N Matsaki there were many wealthy families, and they had large flocks of Turkeys. In the days of the ancients, it was the custom to have the poor people herd these birds in the plains round about the Sacred Mountain, in the shadow of which their town stood.

Away out near the border of the town there was a little tumbled-down, single-room house, and in it lived a very poor girl all alone. She was not really ugly, but her hair was matted and tangled, and her clothes were torn and dirty, and she was really not very pleasant to see as she sat huddled up before the mud wall of her dwelling. She herded Turkeys for a living; and because she was all alone, and because she longed for kindness, which she never received, she was kind to the awkward creatures who depended upon her. She spoke to them gently as she drove them to and from the plains every day. The Turkeys appreciated this and were very obedient. They loved their mistress so much that at her call they would come to her.

One day this poor girl, driving her Turkeys down into the plains, passed near Hálona,--the Middle Ant Hill of the World, and as she went along she heard the herald-priest calling from the house-top. She stopped and listened.

"All people of Hálona, specially all youths and maidens, know that the Dance of the Sacred Bird will take place in the central court of our city in four days. Runners have been sent to invite the people of the other cities of Shíwina."

The poor girl went on to the plains with her Turkeys. The tears ran down her thin cheeks, and she was very sad indeed. She had never been permitted to join in or even see the dances of her people. How could she, so poor and ragged, go to the great central court in Hálona, and watch the beautiful Dance of the Sacred Bird.

Every day after that, until the day named for the dance, the girl saw the people preparing for the festival, as she drove her Turkeys near the town to the plains.

On the fourth day she sat on a stone and wept. "O, my dear Turkeys," she said, "if only I could see just one dance in the great central court of Hálona, I would be so happy."

THE POOR MAID OF MATSAKI

The Maiden was so beautiful that the youths long lay hold of her hand in the circle that formed round the altar of the Sacred Bird.

She never dreamed that they understood a word of what she was saying; but they did understand, and they looked into her heart and saw the longing and the sadness.

After all of the people had departed from Mátsaki, and the gay little groups, so handsomely dressed, had disappeared in the distance, the oldest of the gobblers strutted up to her, and making a fan of his tail and trailing his wings, he said, — "Maiden-mother, we know what your thoughts are, and we believe that you are worthy to enjoy this holiday with the people of Mátsaki. We have talked this matter over at night, after you have placed us in our cages, and we have decided to help you because you have been kind to us.

"Now listen well to what I have to say. This once you must obey us as we have always obeyed you. You must drive us in early this afternoon, we will help you with our magic, and you will join in the dance when it is at its gayest and the people most happy. You will be so beautiful that the youths will long lay hold of your hand in the circle that forms round the altar of the dance."

At first the poor girl was surprised to hear the old Gobbler speak; but when he told her that they would help her, and that she would really go to the Dance of the Sacred Bird, she clapped her hands for joy, and her eyes shone brightly, and her cheeks became quite red and she looked very pretty.

She watched the sun, and when her shadow lengthened, she called to her Turkeys, and drove them toward her home on the border of the town. The old Gobbler walked beside her, and told her what she must do. — "You will be beautiful, dear Maiden-mother, and if you are wise and follow closely all that I have told you, great good fortune will come to you this day."

"Never fear," cried the girl. "I will do everything you wish, only let me go to the dance."

When they came to the cages made from the boughs of cedar trees, the Turkeys walked into the largest cage.

"Enter," said the old Gobbler; and the girl stooped and entered the dwelling. The place was much larger than she had supposed it to be, in fact it was a large dome-shaped room. The Turkeys had formed a ring around the wall, and they had all spread their tails like fans, and dropped their wings until they touched the ground.

"Come," said the old Gobbler, and he placed the girl in the middle of the circle. "Now, Maiden-mother," he said, "give me and my companions, one by one, the rags that cover you." They seized the things and spread them on the ground. Then they pecked and pecked, and shook and shook them and presently soft, white, embroidered robes were heaped near the maiden.

"Wait," said the Gobbler. The maiden stood there in the middle of the circle, and the Turkeys marched solemnly around her clucking and flapping their wings. When they had finished the maiden was truly lovely. Her hair was soft and wavy, and glistened like the raven's feathers. Her face was round and dimpled, and all the sadness had gone away and a happy smile sprang to her lips, and her dancing eyes smiled also. When she had put on the beautiful, white garments the old Gobbler stood and looked at her.

"You need a necklace of the stones of the sky," he said, and, calling one of the smaller Turkeys, he drew from under his wings a long turquoise necklace. "It is most treasured," the old Gobbler told her as he gave it to her. After she had placed it about her neck the Turkeys bowed their heads down and the old one said, —  "You are now the most beautiful maiden in all the Seven Cities and ready for the dance; but before you go there are still two things you must do. You must leave open the wicket, and then Maiden-mother, remember to return to us at sunset. Our magic lasts only a little while, and if you forget that you are really only the Maiden-mother of the Turkeys, and are ashamed of us, the good fortune we promise you will be lost."

"O, I will remember, I will remember," cried the girl, and already she hastened down the river path toward the town.

She ran down the path by the river, and then through a little field until she came to the houses of the first terrace. She hurried through the covered passage that led to the great central court where the singing told her they were dancing. She came just inside of the court, and many murmurs ran through the crowd. They wondered who the beautiful maiden with the rich dress, and the wonderful necklace of turquoise, could be, and they asked one another where she had come from.

She did not wait long; the Chiefs of the Dance came to her, and they were very gorgeous in their holiday attire, they took her to the Altar of the Sacred Bird, and placed her with the youths and maidens. With a blush and a smile she tossed her hair over her eyes and joined in the dance. The finest youths among the dancers came to her, and her heart became light and her feet merry. The music filled her being like sparkling stars, and she danced and danced, and the sun sank low in the west.

"O, I can not go now," she thought. "I can not leave at this time and go back along the river to the Turkeys. I will stay awhile longer, and just before the sun sets I will run back to them. I will run as though little wings were on my feet."

Another dance was called and then another, and all the youths so straight and tall, begged her to remain with them. And the girl danced in the circle around the Altar of the Sacred Bird until the sun had set and the purple glow was upon To'yállanne. Then suddenly breaking away, she ran swiftly down the river path to the cages.

Meantime, the Turkeys waited. The sun set and the girl did not return.

"Our magic only lasts a short time," said the Gobbler. "Come, we will be off." And calling in a loud voice, he led the Turkeys out of the cages and toward the Cañon of the Cottonwoods, and then on behind the Sacred Mountain.

The girl arrived, quite out of breath from running, and stood before the open wicket and called to her Turkeys, fearfully, as she heard only the coming and going of her breath and the beat of her own heart.

"Come, my Turkeys, come to your Maiden-mother. See, — I am here."

Far, far in the distance she heard a cry, and she knew that the birds had gone out into the mountains. She followed them, and called to them, begging their forgive ness, but they did not hear her, nor did they return to the poor maid of Mátsaki.