch again, he reached the slope that ledto the buildings occupied by the people of the Eagle. In order tomislead his comrades, in case they should be on the lookout, he wenthigher up along the cliffs till he reached the caves of Tzina hanutsh.Here he looked back. The three boys were singing lustily the samemonotonous rhyme at the same place where he had left them.

  From the rock dwellings of the Turkey people there was a gentledeclivity to the houses which the clan Tyame had constructed against theperpendicular wall of the cliffs. Okoya walked rapidly; now that he hadstarted, he longed to reach Mitsha's home. Children still romped beforethe houses; on the roofs entire families were gathered, loudly talking,laughing, or singing. Some of them had even built small fires andcooked their evening meal in the wonderfully cool and invigourating air.The terrace of the abode whither Okoya directed his steps was deserted,but a ray of light passed through the opening in the front wall. Nothingseemed to stir inside when the boy approached.

  Had Okoya glanced at that little opening he might have discerned awoman's face, which looked out of it for a moment and then disappearedwithin. Had he stepped closer to the wall he might have heard a woman'svoice inside calling out in a low tone,--"Mitsha, he is coming!" But heneither looked nor listened; he was barely able to think. His feelingsoverpowered him completely; wrapped in them he stood still, lost inconflicting sentiments, a human statue flooded by the silvery moonlight.

  Somebody coughed within the house, but he did not hear it. Again theface appeared in the small, round air-hole. Okoya had his face turned tothe east and away from the wall of the house. At last the spectatorwithin thought that the boy's musings were of a rather long duration,and she called out,--

  "Sa uishe, opona!"

  He started and looked toward the dwelling, but saw only two black pointspeeping through the port-hole. Again the voice spoke,--

  "Why don't you come in, mot[=a]tza?" Now he became conscious that Hannaywas calling him into her home.

  His first impulse was to run away, but that was only a passing thought;and it became clear to him that he had reached the place whither he wasgoing, and furthermore that the women were alone. Without a word ofreply he climbed the roof and nimbly down into the apartment. He wasstill on the ladder when Hannay repeated the invitation,--

  "Opona, sa uishe."

  His greeting was responded to by a loud and warm "Raua, raua" from themother, and a faint, slightly tremulous "Raua [=a]" from another voice,which from its softness could only be that of Mitsha. The room was dark,for the fire was about to go out; but beside the hearth cowered a femalefigure who had placed fresh wood on the embers and was fanning them withher breath. It was Mitsha. At the entrance of the visitor, she quicklystroked back the hair that streamed over her cheeks and turned her facehalf around. But this was for a moment only; as soon as the wood caughtfire and light began to spread over the room she again blew into theflames with all her might. It was quite unnecessary, for the fire burnedlustily.

  Hannay stood in the middle of the floor, wiping her mouth with the backof her hand. Stepping up to the boy she said,--

  "You have not been here for a long time, mot[=a]tza." It sounded like afriendly reproach. He modestly grasped her fingers, breathed on herhand, and replied,--

  "I could not come."

  "You did not want to come," said the woman, smiling.

  "I could not," he reiterated.

  "You could had you wished, I know it; and I know also why you did notcome." She added, "Well, now you are here at last, and it is well.Mitsha, give your friend something to eat."

  The significant word "friend" fell on fertile soil. It eased Okoya atonce. He sat down closer to the hearth, where the maiden was very busyin a rather confused manner, her face turned from him. Still as often asthe strands of hair accidentally parted on the left cheek, she shotquick side-glances at him. Okoya, balancing himself on his heels,quietly observed her. It was impossible to devote to her his wholeattention, for her mother had already taken her seat close by him andwas claiming his ear. She offered slight attraction to the eye, for hersquatting figure was not beautiful. Okoya grew lively, much more livelythan he had been on his first visit.

  "Why should I not have wanted to see you?" he good-naturedly asked.

  "I will tell you," Hannay chuckled; "because you were afraid."

  "Afraid?" he cried, "afraid? Of whom?" But within himself he thought thewoman was right. Hannay smiled.

  "Of Mitsha," she said; adding, "she is naughty and strong." A peal ofcoarse laughter accompanied this stroke of wit. The girl wasembarrassed; she hid her face on her lap. Okoya replied,--

  "Mitsha does not bite."

  "She certainly will not bite you," the mother answered, causing themaiden to turn her face away.

