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American, Indian/ 
Fai**y Tales 

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Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 

jAjrcier icart Indian? 
Fairy Tales <> 

Retold VW.TXarnedv 
Illustrated hy 


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"PtikKstved arvd copyrighted, lay 

P. F. Vol! and Company 
•New^brk' Ckicago -Tororuto • 

Copyright 1921 
P. F. Volland Company x? : 
Chicago, U. S. A. 
(All rights reserved.) 

Imperial and International 

Copyrights Secured. 

All Rights Reserved For All Countries. 

Printed in U. S. A. 

Twenty-ninth Edition 

With one exception, all the tales in this book 
are adapted from the legends collected by Henry 
R. Schoolcraft, ethnologist and government agent 
for the Lake Superior country, and published in 
1839 with the title, "Algic Researches." 

A To jLou.n.jS America, a 

Tke Oldest 








Coyote,, the Prairie Wol£ 


oo, the Stoiy-teller 

THERE never was anyone so wise and knowing 
as old Iagoo. There never was an Indian who 
saw and heard so much. He knew the secrets 
of the woods and fields, and understood the 
language of birds and beasts. All his life long he had lived 
out of doors, wandering far in the forest where the wild deer 
hide, or skimming the waters of the lake in his birch-bark 

Besides the things he had learned for himself, Iagoo knew 
much more. He knew the fairy tales and the wonder stories 
told him by his grandfather, who had heard them from his 
grandfather, and so on, away back to the time when the 
world was young and strange, and there was magic in almost 

Iagoo was a great favorite with the children. No one 
knew better where to find the beautiful, colored shells which 
he strung into necklaces for the little girls. No one could 
teach them so well just where to look for the grasses which 
their nimble fingers wove into baskets. For the boys he 
made bows and arrows — bows from the ash-tree, that would 
bend far back without breaking, and arrows, strong and 
straight, from the sturdy oak. 

But most of all, Iagoo won the children's hearts with his 
stories. Where did the robin get his red breast? How did 
fire find its way into the wood, so that an Indian can get it 
out again by rubbing two sticks together? Why was Coyote, 
the prairie wolf, so much cleverer than the other animals; 
and why was he always looking behind him when he ran? 
It was old Iagoo who could tell you where and why. 



Now, winter was the time for story-telling. When the 
snow lay deep on the ground, the North. Wind came howling 
from his home in the Land of Ice, and the cold moon shone 
from the frosty sky, it was then that the Indians gathered 
in the wigwam. It was then that Iagoo sat by the fire of 
blazing logs, and the little boys and girls gathered around 

"Whoo, whoo!" wailed the North Wind. The sparks 
leapt up, and Iagoo laid another log on the fire. "Whoo, 
whoo!" What a mischievous old fellow was this North Wind! 
One could almost see him — his flowing hair all hung with 
icicles. If the wigwam were not so strong he would blow it 
down, and if the fire were not so bright he would put it out. 
But the wigwam was made on purpose, for just such a time 
as this; and the forest nearby had logs to last forever. So 
the North Wind could only gnash his teeth, and say, "Whoo, 

One little girl, more timid than the rest, would draw 
nearer and put her hand on the old man's arm. "O, Iagoo," 
she said, "Just listen! Do you think he can hurt us?" 

"Have no fear," answered Iagoo. "The North Wind can 
do no harm to anyone who is brave and cheerful. He blusters, 
and makes a lot of noise; but at heart he is really a big coward, 
and the fire will soon frighten him away. Suppose I tell you 
a story about it." 

And the story Iagoo told we shall now tell to you, the story 
of how Shin-ge-bis fooled the North Wind. 


Hh if* 

A, he; 

po won the children's 
hearts with his stories. 


/ \ 


Shin -^e-Kf! fools 

IONG, long ago, in the time when only a few people 
lived upon the earth, there dwelt in the North a 
tribe of fishermen. Now, the best fish were to be 
■■^ found in the summer season, far up in the frozen places 
where no one could live in the winter at all. For the King 
of this Land of Ice was a fierce old man called Ka-bib-on- 
okkabythelndians — meaning in our language, the NorthWind. 

Though the Land of Ice stretched across the top of the 
world for thousands and thousands of miles, Ka-bib-on-okka 
was not satisfied. If he could have had his way there would 
have been no grass or green trees anywhere; all the world 
would have been white from one year's end to another, all 
the rivers frozen tight, and all the country covered with snow 
and ice. 

Luckily there was a limit to his power. Strong and fierce 
as he was, he was no match at all for Sha-won-dasee, the South 
Wind, whose home was in the pleasant land of the sun- 
flower. Where Sha-won-dasee dwelt it was always summer. 
When he breathed upon the land, violets appeared in the 
woods, the wild rose bloomed on the yellow prairie, and the 
cooing dove called musically to his mate. It was he who 
caused the melons to grow, and the purple grapes; it was he 
whose warm breath ripened the corn in the fields, clothed the 
forests in green, and made the earth all glad and beautiful. 
Then, as the summer days grew shorter in the North, Sha- 
won-dasee would climb to the top of a hill, fill his great pipe, 
and sit there — dreaming and smoking. Hour after hour he 

ffc Hr =Aliiericanllri(iianlRLiryj 

sat and smoked; and the smoke, rising in the form of a vapor, 
filled the air with a soft haze until the hills and lakes seemed 
like the hills and lakes of dreamland. Not a breath of wind, 
not a cloud in the sky; a great peace and stillness over all. 
Nowhere else in the world was there anything so wonderful. 
It was Indian Summer. 

Now it was that the fishermen who set their nets in the 
North worked hard and fast, knowing the time was at hand 
when the South Wind would fall asleep, and fierce old Ka- 
bib-on-okka would swoop down upon them and drive them 
away. Sure enough! One morning a thin film of ice covered 
the water where they set their nets; a heavy frost sparkled 
in the sun on the bark roof of their huts. 

That was sufficient warning. The ice grew thicker, the 
snow fell in big, feathery flakes. Coyote, the prairie wolf, 
trotted by in his shaggy white winter coat. Already they 
could hear a muttering and a moaning in the distance. 

"Ka-bib-on-okka is coming!" cried the fishermen. "Ka- 
bib-on-okka will soon be here. It is time for us to go." 

But Shin-ge-bis, the diver, only laughed. 

Shin-ge-bis was always laughing. He laughed when he 
caught a big fish, and he laughed when he caught none at all. 
Nothing could dampen his spirits. 

"The fishing is still good," he said to his. Comrades. "I 
can cut a hole in the ice, and fish with a line instead of a net. 
What do / care for old Ka-bib-on-okka?" 

They looked at him with amazement. It was true that 
Shin-ge-bis had certain magic powers, and could change him- 
self into a duck. They had seen him do it; and that is why 
he came to be called the "diver." But how would this enable 
him to brave the anger of the terrible North Wind? 

"You had better come with us," they said. "Ka-bib-on- 
okka is much stronger than you. The biggest trees of the 
forest bend before his wrath. The swiftest river that runs 

anen<^nllridianlFair3rlEle^ *W "af 

freezes at his touch. Unless you can turn yourself into a 
bear, or a fish, you will have no chance at all." 

But Shin-ge-bis only laughed the louder. 

"My fur coat lent me by Brother Beaver and my mittens 
borrowed from Cousin Muskrat will protect me in the day- 
time," he said, "and inside my wigwam is a pile of big logs. 
Let Ka-bib-on-okka come in by my fire if he dares." 

