"Where is Brave?" they asked.

Now Brave, full of mischief, had thought to play a jest on his
little friends. As soon as they were well out of sight he had sped
around the hill to the shore of the lake and sticking his hands in
the mud had rubbed it over his face, plastered it in his hair, and
soiled his hands until he looked like a new risen corpse with the
flesh rotting from his bones. He then went and lay down in the
grave and awaited the boys.

When the six little boys came they were more timid than ever when
they did not find Brave; but they feared to go back to the village
without seeing the grave, for fear the old men would call them
cowards.

So they slowly approached the grave and one of them timidly called
out:

"Please, grandmother, we won't disturb your grave. We only want to
see where you lie. Don't be angry."

At once a thin quavering voice, like an old woman's, called out:

"Han, han, takoja, hechetuya, hechetuya! Yes, yes, that's right,
that's right."

The boys were frightened out of their senses, believing the old
woman had come to life.

"Oh, grandmother," they gasped, "don't hurt us; please don't, we'll