  "Does she bite others?" Okoya asked. Again Hannay laughed aloud, andfrom the corner whither Mitsha had retreated there sounded somethinglike a suppressed laugh also. It amused her to think that she might bitepeople. Her mother, however, explained,--

  "No, Mitsha does not bite; but if other boys should come to see her shemight perhaps strike them. But you, sa uishe,"--the woman moved closerto him,--"you, I am sure, she will not send away. Is it not so, Mitsha?Okoya may come to see you, may he not?"

  The poor girl was terribly embarrassed by this more than directquestion, and Okoya himself hung his head in confusion. He pitied themaiden for having such a mother. As Mitsha gave no answer, Hannayrepeated,--

  "Speak, sa uishe; will you send this mot[=a]tza away as you do theothers?"

  "No," breathed the poor creature thus sorely pressed. A thrill wentthrough the frame of Okoya; he looked up, and his eyes beamed in thereflex of the fire. The woman had watched him with the closestattention, and nothing escaped her notice. Her eyes also sparkled withpleasure, for she felt sure of him.

  "Well, why don't you give the mot[=a]tza some food?" she asked herdaughter again. "On your account he has walked the long way from the bighouse. Is it not so, Okoya?"

  "Yes," the boy replied innocently.

  Quick as thought Mitsha turned around, and her eyes beamed on him for aninstant. He did not notice it, and she forthwith stepped up to thehearth. Even though she lacked evening toilette, Mitsha presented ahandsome picture; and her friend became absorbed in contemplation of thelithe, graceful form. She lifted the pot from the fire, placed thecustomary share of its contents before Okoya, and retired to a corner,whence she soon returned with a piece of dried yucca-preserve, regardedas a great treat by the Indians, because it has a sweet taste. As shewas placing the dessert on the floor, the boy extended his hand, and shelaid the sweetmeat in it instead of depositing it where she hadoriginally intended. Okoya's hand closed, grasping hers and holding itfast. Mitsha tried to extricate her fingers, but he clutched them inhis. Stepping back, she made a lunge at his upper arm which caused himto let go her hand at once. Laughing, she then sat down between him andher mother. The ice was broken.

  "You are very strong," Okoya assured her, rubbing the sore limb.

  "She is strong, indeed," he
r mother confirmed; "she can work well, too."

  "Have you any green paint?" the girl asked.

  "No, but I know a place where it is found. Do you want any?"

  "I would like to have some."

  "For what do you use the green stone?"

  "Next year I want to paint and burn bowls and pots." Mitsha had nothought of the inferences that he would draw from her simpleexplanation. He interpreted her words as very encouraging for him, notonly because the girl understood the art of making pottery, but he drewthe conclusion that she was thinking of furnishing a household of herown.

  Hannay improved the opportunity to still further praise her child. Shesaid,--

  "Mitsha does not only know how to paint; she can also shape theuashtanyi, the atash, and the asa." With this she rose, went to thewall, and began to rummage about in some recess. Okoya had meanwhiletaken one of the girl's hands in his playing with her dainty fingerswhich she suffered him to do.

  "See here," the woman cried and turned around. He dropped the girl'shand and Hannay handed something to him.

  "Mitsha made this." Then she sat down again.

  The object which Okoya had received from her was a little bowl of clay,round, and decorated on its upper rim with four truncated and gradedpyramids that rose like prongs at nearly equal intervals. The vessel wasneatly finished, smooth, white, and painted with black symbolic designs.There was nothing artistic in it according to our ideas, but it wasoriginal and quaint. Okoya gazed at the bowl with genuine admiration,placed it on the floor, and took it up again, holding it so that thelight of the fire struck the inside also. He shook his head inastonishment and pleasure. Mitsha moved closer to him. With innocentpride she saw his beaming looks, and heard the admiring exclamationswith which he pointed at the various figures painted on the whitesurface. Then she began to explain to him.

  "Lightning," said she, indicating with her finger a sinuous black linethat issued from one side of the arches resting on a heavy black dash.

  "Cloud," he added, referring to the arches.

  "Rain," concluded the maiden, pointing at several black streaks whichdescended from the figure of the clouds. Both broke out in a heartylaugh. His merriment arose from sincere admiration, hers from equallysincere joy at his approbation of her work. The mother laughed also; itamused her to see how much Okoya praised her daughter's skill. She wasoverjoyed at seeing the two become more familiar.

  Okoya returned to his former position, placing the vessel on the floorwith tender care; and Mitsha resumed her sitting posture, only she satmuch nearer the boy than before. He still examined the bowl with wonder.

  "Who taught you to make such nice things?" he asked at last.

  "An old woman from Mokatsh. Look," and she took up the vessel again,pointing to its outside, where near the base she had painted two hornedserpents encircling the foot of the bowl.