So the fishermen took their leave rather sadly; for the 
laughing Shin-ge-bis was a favorite with them, and, the truth 
is, they never expected to see him again. 

When they were gone, Shin-ge-bis set about his work in 
his own way. First of all he made sure that he had plenty of 
dry bark and twigs and pine-needles, to make the fire blaze 
up when he returned to his wigwam in the evening. The 
snow by this time was pretty deep, but it froze so hard on 
top that the sun did not melt it, and he could walk on the 
surface without sinking in at all. As for fish, he well knew 
how to catch them through the holes he made in the ice; 
and at night he would go tramping home, trailing a long string 
of them behind him, and singing a song he had made up 

"Ka-bib-on-okka, ancient man, 
Come and scare me if you can. 
Big and blustery though you be, 
You are mortal just like me!" 

It was thus that Ka-bib-on-okka found him, plodding 
along late one afternoon across the snow. 

"Whoo, whoo!" cried the North Wind. "What impudent, 
two-legged creature is this who dares to linger here long after 
the wild goose and the heron have winged their way to the 
south? We shall see who is master in the Land of Ice. 
This very night I will force my way into his wigwam, put his 
fire out, and scatter the- ashes all around. Whoo, whoo!" 


Night came; Shin-ge-bis sat in his wigwam by the blazing 
fire. And such a fire! Each backlog was so big it would last 
for a moon. That was the way the Indians, who had no clocks 
or watches, counted time; instead of weeks or months, they 
would say "a moon" — the length of time from one new moon 
to another. 

Shin-ge-bis had been cooking a fish, a fine, fresh fish 
caught that very day. Broiled over the coals, it was a tender 
and savory dish; and Shin-ge-bis smacked his lips, and rubbed 
his hands with pleasure. He had tramped many miles that 
day; so it was a pleasant thing to sit there by the roaring 
fire and toast his shins. How foolish, he thought, his com- 
rades had been to leave a place where fish was so plentiful, 
so early in the winter. 

"They think that Ka-bib-on-okka is a kind of magician," 
he was saying to himself, "and that no one can resist him. 
It's my own opinion that he's a man, just like myself. It's 
true that I can't stand the cold as he does; but then, neither 
can he stand the heat as I do." 

This thought amused him so that he began to laugh and 

" Ka-bib-on-okka, frosty man, 
Try to freeze me if you can. 
Though you blow until you tire, 
I am safe beside my fire!" 

He was in such a high good humor that he scarcely noticed 
a sudden uproar that began without. The snow came thick 
and fast; as it fell it was caught up again like so much powder 
and blown against the wigwam, where it lay in huge drifts. 
But instead of making it colder inside, it was really like a 
thick blanket that kept the air out. 

Ka-bib-on-okka soon discovered his mistake, and it made 
him furious. Down the smoke-vent he shouted; and his voice 


was so wild and terrible that it might have frightened an 
ordinary man. But Shin-ge-bis only laughed. It was so 
quiet in that great, silent country that he rather enjoyed a 
little noise. 

"Ho, ho!" he shouted back. "How are you, Ka-bib-on- 
okka? If you are not careful you will burst your cheeks." 

Then the wigwam shook with the force of the blast, and 
the curtain of buffalo hide that formed the doorway flapped 
and rattled, and rattled and flapped. 

"Come on in, Ka-bib-on-okka!" called Shin-ge-bis merrily. 
"Come on in and warm yourself. It must be bitter cold 

At these jeering words, Ka-bib-on-okka hurled himself 
against the curtain, breaking one of the buckskin thongs; 
and made his way inside. Oh, what an icy breath! — so icy 
that it filled the hot wigwam like a fog. 

Shin-ge-bis pretended not to notice. Still singing, he rose 
to his feet, and threw on another log. It was a fat log of 
pine, and it burned so hard and gave out so much heat that 
he had to sit a little distance away. From the corner of his 
eye he watched Ka-bib-on-okka; and what he saw made him 
laugh again. The perspiration was pouring from his 
forehead; the snow and icicles in his flowing hair quickly 
disappeared. Just as a snowman made by children melts in 
the warm sun of March, so the fierce old North Wind began 
to thaw! ■ There could be no doubt of it; Ka-bib-on-okka, the 
terrible, was melting! His nose and ears became smaller, his 
body began to shrink. If he remained where he was much 
longer, the King of the Land of Ice would be nothing better 
than a puddle. 

"Come on up to the fire," said Shin-ge-bis cruelly. "You 
must be chilled to the bone. Come up closer, and warm 
your hands and feet." 

Tke North. Wind was 
a fierce old man. 


But the North Wind had fled, even faster than he came, 
through the doorway. 

Once outside, the cold air revived him, and all his anger 
returned. As he had not been able to freeze Shin-ge-bis, he 
spent his rage on everything in his path. Under his tread 
the snow took on a crust; the brittle branches of the trees 
snapped as he blew and snorted; the prowling fox hurried to 
his hole; and the wandering coyote sought the first shelter 
at hand. 

Once more he made his way to the wigwam of Shin-ge-bis, 
and shouted down the flue. "Come out," he called. "Come 
out, if you dare, and wrestle with me here in the snow. We'll 
soon see who's master then!" 

Shin-ge-bis thought it over. "The fire must have weak- 
ened him," he said to himself. "And my own body is warm. 
I believe I can overpower him. Then he will not annoy me 
any more, and I can stay here as long as I please." 

Out of the wigwam he rushed, and Ka-bib-on-okka came 
to meet him. Then a great struggle took place. Over and 
over on the hard snow they rolled, locked in one another's 

All night long they wrestled; and the foxes crept out of 
their holes, sitting at a safe distance in a circle, watching the 
wrestlers. The effort he put forth kept the blood warm in the 
body of Shin-ge-bis. He could feel the North Wind growing 
weaker and weaker; his icy breath was no longer a blast, but 
only a feeble sigh. 

At last, as the sun rose in the east, the wrestlers stood 
apart, panting. Ka-bib-on-okka was conquered. With a 
despairing wail, he turned and sped away. Far, far to the 
North he sped, even to the land of the White Rabbit; and as 
he went, the laughter of Shin-ge-bis rang out and followed 
him. Cheerfulness and courage can overcome even the 
North Wind. 

The littlelBqy and 
rirl in the Clouds 

N| yAGOO, the Story-Teller, was seated one evening in 
his favorite corner, gazing into the embers of the log 
fire like one in a dream. 

At such a time the children knew better than to in- 
terrupt him by asking questions or teasing him for a story. 
They knew that Iagoo was turning over in his mind the 
strange things he had heard and the wonderful things he 
had seen; that the burning logs and red coals took on cur- 
ious shapes and made odd pictures that only he could 
understand, and that if they did not disturb him he would 
presently begin to speak. 

On this particular evening, however, though they waited 
patiently and talked to one another only in low whispers, 
Iagoo kept on sitting there as if he were made of stone. They 
began to fear that he had forgotten them, and that bed- 
time would come without a story. So at last little Morning 
Glory, who was always asking questions, thought of one she 
had never asked before. 

"Iagoo!" she said; and then she stopped, fearing to offend 

At the sound of her voice the old man roused himself, as 
if his mind had been away on a long journey into the past. 

"What is it, Morning Glory?" 

"Iagoo — can you tell me — were the mountains always 

The old man looked at her gravely. No matter how hard 
the question was, or how unexpected, Iagoo was always glad 
to answer. He never said: "I'm too busy, don't bother me," 
or, "Wait till some other time." So when Morning Glory 

l&WM ' ILj- 


asked him this very peculiar question, he nodded his wise old 
head, saying: 

"Do you know, I've often asked myself that very thing: 
Were the mountains always here?" 

