Night came on, but no grandson returned. The second and third night
passed, but he did not appear. Hiawatha became very desolate and
sorrowful. "Ah!" said he, "he must have disobeyed me, and has lost his
life in that lake I told him of. Well!" said he at last, "I must mourn
for him." So he took coal and blackened his face. But he was much
perplexed as to the right mode of mourning. "I wonder," said he, "how
I must do it? I will cry 'Oh! my grandson! Oh! my grandson!'" He burst
out laughing. "No! no! that won't do. I will try 'Oh! my heart! Oh! my
heart! ha! ha! ha!' That won't do either. I will cry, 'Oh my drowned
grandson.'"

This satisfied him, and he remained in his lodge and fasted, till his
days of mourning were over. "Now," said he, "I will go in search of
him." He set out and traveled till he came to the great lake. He then
raised the lamentation for his grandson which had pleased him,
sitting down near a small brook that emptied itself into the lake, and
repeating his cries. Soon a bird called Ke-ske-mun-i-see came near to
him. The bird inquired, "What are you doing here?" "Nothing," Hiawatha
replied; "but can you tell me whether any one lives in this lake, and
what brings you here yourself?" "Yes!" responded the bird; "the Prince
of Serpents lives here, and I am watching to see whether the body of
Hiawatha's grandson will not drift ashore, for he was killed by the
serpents last spring. But are you not Hiawatha himself?" "No," was the
reply, with his usual deceit; "how do you think _he_ could get to this
place? But tell me, do the serpents ever appear? When? Where? Tell
me all about their habits." "Do you see that beautiful white sandy
beach?" said the bird. "Yes!" he answered. "It is there," continued
the bird, "that they bask in the sun. Before they come out, the lake
will appear perfectly calm; not even a ripple will appear. After
midday you will see them."