pare. THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
the cold moonlight, a group of Indian girls approaching 
the Indian lodge, in busy conversation, and conspicu- 
ously among them all, Chechoula. 
Her companions separated from her, and as she en- 
tered her fathers’s lodge, a rude buffalo skin shut her 
in. Soon after her disappearance, the little groups about 
the Indian village gradually dispersed; the busy hum 
of conversation ceased; and when profound stillness 
reigned, a plaintive note of the whip-poor-will was heard ; 
it grew louder and louder, until it appeared as if the lone 
bird was perched on the top of the lodge that contained 
Chechoula. It attracted her ear, for she thrust aside 
the buffalo-skin, and listened with fixed attention. The 
bird screamed, and appeared to flutter, as if wounded. 
Chechoula rushed toward the bushes that seemed to 
conceal so much distress, when Wah-a-ola sprang up and 
seized her wrist. The affrighted girl stared at her cap- 
tor for a moment, and then exclaimed, 
‘‘'The snake should not sing like the birds!” 
Wah-a-ola relaxed not his hold; there was a volcano 
in his breast, that seemed to overwhelm him as he glared 
upon Chechoula with blood-shot eyes. Struggling to 
conceal his emotion, he replied to her question, by ask- 
ing, Lf the wild-flowers of the woods were known only 
to their thorns?” 
“The water-lilies grow upon smooth stones,” said 
Chechoula, striving violently to retreat to her father’s 
lodge. 