He paused, and looked once more into the fire, as if the 
answer was to be found there if he only looked long enough. 
At last he spoke again: 

"Yes, I think it must be true that the mountains were 
always here — the mountains and the hills. They were made 
when the world was made — a long, long time ago; and the 
story of how the world was made you have heard before. 
But there is one high hill that was not always here — a hill 
that grew like magic, all of a sudden. Did I ever tell you the 
story of the Big Rock — how it rose and rose, and carried the 
little boy and girl up among the clouds?" 

"No, no!" shouted the children in a chorus. "You never 
told us that one. Tell it to us now." 

And this is the story of the magical Big Rock, as old Iagoo 
heard it from his grandfather, who heard it from his great- 
grandfather, who was almost old enough to have been there 
himself when it all happened: 

In the days when all animals and men lived on friendly 
terms, when Coyote, the prairie wolf, was not a bad sort of 
fellow when you came to know him, and even the Mountain 
Lion would growl pleasantly and pass you the time of day — 
there lived in a beautiful valley a little boy and girl. 

This valley was a lovely place to live in; never was such a 
playground anywhere on earth. It was like a great green 
carpet stretching for miles and miles, and when the wind blew 
upon the long grass it was like looking at the waves of the sea. 
Flowers of all colors bloomed in the beautiful valley, berries 
grew thick on the bushes, and birds filled the summer air 
with their songs. 

Best of all, there was nothing whatever to fear. The 

E; Never was such a play- 
ground anywhere. 

kmencanlmcuanlFairyiiaLeg W "Af 

children could wander at will — watching the gay butterflies, 
making friends with the squirrels and rabbits, or following 
the flight of the bee to some tree where his honey is stored. 

As for the wild animals, it was all very different from what 
it is to-day, when they keep the poor things in cages, or coop 
them up in a little patch of ground behind a high fence. In 
the beautiful valley the animals ran free and happily, as they 
were meant to do. The Bear was a big, lazy, good-natured 
fellow, who lived on berries and wild honey in the summer, 
and in winter crept into his cavern in the rocks and slept 
there till the spring. The deer were not only gentle, but tame 
as sheep, and often came to crop the tender grass that grew 
where the two children were accustomed to play. 

They loved all the animals, and the animals loved them; 
but perhaps their special favorites were Jack Rabbit and 
Antelope. Jack Rabbit had long legs, and long ears — almost 
as long as a mule's, and no animal of his size could jump so 
high. But of course he could not jump as high as Antelope — 
the name of a beautiful little deer, with short horns and slender 
legs, who could run like the wind. 

Another thing that made the happy valley such a pleasant 
place to live in was the river that flowed through it. All the 
animals came from miles around to drink from its clear, cool 
waters, and to bathe in it on a hot summer day. One shallow 
pool seemed made especially for the little boy and girl. Their 
friend, the Beaver, with his flat tail like an oar and his feet 
webbed like a duck's, had taught them how to swim almost 
as soon as they had learned to walk; and to splash around in 
the pool on a warm afternoon was among their greatest 

One day in mid-summer the water was so pleasant that 
they remained in the pool much longer than usual, so that when 
at last they came out they were quite tired. And as they were 



a little chilled besides, they looked around for a good place 
where they could get dry and warm . 

"Let's climb up on that big, flat rock, with the moss on 
it," said the little boy. "We've never done it before. It 
would be lots of fun." 

So he clambered up the side of the rock, which was only a 
few feet high, and drew his sister up after him. Then they 
lay down to rest, and pretty soon, without intending it at all, 
they were fast asleep. 

Nobody knows how it happened that exactly at this time 
the rock began to rise and grow. But it did happen, because 
there it is today, high and bare and steep, higher than the other 
hills in the valley. As the children slept, it rose and rose, 
inch by inch, foot by foot; by the next day it was taller than 
the tallest trees. 

Meanwhile their father and mother were searching for 
them everywhere, but all in vain; nor was any trace of them 
to be found. No one had seen them climb up on the rock, 
and everyone concerned was too much excited to notice what 
had really happened to it. The parents wandered far and wide 
saying: "Antelope, have you seen our little boy and girl? 
Jack Rabbit, you must have seen our little boy and girl." 
But none of the animals had seen them. 

At last they met Coyote, the cleverest of them all, trotting 
along the valley with his nose in the air; so they put the same 
question to him. 

"No," said Coyote. "I have not seen them for a long time. 
But my nose was given me to smell with, and my brains were 
given me to think with. So who can tell but that I may help 

He trotted by their side, along the banks of the river, and 
pretty soon they came to the pool where the children had been 
in swimming. Coyote sniffed and sniffed. He ran around and 
around, with his nose to the ground; then he ran right up to 

ft" Hf J^Tnencaiilln<iianlFair3rjGljeg^P = "Af 

the rock, put his forepaws up as high as he could reach, and 
sniffed again. 

"H-m-m!" he grunted. "I cannot fly like the Eagle, 
and I cannot swim like the Beaver. But neither am I stupid 
like the Bear, nor ignorant like the Jack Rabbit. My nose 
has never deceived me yet; your little boy and girl must be 
up there on that rock." 

"But how could they get there?" asked the astonished 
parents. For the rock was now so high that the top was lost 
to sight in the clouds. 

"That is not the question," said Coyote severely, unwilling 
to admit there was anything he did not know. "That is not 
the question at all. Anybody could ask that. The only 
question worth asking is: How are we to get them down 


So they called all the animals together, to talk it over and 
see what could be done. Then the Bear said: "If I could 
only put my arms around the rock I could climb it. But it 
is much too big for that." And the Fox said: "If it were only 
a deep hole, instead of a high hill, I would be able to help you." 
And the Beaver said: "If it were just a place out in the water 
I could swim to, I'd show you very quickly." 

But as this kind of talk did not take them very far, they 
decided to try what jumping would do. There seemed to be 
no other way; and as each one was anxious to do his part, the 
smallest one was permitted to make the first attempt. So the 
Mouse made a funny little hop, about as high as your hand. 
The Squirrel went a little higher. Jack Rabbit made the high- 
est jump of his life, and almost broke his back, to no purpose. 
Antelope gave a great bound in the air, but managed to light 
on his feet again without doing himself any harm. Finally, 
the Mountain Lion went a long way off, to get a good start, 
ran toward the rock with great leaps, sprang straight up — and 


fell and rolled over on his back. He had made a higher jump 
than any of them; but it was not nearly high enough. 

No one knew what to do next. It seemed as if the little 
boy and girl must be left sleeping on forever, up among the 
clouds. Suddenly they heard a tiny voice saying: 

"Perhaps if you let me try, I might climb up the rock." 

They all looked around in surprise, wondering who it was 
that spoke; and at first they could see nobody, and thought 
that Coyote must be playing a trick on them. But Coyote 
was as much surprised as anyone. 

"Wait a minute. I'm coming as fast as I can," said the 
tiny voice again. Then a Measuring Worm crawled out of 
the grass — a funny little worm that made its way along by 
hunching up its back and drawing itself ahead an inch at a 

"Ho, ho!" said the Mountain Lion, from deep down in his 
throat. He always spoke that way when his dignity was 
offended. "Ho, ho! Did you ever hear of such impudence? 
If I, a lion, have failed, how can a miserable little crawling 
worm like you hope to succeed; just tell me that!" 

