Just then, from without, a hand lifted the canvas covering of the entrance; the shadow of a man fell within the wigwam, and a roughly-moccasined foot was planted inside. For a moment I did not dare to breathe or stir, for 5 I thought that it could be no other than Wiyaka-Napbina. The next instant I sighed aloud in relief. It was an old grandfather who had often told me Iktomi legends. "Where is your mother, my little grandchild?" were his first words. 66 10 'My mother is soon coming back from my aunt's tepee," I replied. "Then I shall wait awhile for her return," he said, crossing his feet and seating himself upon a mat. At once I began to play the part of a generous hostess. 15 I turned to my mother's coffeepot. Lifting the lid I found nothing but coffee grounds in the bottom. I set the pot on a heap of cold ashes in the center of the wigwam, and filled it half full of warm Missouri River water. During this performance I felt con20 scious of being watched. Then breaking off a small piece of our unleavened bread, I placed it in a bowl. Turning soon to the coffeepot, which would not have boiled on a dead fire had I waited forever, I poured out a cup of worse than muddy warm water. Carrying the 25 bowl in one hand and the cup in the other, I handed the light luncheon to the old warrior. I offered them to him with the air of bestowing generous hospitality. "How! how!" he said, and placed the dishes on the ground in front of his crossed feet. He nibbled at the bread and sipped from the cup. I sat back against a pole watching him. I was proud to have succeeded so well in serving refreshments to a guest. Before the old warrior 5 had finished eating, my mother entered. Immediately she wondered where I had found coffee, for she knew I had never made any and that she had left the coffeepot empty. Answering the question in my mother's eyes, the warrior remarked, "My granddaughter made coffee on a heap of 10 dead ashes, and served me the moment I came.” They both laughed, and mother said, "Wait a little longer, and I will build a fire." She meant to make some real coffee. But neither she nor the warrior, whom the law of our custom had compelled to partake of my 15 insipid hospitality, said anything to embarrass me. They treated my best judgment, poor as it was, with the utmost respect. It was not till long years afterward that I learned how ridiculous a thing I had done. Abridged. tepee': an Indian wigwam. — unleavened without yeast or leaven. Wiyaka-Napbina (we-ya-kä ́-nap-bee-nä ́). — Ikto ́mi: the "spider fairy" of Indian legends, a being full of craft and invention, who is like “Brer Rabbit" in "Uncle Remus." A GREAT ROMANCE WILLIAM HAZLITT WILLIAM HAZLitt (1778–1830) was an English critic and essayist. I shall begin with the history of the renowned Don Quixote, who presents something more stately, more romantic, and at the same time more real to the imagi5 nation, than any other hero upon record. His lineaments, his accouterments, his pasteboard visor are familiar to us; and Mambrino's helmet still glitters in the sun. We not only feel the greatest love and veneration for the knight himself, but a certain respect for 10 all those connected with him, the curate and Master Nicholas, Sancho and Dapple, and even for Rozinante's leanness and his errors. Perhaps there is no work which combines so much whimsical invention with such an air of truth. Its popu15 larity is almost unequaled, and yet its merits have not been sufficiently understood. The story is the least part of them, though the blunders of Sancho and the unlucky adventures of his master are what naturally catch the attention of the majority of readers. The pathos and 20 the dignity of the sentiments are often disguised under the ludicrousness of the subject, and provoke laughter when they well might draw tears. The character of Don Quixote himself is one of the most perfect disinterestedness. He is an enthusiast of the most amiable kind; of a nature equally open, gentle, and generous; a lover of truth and justice; and one who had brooded over the fine dreams of chivalry and romance till they had robbed him of himself and cheated his brain into a belief of their reality. There cannot be a greater mistake than to consider "Don Quixote" as a merely satirical work, or as a vulgar attempt to explode the "long-forgotten order of chivalry." There could be no need to explode what no longer existed. Besides, Cervantes himself was a man 10 of the most sanguine and enthusiastic temperament; and even through the crazed and battered figure of the knight the spirit of chivalry shines out with undiminished luster, as if the author had half designed to revive the examples of past ages, and once more to "witch the world with 15 noble horsemanship." Oh, if ever the moldering flame of Spanish liberty is destined to break forth, wrapping the tyrant and the tyranny in one consuming blaze, that the spark of generous sentiment and romantic enterprise, from which it must be kindled, has not been quite 20 extinguished, will perhaps be owing to thee, Cervantes, and to thy" Don Quixote!" Mambrino (mam-brē ́no): a Don Quixote: see selection on page 103. Moorish king who was supposed to possess a magic helmet of beaten gold. Don Quixote, meeting a village barber who had clapped his brass basin on his head to keep his new hat from the rain, was convinced that it was nothing less than Mambrino's helmet. - the curate and Master Nicholas friends of Don Quixote. to witch the world with noble horsemanship: see Shakespeare's "Henry IV," Act IV, Scene I.-moldering: wasting away. FREEDOM RALPH WALDO EMERSON Freedom all winged expands, Whose dark sky sheds the snowflake down, The snowflake is her banner's star, Her stripes the boreal streamers are. She will not refuse to dwell He has avenues to God Hid from men of Northern brain, What these with slowest steps attain. In an age of fops and toys, |