  "Tzitz shruy," she laughed merrily. The youth laughed, so did the women,all three enjoying themselves like big, happy children.

  "For whom did you make this?" Okoya now inquired.

  "For my father," Mitsha proudly replied.

  "What may Tyope want with it?" asked the boy. "I have seen uashtanyilike this, but they stood before the altar and there was meal in them.It was when the Shiuana appeared on the wall. What may sa nashtio usethis for?"

  "I don't know," Mitsha replied, and her eye turned to her mother timidlyaskance and with an expression of doubt.

  Hannay saw here an excellent pretext to put in a word of her own whichshe had wished to say long before.

  "I will tell you, sa uishe; I will speak to you as I would to my ownchild." The artful flattery had its desired effect. Okoya became veryattentive; he moved closer apparently to the mother,--in reality, to thedaughter.

  "You know Tyope is a Koshare, and I am Koshare too; and he is very wise,a great man among those who create delight. Now it may be that you knowalso what we have to do."

  "You have to make rain," said the youth; for such was the common beliefamong the younger people about the duties of the society.

  Hannay and Mitsha looked at each other smiling, the simple-mindedness ofthe boy amused them.

  "You are right," the woman informed him. "After we have prayed, fasted,and done penance, it ought to rain, in order that yamunyi may grow tokoatshit, and koatshit ripen to yakka." In these words she artfullyshrouded the true objects of the Koshare. It enhanced their importancein the eyes of the uninitiated listener by making him believe that themaking of rain was also an attribute of theirs. "See, uak," sheproceeded, "on this bowl you see everything painted that produces rain."One after the other she pointed out the various figures. "Here you seethe tadpole, here the frog, here the dragon-fly and the fish; they, asthey stand here, pray for rain; for some of them cry for it, when thetime comes others live in the water, which is fed from the clouds, orthey flit above the pools in summer. Here is the cloud and lightning,and"--she turned the vessel bottom side up--"here are the Shiuanathemselves," pointing at the two horned serpents. "These liveeverywhere where Tzitz is running or standing. In this uashtanyi we keepmeal in order to do sacrifice at the time when rain ought to fall. Thepictures of the Shiuana call the Shiuana themselves! So you see what theKoshare want with this thing."

  Okoya's lips had slowly parted in growing astonishment; and Mitsha, towhom the explanation was not altogether new, watched the expression ofhis features with genuine delight.

  "And when you pray and scatter meal out of this,"--pointing to thebowl,--"does the rain always come?"

  "Always."

  "Why, then, did it not rain last summer?"

  "That I cannot tell you," said the woman. "Only the Shiuana know.Besides, there are bad people who stop the rain from coming."

  "How can they do that?" cried both Okoya and Mitsha in surprise, neitherof them having heard as yet of such a thing.

  "I must not tell you that," said Hannay, with a mysterious and importantair; "you are too young to know it. Tell me, Okoya,"--her voice changedwith the change of the subject,--"does Shotaye Koitza often come to seeyour mother?"

  This question was highly imprudent. But Hannay was often imprudent.Smart and sly in a certain way, she was equally thoughtless in othermatters. The query so sudden, so abrupt, and so uncalled for must, sheought to have foreseen, look extremely suspicious. And yet Okoya was onthe point of answering, "She was at our home a few days ago." In time,however, he bethought himself of the warnings she had received, andreplied in an unsteady tone,--

  "I don't know."

  Hannay noticed his embarrassed manner, and saw at a glance that he wasforewarned. The "no" of the boy told her "yes." The discovery, however,that Okoya was on his guard was rather disagreeable; it angered her somuch that her first impulse was to send him away. But she soon changedher mind. The youth was obedient; and if now he obeyed the counsels ofhis people, why might he not later on become accustomed to submission tohis wife's people also? At all events he was good-natured, and accordingto Hannay's conceptions, good-natured folk were always silly. That smartbut ill-natured persons might also prove extremely silly on occasionswas far from her thoughts, and yet the very question she had imprudentlyput to Okoya was an instance of it.

  It did not occur to her that it might yet be problematic whether Okoyawould ever become a traitor to his own people. She could not conceivehow anybody might be different from her and from Tyope, and of courseshe had no doubt concerning his ultimate pliability. And she relied alsoupon the influence Mitsha would exert upon her future husband, taking itfor granted that her child had the same low standards as her parents.That child Hannay regarded merely as a resource,--as valuable property,marketable and to be disposed of to the most suitable bidder. In hereyes Okoya appeared as a very desirable one.