"It's downright silly," said Jack Rabbit. "That's what it 
is. I never heard of such conceit." 

However, after much talk, they agreed at last that it 
could do no harm to let him try. So the Measuring Worm made 
his way slowly to the rock, and began to climb. In a few min- 
utes he was higher than Jack Rabbit had jumped. Soon he 
was farther up than the lion had been able to leap: before long 
he had climbed out of sight. 

It took the Measuring Worm a whole month, climbing day 
and night, to reach the top of the magic rock. When he got 
there he awakened the little boy and girl, who were much sur- 
prised to see where they were, and guided them safely down 
along a path no one else knew anything about. Thus, by 
patience and perseverance, the weak little creature was able to 

kttieriean i 



do something that the Bear, for all his size, and the Lion, 
for all his strength, could never have done at all. That was a 
long time ago; today there are no more lions or bears in the 
valley, and no one ever thinks of them. But everybody 
thinks of the Measuring Worm, because the Big Rock is still 
there, and the Indians have named it after him. Tu-tok-a-nu-la, 
they call it, a big name indeed for a little fellow, yet by 
no means too big when you come to think of the big, brave 
thins; he did. 


The Child of theEvetvingtStar 


^NCE upon a time, on the shores of the great lake, 
Gitchee Gumee, there lived a hunter who had 
ten beautiful young daughters. Their hair was 
dark and glossy as the wings of the blackbird, and 
when they walked or ran it was with the grace and freedom 
of the deer in the forest. 

Thus it was that many suitors came to court them — brave 
and handsome young men, straight as arrows, fleet of foot, 
who could travel from sun to sun without fatigue. They were 
sons of the prairie, wonderful horsemen who would ride at 
breakneck speed without saddle or stirrup. They could 
catch a wild horse with a noose, tame him in a magical way 
by breathing into his nostrils, then mount him and gallop off 
as if he always had been ridden. There were those also who 
came from afar in canoes, across the waters of the Great Lake, 
canoes which shot swiftly along, urged by the strong, silent 
sweep of the paddle. 

All of them brought presents with which they hoped to 
gain the father's favor. Feathers from the wings of the eagle 
who soars high up near the sun; furs of fox and beaver and the 
thick, curly hair of the bison; beads of many colors, and wam- 
pum, the shells which the Indians used for money; the quills 
of the porcupine and the claws of the grizzly bear; deerskin 
dressed to such a softness that it crumpled up in the hands — 
these and many other things they brought. 

One by one, the daughters were wooed and married, until 
nine of them had chosen husbands. One by one, other tents 
were reared, so that instead of the single family lodge on the 

shores of the lake there were tents enough to form a little 
village. For the country was a rich one, and there was game 
and fish enough for all. 

There remained the youngest daughter, Oweenee — the 
fairest of them all. Gentle as she was beautiful, none was so 
kind of heart. Unlike her proud and talkative elder sisters, 
Oweenee was shy and modest, and spoke but little. She loved 
to wander alone in the woods, with no company but the birds 
and squirrels and her own thoughts. What these thoughts 
were we can only guess; from her dreamy eyes and sweet ex- 
pression, one could but suppose that nothing selfish or mean or 
hateful ever came into her mind. Yet Oweenee, modest 
though she was, had a spirit of her own. More than one suitor 
had found this out. More than one conceited young man, 
confident that he could win her, went away crestfallen when 
Oweenee began to laugh at him. 

The truth is, Oweenee seemed hard to please. Suitor after 
suitor came — handsome, tall young men, the handsomest and 
the bravest in all the country round. Yet this fawn-eyed 
maiden would have none of them. One was too tall, another 
too short; one too thin, another too fat. At least, that was 
the excuse she gave for sending them away. Her proud 
sisters had little patience with her. It seemed to be question- 
ing their own taste; for Oweenee, had she said the word, might 
have gained a husband more attractive than any of theirs. 
Yet no one was good enough. They could not understand her; 
so they ended by despising her as a silly and unreasonable girl. 

Her father, too, who loved her dearly and wished her to 
be happy, was much puzzled. "Tell me, my daughter," he 
said to her one day, "Is it your wish never to marry? The 
handsomest young men in the land have sought you in 
marriage, and you have sent them all away — often with a 
poor excuse. Why is it?" 

Oweenee looked at him with her large, dark eyes. 

She loved to wander 
alone in the woods* 


minericaiiMridianirairyJlaLeg W Ifr 

"Father," she said at last. "It is not that I am wilful. 
But it seems somehow as if I had the power to look into the 
hearts of men. It is the heart of a man, and not his face, that 
really matters; and I have not yet found one youth who in 
this sense is really beautiful." 

Soon after, a strange thing happened. There came into 
the little village an Indian named Osseo, many years older 
than Oweenee. He was poor and ugly, too. Yet Oweenee 
married hirn. 

How the tongues of her nine proud sisters did wag! Had 
the spoiled little thing lost her mind? they asked. Oh, well! 
They always knew she would ccme to a bad end; but it was 
pretty hard on the family. 

Of course they could not know what Oweenee had seen at 
once — that Osseo had a generous nature and a heart of gold; 
that beneath his outward ugliness was the beauty of a noble 
mind, and the fire and passion of a poet. That is why Oweenee 
loved him; knowing, too, that he needed her care, she loved 
him all the more. 

Now, though Oweenee did not suspect it, Osseo was 
really a beautiful youth on whom an evil spell had been cast. 
He was in truth the son of the King of the Evening Star — that 
Evening Star which shines so gloriously in the western sky, 
just above the rim of the earth, as the sun is setting. Often on 
a clear evening it hung suspended in the purple twilight like 
some glittering jewel. So close it seemed, and so friendly, that 
the little children would reach out their hands, thinking that 
they might grasp it ere it was swallowed by the night, 
and keep it always for their own. But the older ones 
would say: "Surely it must be a bead on the garments of 
the Great Spirit as he walks in the evening through the gar- 
den of the heavens." 

Little did they know that the poor, despised Osseo had 
really descended from that star. And when he, too, stretched 

ctianiE airyjfaleg *W 4> 


out his arms toward it, and murmured words they could not 
understand, they all made sport of him. 

There came a time when a great feast was prepared in a 
neighboring village, and all of Oweenee's kinsfolk were invited 
to attend. They set out on foot — the nine proud sisters, 
with their husbands, walking ahead, much pleased with them- 
selves and their finery, and all chattering like magpies. But 
Oweenee walked behind in silence, and with her walked 

The sun had set; in the purple twilight, over the edge of 
the earth, sparkled the Evening Star. Osseo, pausing, 
stretched out his hands toward it, as if imploring pity; but 
when the others saw him in this attitude they all made merry, 
laughing and joking and making unkind remarks. 

"Instead of looking up in the sky," said one of the sisters, 
"he had better be looking on the ground. Else he may 
stumble and break his neck." Then calling back to him, she 
cried: "Look out! Here's a big log. Do you think you can 
manage to climb over it?" 

Osseo made no answer; but when he came to the log he 
paused again. It was the trunk of a huge oak-tree blown down 
by the wind. There it had lain for years, just as it fell; and 
the leaves of many summers lay thick upon it. There was one 
thing, though, the sisters had not noticed.. The tree-trunk 
was not a solid one, but hollow, and so big around that a man 
could walk inside it from one end to the other without stooping. 

