through it, and then passed the pin through under the skin, and tied the
end to the rope with another strand of sinew. In the same way he did on the
left side of my breast. Then he told me that all through the day I should
walk about this pole, always on the side of the pole toward which the sun
was looking, and that I should throw myself back against the rope and
should try to tear the pins from my skin. Then, telling me to pray
constantly, to have a strong heart, and not to lose courage, he set out to
return to the village.

All through the long summer day I walked about the pole, praying to all the
spirits, and crying aloud to the sun and the earth, and all the animals and
birds to help me. Each time when I came to the end of the rope I threw
myself back against it, and pulled hard. The skin of my breast stretched
out as wide as your hand, but it would not tear, and at last all my chest
grew numb, so that it had no feeling in it; and yet, little by little, as I
threw my whole weight against the rope, the strips of skin stretched out
longer and longer. All day long I walked in this way. The sun blazed down
like fire. I had no food, and did not drink; for so I had been instructed.
Toward night my mouth grew dry, and my neck sore; so that to swallow, or
even to open my mouth in prayer hurt me. It seemed a long time before the
sun got overhead and the pole cast but a small shadow; but it seemed that
the shadow of the pole grew long in the afternoon much more slowly than it
had grown short in the morning.

I was very tired, and my legs were shaking under me, when at last, as the
sun hung low over the western hills, I saw someone coming. It was my
friend, Tom Lodge; and when he had come close to me, he spoke to me and
said, "My son, have you been faithful all through the day?" I answered him,
"Father, I have walked and prayed all day long, but I cannot tear out these
pins." "You have done well," he said; and, drawing his knife, he came to