  She saw that the courtship, if thus it may be called, was advancing mostfavourably; and thought it proper, now that the ball was in motion, toallow it to roll alone for a short time,--in other words, to leave thehouse under some pretext, abandoning the young folk to
themselves. Afterher return she intended to sound Okoya again, though in a more skilfulmanner. So she replaced the bowl in its niche and went toward theladder. Before ascending it she turned and said,--

  "I will be back soon."

  The youth smiled, and she gave him a knowing, significant wink, climbedon the roof and down to the ground, and remained standing outside for awhile, until she thought that the young people had forgotten about her.Then she glided noiselessly to the air-hole and peeped in. They stillsat by the hearth, examining together some object the nature of whichshe could not discover; and Mitsha was explaining something to the boy.Evidently the girl was showing him another piece of her handiwork. Sheheard them laugh merrily and innocently. They were like children atplay. Satisfied with the outlook, Hannay crept off to a neighbour'sdwelling where the whole family was gathered on the house-top. She tookher seat by the old folk and joined in the conversation. Thatconversation was nothing more nor less than the merest gossip,--Indiangossip, as genuine as any that is spoken in modern society; with thisdifference only, that the circle of facts and ideas accessible to theIndian mind is exceedingly narrow, and that the gossip applies itselftherefore to a much smaller number of persons and things. But it is asvenomous, the backbiting as severe and merciless among Indians as amongus; and there is the same disposition to criticise everything that doesnot strictly pertain to us and to our favourites, the same propensity toslander the absent and to be of the same opinion as those present solong as they are within hearing distance.

  Gossip has a magic power. It fascinates more than any other kind ofconversation. It fascinated Hannay, and time rolled on without hernoticing it. The night was so beautiful, so still, so placid, and itfelt so comfortable outside on this terrace, whereon the moon shone sobrightly, that Hannay sat and sat, listened and talked, until she hadforgotten the young folk at home.

  Suddenly a dark shadow covered the roof; the change was so abrupt thateverybody looked around. What a moment ago was plunged in the silverybath of the moon's rays was now wrapped in transparent darkness. But thevalley below and the slope in front were as softly radiant as before.The moon had disappeared behind one of the cliffs, and the shadow of therocks was now cast over the houses of the Eagle. It reminded the talkersthat it was late, and it also reminded Hannay of her visitor. Sheclambered hurriedly off and hastened home. Again she looked through thecircular vent. It was dark inside, and still. After listening a whileshe distinguished regular breathings. It was easy to recognize them asthose of Mitsha, who was soundly, peacefully asleep. Hannay, as soon asshe reached the floor of the apartment, called out,--

  "Sa uishe!" No reply.

  "Sa uishe!" No answer.

  She groped about in the dark until her hands touched the sleeping form.She pulled the girl's dress and shook her by the arm until she sighedand moved, and then asked,--

  "Sa uishe, has your father come?"

  "No," murmured the still dreaming child.

  "Where is Okoya?"

  "He has left."

  "Will he come again?"

  "Oh, yes," breathed Mitsha softly; then she turned over, sighed, andspoke no more.

  Hannay was happy. The boy would return! That was all she cared for. Shereally liked him, for he was so candid, so good, and so simple-minded.With such a son-in-law much was possible, she thought. Okoya couldcertainly be moulded to become a very useful tool to her as well as toTyope. The woman felt elated over the results of the evening; she feltsure that notwithstanding one egregious mistake, of which of course shewould be careful not to speak, her husband would be pleased with hermanagement of affairs. It was long after midnight when that husbandreturned to the roof of his wife, and Hannay was already fast asleep.

  Okoya had gone long before Hannay thought of returning. He went homehappy, and satisfied that Mitsha henceforth belonged to him. And yetafter all there was a cloud on his mind,--not a very threatening one,yet a cloud such as accompanies us everywhere, marring our perfecthappiness whenever we fancy we have attained it. Mitsha had said to him,while they were alone,--

  "If you were only Koshare, the sanaya would give me to you."

  Okoya thereupon imagined that without Hannay's consent he could neverobtain the maiden. On the other hand, the idea of joining the DelightMakers did not at all suit him. He feared in that case the opposition ofhis mother. After he had returned to the estufa and lain down among theother boys, who were mostly asleep, he revolved the matter in his mindfor a long time without arriving at any conclusion whatever. Had he beenless sincere and less attached to his mother, such scruples would hardlyhave troubled him; had he owned more experience he would have known thathis apprehensions were groundless, and that Hannay could not, if shewished, prevent him from becoming Mitsha's husband.