"My brother says he is a weasel," observed Peter, looking round at
the circle of interested and grave countenances by which he was
surrounded. "That is a very small animal. It creeps through very
small holes, but not to do good. It is good for nothing. When it
goes through a small hole, it is not to do the Injins a service, but
for its own purposes. I do not like weasels.
"My brother is not afraid of a bee-hunter. Can HE tell us what a bee
whispers? If he can, I wish he would tell us. Let him show our young
men where there is more honey--where they can find bear's meat for
another feast--where they can find warriors hid in the woods.
"My brother says the bee-hunter has no squaw. How does he know this?
Has he lived in the lodge with them--paddled in the same canoe--eat
of the same venison? A weasel is very small. It might steal into the
bee-hunter's lodge, and see what is there, what is doing, what is
eaten, who is his squaw, and who is not--has this weasel ever done
so? I never saw him there.
"Brothers, the Great Spirit has his own way of doing things. He does
not stop to listen to weasels. He knows there are such animals--
there are snakes, and toads, and skunks.
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