"Oh, you will see him," answered Katipah, "if you look high enough! But he is
far away over your head, Bimsha; and you will not hear him beating me at
night, for that is not his way!"

At this soft answer Bimsha went back into her house in a fury, and Katipah
laughed to herself. Then she sighed, and said, "Oh, Gamma-gata, return to me
quickly, lest my word shall seem false to Bimsha, who hates me!"

Every day after this Bimsha thrust her face over the fence to say: "Katipah,
where is this fine husband of yours? He does not seem to come home often."

Katipah answered slily; "He comes home late, when it is dark, and he goes away
very early, almost before it is light. It is not necessary for his happiness
that he should see _you_."

"Certainly there is a change in Katipah," thought Bimsha: "she has become
saucy with her tongue." But her envious heart would not allow her to let
matters be. Night and morning she cried to Katipah, "Katipah, where is your
fine husband?" And Katipah laughed at her, thinking to herself: "To begin
with, I will not be afraid of anything Bimsha may say. Let Gamma-gata know
that!"

And now every day she looked up into the sky to see what wind was blowing; but
east, or north, or south, it was never the one wind that she looked for. The
east wind came from the sea, bringing rain, and beat upon Katipah's door at
night. Then Katipah would rise and open, and standing in the downpour, would
cry, "East wind, east wind, go and tell your brother Gamma-gata that I am not
afraid of you any more than I am of Bimsha!"