But Osseo did not pause because he was unable to climb 
over it. There was something mysterious and magical in the 
appearance of the great hollow trunk; and he gazed at it a long 
time, as if he had seen it in a dream, and had been looking lor it 
ever since. 

"What is it, Osseo?" asked Oweenee, touching him on the 
arm. "Do you see something that I cannot see?" 

But Osseo only gave a shout that echoed through the 

m^ UF =Ainen<^iillniianlFair3rlELeg *9F'$> 

forest, and leaped inside the log. Then as Oweenee, a little 
alarmed, stood there waiting, the figure of a man came out 
from the other end. Could this be Osseo? Yes, it was he — 
but how transformed! No longer bent and ugly, no longer 
weak and ailing; but a beautiful youth — vigorous and straight 
and tall. His enchantment was at an end. 

But the evil spell had not been wholly lifted, after all. 
As Osseo approached he saw that a great change was taking 
place in his loved one. Her glossy black hair was turning 
white, deep wrinkles lined her face; she walked with a feeble 
step, leaning on a staff. Though he had regained his youth 
and beauty, she in turn had suddenly grown old. 

"O, my dearest one!" he cried. "The Evening Star has 
mocked me in letting this misfortune come upon you. Better 
far had I remained as I was; gladly would I have borne the 
insults and laughter of your people rather than you should 
be made to suffer." 

"As long as you love me," answered Oweenee, "I am 
perfectly content. If I had the choice to make, and only one 
of us could be young and fair, it is you that I would wish to be 

Then he took her in his arms and caressed her, vowing that 
he loved her more than ever for her goodness of heart; and 
together they walked hand in hand, as lovers do. 

When the proud sisters saw what had happened they could 
scarcely believe their eyes. They looked enviously at Osseo, 
who was now far handsomer than any one of their husbands, 
and much their superior in every other way. In his eyes was 
the wonderful light of the Evening Star, and when he spoke 
all men turned to listen and admire him. But the hard-hearted 
sisters had no pity for Oweenee. Indeed, it rather pleased them 
to see that she could no longer dim their beauty, and to 
realize that people would no longer be singing her praises in 
their jealous ears. 

miiaencaiilaiclianlFairylEleg TprT ^S 

The feast was spread, and all made merry but Osseo. He 
sat like one in a dream, neither eating nor drinking. From 
time to time he would press Oweenee's hand, and speak a word 
of comfort in her ear. But for the most part he sat there, 
gazing through the door of the tent at the star-besprinkled 

Soon a silence fell on all the company. From out of the 
night, from the dark, mysterious forest, came the sound of 
music — a low, sweet music that was like, yet unlike, the song 
sung by the thrush in summer twilight. It was magical music 
such as none had ever heard, coming, as it seemed, from a 
great distance, and rising and falling on the quiet summer 
evening. All those at the feast wondered as they listened. 
And well they might! For what to them was only music, was 
to Osseo a voice that he understood, a voice from the sky 
itself, the voice of the Evening Star. These were the words 
that he heard: 

"Suffer no more, my son; for the evil spell is broken, and 
hereafter no magician shall work you harm. Suffer no more; 
for the time has come when you shall leave the earth and 
dwell here with me in the heavens. Before you is a dish on 
which my light has fallen, blessing it and giving it a magic 
virtue. Eat of this dish, Osseo, and all will be well." 

So Osseo tasted the food before him, and behold! The tent 
began to tremble, and rose slowly into the air; up, up above 
the tree-tops — up, up toward the stars. As it rose, the things 
within it were wondrously changed. The kettles of clay be- 
came bowls of silver, the wooden dishes were scarlet shells, 
while the bark of the roof and the poles supporting it were 
transformed into some glittering substance that sparkled in 
the rays of the stars. Higher and higher it rose. Then the 
nine proud sisters and their husbands were all changed into 
birds. The men became robins, thrushes and woodpeckers. 
The sisters were changed into various birds with bright plum- 

fmmericanllrwllanif EuryliaLeg *m ^> 

age; the four who had chattered most, whose tongues were 
always wagging, now appeared in the feathers of the magpie 
and bluejay. 

Osseo sat gazing at Oweenee. Would she, too, change into 
a bird, and be lost to him ? The very thought of it made him 
bow his head with grief; then, as he looked at her once more, 
he saw her beauty suddenly restored, while the color of her 
garments was the color only to be found where the dyes of the 
rainbow are made. 

Again the tent swayed and trembled as the currents of the 
air bore it higher and higher, into and above the clouds; up, 
up, up — till at last it settled gently on the land of the Evening 

Osseo and Oweenee caught all the birds, and put them in a 
great silver cage, where they seemed quite content in each 
other's company. Scarcely was this done when Osseo's father, 
the King of the Evening Star, came to greet them. He was 
attired in a flowing robe, spun from star-dust, and his long 
white hair hung like a cloud upon his shoulders. 

"Welcome," he said, "my dear children. Welcome to the 
kingdom in the sky that has always awaited you. The trials 
you have passed through have been bitter; but you have 
borne them bravely, and now you will be rewarded for all 
your courage and devotion. Here you will live happily; yet of 
one thing you must beware." 

He pointed to a little star in the distance — a little, winking 
star, hidden from time to time by a cloud of vapor. 

"On that star," he continued, "lives a magician named 
Wabeno. He has the power to dart his rays, like so many 
arrows, at those he wishes to injure. He has always been my 
enemy; it was he who changed Osseo into an old man and cast 
him down upon the earth. Have a care that his light does not 
fall upon you. Luckily, his power for evil has been greatly 
weakened; for the friendly clouds have come to my assistance, 

ff Ulf JikmencaivlmcLianlF eiirylEleg *W 'a? 

and form a screen of vapor through which his arrows cannot 

The happy pair fell upon their knees, and kissed his hands 
in gratitude. 

"But these birds," said Osseo, rising and pointing to the 
cage. "Is this also the work of Wabeno, the magician?" 

"No," answered the King of the Evening Star. "It was 
my own power, the power of love, that caused your tent to 
rise and bear you hither. It was likewise by my power that 
the envious sisters and their husbands were transformed into 
birds. Because they hated you and mocked you, and were 
cruel and scornful to the weak and the old, I have done this 
thing. It is not so great a punishment as they deserve. Here 
in the silver cage they will be happy enough, proud of their 
handsome plumage, strutting and twittering to their hearts' 
content. Hang the cage there, at the doorway of my dwelling. 
They shall be well cared for." 

Thus it was that Osseo and Oweenee came to live in the 
kingdom of the Evening Star; and, as the years passed by, 
the little winking star where Wabeno, the magician, lived grew 
pale and paler and dim and dimmer, till it quite lost its power 
to harm. Meanwhile a little son had come to make their 
happiness more perfect, a charming boy with the dark, dreamy 
eyes of his mother and the strength and courage of Osseo. 

It was a wonderful place for a little boy to live in — close to 
the stars and the moon, with the sky so near that it seemed 
a kind of curtain for his bed, and all the glory of the heavens 
spread out before him. But sometimes he was lonely, and 
wondered what the Earth was like — the Earth his father and 
mother had come from. He could see it far, far below — 
so far that it looked no bigger than an orange; and sometimes 
he would stretch out his hands toward it, just as the little 
children on earth stretch out their hands for the moon. 


His father had made him a bow, with little arrows, and this 
was a great delight to him. But still he was lonely, and 
wondered what the little boys and girls on earth were doing, 
and whether they would be nice to play with. The Earth 
must be a pretty place, he thought, with so many people 
living on it. His mother had told him strange stories of that 
far-away land, with its lovely lakes and rivers, its great, green 
forests where the deer and the squirrel lived, and the yellow, 
rolling prairies swarming with buffalo. 

