"Come, mother, toss the cup and tell me what Fortune has in store
for me this time," said the chief, who had seated himself upon a low,
creaking stool in the corner.

"I will," she replied; "why should I not when I am honoured so much
as to receive a visit from le grand chef de Metis." And hobbling
away, she took from a nook a large cup without a handle, black on the
outside and white within. Tea was brewed which the Rebel chief drank,
leaving naught but the dregs. Then Jubal muttered some words, which
her visitors could not understand, and threw up the cup. She had no
sooner done this than the crows began to chatter and caw, and the
owls to cry; and each time that the cup ascended, they all raised
themselves upon their feet and elevated their wings. When the cup
came into her hand from the ceiling the third time, she looked toward
the perches and said:

"Peace children." Then turning to the dark, oily chief, she said,
"Listen, O Monsieur, while I read. Here are bands of men hurrying
across the prairie into the gorges, and concealing themselves in the
wood. There is the flash of sabres, and the smoke of cannon.
Everywhere a bloody war is raging; and Indians are tearing away men,
and women, and children from their homes to captivity.

"Ah! what is this I see here? A girl. Monsieur woos her, but she is
turned away. The maiden flies; Monsieur follows, and he overtakes the
maiden. Then he bears her away with guards around her, through a deep
valley, till he reaches a hut. Now he hands her over to an ugly hag--
and the name of that hag is Jubal. Is it not so, Monsieur?" and the
crone, turning from the cup, looked with a hideous grin in the face