These birds, too, in the great silver cage had come from the 
Earth, he was told; and there were thousands and thousands 
just like them, as well as others even more beautiful that he 
had never seen at all. Swans with long, curved necks, that 
floated gracefully on the waters; whip-poor-wills that called at 
night from the woods; the robin redbreast, the dove and the 
swallow. What wonderful birds they must be! 

Sometimes he would sit near the cage, trying to understand 
the language of the feathered creatures inside. One day a 
strange idea came into his head. He would open the door of 
the cage and let them out. Then they would fly back to 
Earth, and perhaps they would take him with them. When 
his father and mother missed him they would be sure to follow 
him to the Earth, and then — 

He could not quite see just how it would all end. But he 
found himself quite close to the cage, and the first thing he 
knew he had opened the door and let out all the birds. Round 
and round they flew; and now he was half sorry, and a little 
afraid as well. If the birds flew back to Earth, and left him 
there, what would his grandfather say? 

"Come back, come back!" he called. 

But the birds only flew around him in circles, and paid no 
attention to him. At any moment they might be winging their 
way to the Earth. 

"Come back, I tell you!" he cried, stamping his foot and 
waving his little bow. "Come back, I say, or I'll shoot you." 

Then, as they would not obey him, he fitted an arrow to 
his bow and let it fly. So well did he aim that the arrow sped 
through the plumage of a bird, and the feathers fell all around. 
The bird itself, a little stunned but not much hurt, fell down; 
and a tiny trickle of blood stained the ground where it lay. 
But it was no longer a bird, with an arrow in its wing; instead, 
there stood in its place a beautiful young woman. 

Now, no one who lives in the stars is ever permitted to shed 
blood, whether it be of man, beast or bird. So when the few 
drops fell upon the Evening Star, everything was changed. 
The boy suddenly found himself sinking slowly downward, 
held up by invisible hands, yet ever sinking closer and closer to 
the Earth. Soon he could see its green hills and the swans 
floating on the water, till at last he rested on a grassy island 
in a great lake. Lying there, and looking up at the sky, he 
could see the tent descending, too. Down it softly drifted, 
till it in turn sank upon the island; and in it were his father and 
mother, Osseo and Oweenee — returned to earth, to live once 
more among men and women and teach them how to live. 
For they had learned many things in their life upon the 
Evening Star; and the children of Earth would be better for 
the knowledge. 

As they stood there, hand in hand, all the enchanted birds 
came fluttering after, falling and fluttering through the air. 
Then as each one touched the Earth, it was no longer a bird 
they saw, but a human being. A human being, yet not quite 
as before; for now they were only dwarfs, Little People, or 
Pygmies; Puk-Wudjies, as the Indians called them. Happy 
Little People they became, seen only by a few. Fishermen, 
they say, would sometimes get a glimpse of them — dancing in 
the light of the Evening Star, of a summer night, on the 
sandy, level beach of the Great Lake. 

The Boy who snared 



AA DEEP, crusted snow covered the earth, and sparkled 
IX\ in the light of a wintry moon. The wind had 

/ \\ died away; it was very cold and still. Not a 
■^^ -^™* sound came from the forest; the only noise that 
broke the perfect quiet of the night was the cracking of the 
ice on the Big-sea-water, Gitche Gumee, which was now 
frozen solid. 

But inside old Iagoo's teepee it was warm and cheerful. 
The teepee, as the Indians call a tent, was covered with the 
thick, tough skin of the buffalo; the winter coat of Muk-wa, 
the bear, had now become a pleasant soft rug for Iagoo's 
two young visitors, Morning Glory and her little brother, 
Eagle Feather. Squatting at their ease on the warm fur, 
they waited for the old man to speak. 

Suddenly a white-footed mouse crept from his nest in a 
corner, and, advancing close to the children, sat up on his 
hind-legs, like a dog that begs for a biscuit. Eagle Feather 
raised his hand in a threatening way, but Morning Glory 
caught him by the arm. 

"No, no!" she said. "You must not harm him. See 
how friendly he is, and not a bit afraid. There is game enough 
in the forest for a brave boy's bow and arrow. Why should 
he spend his strength on a weak little mouse?" 

Eagle Feather, pleased with anything that seemed like 
praise of his strength, let his hand fall. 

"Your words are true words, Morning Glory," he answered. 
"Against Ahmeek, the beaver, or Wau-be-se, the wild swan, 
it is better that I should measure my hunter's skill." 


At this, Iagoo, turning around, broke his long silence. 

"There was a time," he said, mysteriously, "when a 
thousand boys such as Eagle Feather would have been no 
match at all for that mouse as he used to be." 

"When was that?" asked Eagle Feather, looking uneasily 
at his sister. 

"In the days of the great Dormouse," answered Iagoo. 
"In the days, long ago, when there were many more animals 
than men on the earth, and the biggest of all the beasts was 
the Dormouse. Then something strange happened — some- 
thing that never happened before or since. Shall I tell you 
about it?" 

"O, please do!" begged Morning Glory. 

"The story I am going to tell you," began Iagoo, "is not 
so much a story about the Dormouse as it is a story about a 
little boy and his sister. Yet had it not been for the Dor- 
mouse, I would not be here to tell about it, and you would 
not be here to listen. 

"To begin with, you must understand that the world in 
those days was a different sort of place from what it is now. 
O yes, a different sort of place. People did not eat the flesh 
of animals. They lived on berries, and roots, and wild vege- 
tables. The Great Spirit, who made all things on land, and 
in the sky and water, had not yet given men Mon-da-min, 
the Indian corn. There was no fire to give them heat, or 
to cook with. In all the world there was just one small fire, 
watched by two old witches who let nobody come near it; 
and until Coyote, the prairie wolf, came along and stole some 
of this fire, the food that people could manage to get was 
eaten raw, the way it grew." 

"They must have been pretty hungry," said Morning 

"O, yes, they were hungry," agreed Iagoo. "But that 
was not all. There were so many animals, and so few men, 



that the animals ruled the earth in their own way. The 
biggest of them all was Bosh-kwa-dosh, the Mastodon. He 
was higher than the highest trees, and he had an enormous 
appetite. But he did not stay long on earth, or there would 
not have been food enough even for the other animals." 

"I thought you said the Dormouse was the biggest," 
interrupted Eagle Feather. 

Iagoo looked at him severely. 

"At the time I speak of," he continued, ''Bosh-kwa-dosh, 
the Mastodon, had just gone away. He had not gone a bit 
too soon, either; for, by this time, the only people left on the 
whole earth were a young girl and her little brother." 

"Like Eagle Feather and me?" asked Morning Glory. 

"The girl was much like you," said Iagoo, patiently. 
"But the boy was a dwarf, who never grew to be more than 
three feet high. Being so much stronger and larger than her 
brother, she gathered all the food for both, and cared for him 
in every way. Sometimes she would take him along with 
her, when she went to look for berries and roots. 'He's such 
a very little boy,' she said to herself, 'that if I leave him all 
alone, some big bird may swoop down, and carry him off 
to its nest.' 

"She did not know what a strange boy he was, and how 
much mischief he could do when he set his mind upon it. 
One day she said to him: 'Look, little brother! I have 
made you a bow and some arrows. It is time you learned 
to take care of yourself; so when I am gone, practice shoot- 
ing, for this is a thing you must know how to do.' 

"Winter was coming, and to keep himself from freezing 
the boy had nothing better than a light garment woven by 
his sister from the wild grasses. How could he get a warm 
coat? As he asked himself that question, a flock of snow 
birds flew down, near by, and began pecking at the fallen 
logs, to get the worms. 'Ha!' said he. 'Their feathers 


The biggest of them all was 
BosK-kwa-dosK, the Mastodon. 


Ici TlF .^^iiaencanltiiianlfairylCle^ Tip "Tit 

would make me a fine coat.' Bending his bow, he let an 
arrow fly; but he had not yet learned how to shoot straight. 
It went wide of the mark. He shot a second, and a third; 
then the birds took fright, and flew away. 

"Each day he tried again — shooting at a tree when there 
was nothing better to aim at. At last he killed a snow bird, 
then another and another. When he had shot ten birds, he 
had enough. 'See, sister,' he said, 'I shall not freeze. Now 
you can make me a coat from the skins of these little birds.' 

"So his sister sewed the skins together, and made him the 
coat, the first warm winter coat he had ever had. It was 
fine to look at, and the feathers kept out the cold. Eh-yah! 
he was proud of it! With his bow and arrows, he strutted 
up and down, like a little turkey cock. 'Is it true?' he asked, 
'that you and I are the only persons living on earth? Per- 
haps if I look around, I may find someone else. It will do 
no harm to try.' 

"His sister feared he would come to some harm; but he 
had made up his mind to see the world for himself, and off 
he went. But his legs were short, he was not used to walk- 
ing far, and he soon grew tired. When he came to a bare 
place, on the edge of a hill, where the sun had melted the 
snow, he lay down, and was soon fast asleep. 

"As he slept, the sun played him a trick. It was a mild 
winter's day. The bird skins of which the coat was made 
were still fresh and tender, and under the full glare of the 
sun they began to shrivel and shrink. 'Eh-yah! What's 
wrong?' he muttered in his sleep, feeling the coat become 
tighter and tighter. Then he woke, stretched out his arms, 
and saw what had happened. 

"The sun was nearly sinking now. The boy stood up 
and faced it, and shook his small fist. 'See what you have 
done!' he cried, with a stamp of his foot. 'You have spoiled 
my new birdskin coat. Never mind! You think yourself 

dianiFairyJEleS *W "A? 


beyond my reach, up there; but I'll be revenged on you. 
Just wait and see!' " 

"But how could he reach the sun?" asked Morning Glory, 
her eyes growing rounder and rounder. 

"That is what his sister asked, when he told her about 
it," said Iagoo. "And what do you think he did? First, 
he did nothing at all but stretch himself out on the ground, 
where he lay for ten days without eating or moving. Then 
he turned over on the other side, and lay there for ten days 
more. At last he rose to his feet. 'I have made up my mind,' 
he said. 'Sister, I have a plan to catch the sun in a noose. 
Find me some kind of a cord from which I can make a snare.' 

"She got some tough grass, and twisted it into a rope. 
'That will not do,' he said. 'You must find something 
stronger.' He no longer talked like a little boy, but like one 
who was to be obeyed. Then his sister thought of her hair. 
She cut enough from her head to make a cord, and when she 
had plaited it he was much pleased, and said it would do. 
He took it from her, and drew it between his lips, and as he 
did this it turned into a kind of metal, and grew much stronger 
and longer, till he had so much that he wound it around his 

"In the middle of the night he made his way to the hill, 
and there he fixed a noose at the place where the sun would 
rise. He had to wait a long time in the cold and darkness. 
But at last a faint light came into the sky. As the sun rose 
it was caught fast in the noose, and there it stayed." 

Iagoo stopped talking, and sat looking into the fire. One 
might have supposed that when he did this he saw pictures 
in the flames, and in the red coals, and that these pictures 
helped him to tell the story. But Morning Glory was im- 
patient to hear the rest. 

"Iagoo," she said, timidly, at last. "Did you forget 
about the Dormouse?" 

Jft' 1*F =^kiiaencaivlin(iianiFairylELeg 1SF ^af 

"Eh-yah! the Dormouse! No. I have not forgotten," 
answered the old man, rousing himself. "When the sun 
did not rise as usual, the animals could not tell what had 
happened. Ad-ji-dau-mo, the squirrel, chattered and 
scolded from the branch of a pine tree. Kah-gah-gee, the 
raven, flapped his wings, and croaked more hoarsely than 
ever, to tell the others that the end of the world had come. 
Only Muk-wa, the bear, did not mind. He had crept into 
his cave for the winter, and the darker it was the better he 
liked it. 

"Wa-bun, the East Wind, was the one who brought the 
news. He had drawn from his quiver the silver arrows with 
which he chased the darkness from the valleys. But the 
sun had not risen to help him, and the arrows fell harmless to 
the earth. 'Wake, wake!' he wailed. 'Someone has caught 
the sun in a snare. Which of all the animals will dare to 
cut the cord?' 

"But even Coyote, the prairie wolf, who was the wisest 
of them all, could think of no way to free the sun. So great 
was the heat thrown out by its rays that he could not come 
within an arrow's flight of where it was caught fast in the 
magical noose of hair. 

" 'Leave it to me!' screamed Ken-eu, the war-eagle, from 
his nest on the cliff. 'It is I alone who soar to the sky, and 
look the sun in the face, without winking. Leave it tome!' 

"Down he darted through the darkness, and up he flew 
again, with his eagle feathers singed. Then they woke the 
Dormouse. They had a hard time doing it, because when he 
once went to sleep he stayed asleep for six months, and it was 
almost impossible to arouse him. Coyote crept close to his 
ear, and howled with all his might. It would have split the ear- 
drum of almost any other animal. But Kug-e-been-gwa-kwa, 
the Dormouse, only groaned and turned over on the other 

4a* ^^==ATnenca2ilmdianlFair5rjEle5 °tF ^af 

side, and Coyote had a narrow escape from being mashed 
flat, like a corn-cake. 

" 'There is only one thing that will wake him,' said 
Coyote, getting up and shaking himself. T will run to the 
mountain cave of An-ne-mee-kee, the Thunder. His voice is 
even more terrible than mine.' So off he went at a gallop. 

"Soon they could hear An-ne-mee-kee coming. Boom, 
boom! When he shouted in the ear of the Dormouse, the 
biggest beast on earth rose slowly to his feet. In the dark- 
ness he looked bigger than ever, almost as big as a mountain. 
An-ne-mee-kee, the Thunder, shouted once more, to make 
sure that the Dormouse was really wide awake, and would 
not go to sleep again. 

" 'Now,' said Coyote to the Dormouse, 'it is you that will 
have to free the sun. If he burned one of us, there would be 
little left but bones. But you are so big that if part of you is 
burned away there will still be enough. Then, in that case you 
would not have to eat so much, or work so hard to get it.' 

"The Dormouse was a stupid animal, and Coyote's talk 
seemed true talk. Besides, as he was the biggest animal, he 
was expected to do the biggest things. So he made his way 
to the hill, where the little boy had snared the sun, and began 
to nibble at the noose. As he nibbled away, his back got 
hotter and hotter. Soon it began to burn, till all the upper 
part of him burned away, and became great heaps of ashes. 
At last, when he had cut through the cord with his teeth, and 
set the sun free, all that was left of him was an animal no 
larger than an ordinary mouse. What he became then, so 
he is today. Still, he is big enough for a mouse; and perhaps 
that is what Coyote really meant. Coyote, the prairie wolf, is 
a cunning beast, up to many tricks, and it is not always easy 
to tell exactly what he means." 

"^ -f How tl>e Svixrvmer 
- J M^ Came * 1 * A 

/X\ ^HT /jf'ORNING Glory was tired of the winter, and 

NVtfl longed for the spring to come. Sometimes it 

I \/ I seemed as if Ka-bib-on-okka, the fierce old 

•^» ^^- North Wind, would never go back to his home 

in the Land of Ice. With his cold breath he had frozen tight 

and hard the Big-Sea-Water, Gitche Gumee, and covered it deep 

with snow, till you could not tell theGreatLake from the land. 

Except for the beautiful green pines, all the world was white 
— a dazzling, silent world in which there was no musical 
murmur of waters and no song of birds. 

"Will O-pee-chee, the robin, never come again?" sighed 
Morning Glory. "Suppose there was no summer anywhere, 
and no Sha-won-dasee, the South Wind, to bring the violet 
and the dove. O, Iagoo, would it not be dreadful?" 

"Be patient, Morning Glory," answered the old man. 
"Soon you will hear W T a-wa, the wild goose, flying high up, on 
his way to the North. I have lived many moons. Sometimes 
he seems long in coming, but he always comes. When you 
hear him call, then O-pee-chee, the robin, will not be far 

"I'll try to be patient" said Morning Glory. "But 
Ka-bib-on-okka, the North Wind, is so strong and fierce. 
I can't help wondering whether there ever was a time when his 
power was so great that he made his home here always. It 
makes me shiver to think of it!" 

Iagoo rose from his place by the fire, and drew to one side 
the curtain of buffalo-hide that screened the doorway. He 
pointed to the sky — clear, and sparkling with stars. 

Wl Hr AjmencanifrioU 


"Look!" he said. "There, in the North. See that little 
cluster of stars. Do you know the name we give it?" 

"/ know," said Eagle Feather. "It is O-jeeg An-nung — 
the Fisher stars. If you look right, you can see how they make 
the body of the Fisher. He is stretched out flat, with an arrow 
through his tail. See, sister!" 

"The Fisher," repeated Morning Glory. "You mean the 
furry little animal, something like a fox? Is Marten another 
name for it?" 

"That's it," said Eagle Feather. 

"Yes, I see," nodded Morning Glory. "But why is the 
Fisher spread out flat that way, in the sky, with an arrow stick- 
ing through his tail?" 

"I don't know just exactly why," admitted Eagle Feather. 
"I suppose some hunter was chasing him. Perhaps Iagoo 
can tell us." 

Iagoo closed the curtain, and went back to the fire. 
"You thought there might have been a time when there 
was no summer on the earth," he said to Morning Glory. 
"And you were right. Until O-jeeg, the Fisher, found a way 
to bring the summer down from the sky, the earth was every- 
where covered with snow, and it was always cold. If O-jeeg 
had not been willing to give his life, so that all the rest of us 
could be warm, Ka-bib-on-okka, the North Wind, would have 
ruled the world, as he now rules the Land of Ice." 

Then Morning Glory and Eagle Feather sat down on the 
soft rug that was once the winter coat of Muk-wa, the bear, 
and Iagoo told them the story of How the Summer Came: 

In the wild forest that borders the Great Lake there once 
lived a mighty hunter named O-jeeg. No one knew the woods 
so well as he; where others would be lost without a trail to 
guide them, he found his way easily and quickly, by day or 
night, through the trackless tangle of trees and underbrush. 
Where the red deer fled, he followed; the bear could not escape 



his swift pursuit. He had the cunning of the fox, the endur- 
ance of the wolf, the speed of the wild turkey when it runs at 
the scent of danger. 

When O-jeeg shot an arrow, it always hit the mark. When 
he set out on a journey, no storm or snow could turn him back. 
He did everything he said he would do, and did it well. 

Thus it was that some men came to believe that O-jeeg 
was a Manito — the Indian name for one who has magic powers. 
This much was certain: whenever O-jeeg wished to do so, he 
could change himself into the little animal known as the Fisher, 
or Marten. 

Perhaps that is why he was on such friendly terms with 
some of the animals, who were always willing to help him when 
he called upon them. Among these were the otter, the beaver, 
the lynx, the badger and the wolverine. There came a time, 
as we shall see, when he needed their services badly, and they 
were not slow in coming to his assistance. 

O-jeeg had a wife whom he dearly loved, and a son, of 
thirteen years, who promised to be as great a hunter as his 
father. Already he had shown great skill with the bow and 
arrow; if some accident should prevent O-jeeg from supplying 
the family with the game upon which they lived, his son felt 
sure that he himself could shoot as many squirrels and turkeys 
as they needed to keep them from starving. With O-jeeg to 
bring them venison, bear's meat and wild turkey, they had 
thus far plenty to eat. Had it not been for the cold, the boy 
would have been happy enough. They had warm clothing, 
made from deerskin and furs; to keep their fire burning, they 
had all the wood in the forest. Yet, in spite of this, the cold 
was a great trial; for it was always winter, and the deep snow 
never melted. 

Some wise old men had somewhere heard that the sky was 
not only the roof of our own world, but also was the floor of a 
beautiful world beyond; a land where birds with bright feathers 

Men came to believe that 
0-jee£ was a Manito*.*« 


sang sweetly through a pleasant, warm season called Summer. 
It was a pretty story that people wished to believe; and likely 
enough, they said, when you came to think that the sun was 
so far away from the earth, and so close to the sky itself. 

The boy used to dream about it, and wonder what could 
be done. His father could do anything; some men said he 
was a Manito. Perhaps he could find some way to bring 
Summer to the earth. That would be the greatest thing of all. 

Sometimes it was so cold that when the boy went into the 
woods his fingers would be frost-bitten. Then he could not 
fit the notch of his arrow to the bowstring, and was obliged 
to go back home without any game whatever. One day he 
had wandered far in the forest, and was returning empty- 
handed, when he saw a red squirrel seated on his hindlegs on 
the stump of a tree. The squirrel was gnawing a pine cone, 
and did not try to run away when the young hunter came near. 
Then the little animal spoke: 

"My grandson," said he, "there is something I wish to tell 
you that you will be pleased to hear. Put away your arrows, 
and do not try to shoot me, and I shall give you some gocd 

The boy was surprised; but he unstrung his bow, and put 
the arrow in his quiver. 

"Now," said the squirrel, "listen carefully to what I have 
to say. The earth is always covered with snow, and the frost 
bites your fingers, and makes you unhappy. I dislike the cold 
as much as you do. To tell the truth, there is little enough 
tor me to eat in these woods, with the ground frozen hard all 
the time. You can see how thin I am, for there is not much 
fat in a pine cone. If someone could manage to bring the 
Summer down from the sky, it would be a great blessing." 

"Is it really true, then," asked the boy, "that up beyond 
the sky is a pleasant warm land, where Winter only stays for 
a few moons?" 



"Yes, it is true," said the squirrel. "We animals have 
known it for a long time. Ken-eu, the war-eagle, who soars 
near the sun, once saw a small crack in the sky. The crack 
was made by Way-wass-i-mo, the Lightning, in a great storm 
that covered all the earth with water. Ken-eu, the war-eagle, 
felt the warm air leaking through; but the people who live 
up above mended the crack the very next moment, and the 
sky has never leaked again." 

"Then our wise.old men were right," said the boy. "O-jeeg, 
my father, can do most anything he has a mind to. Do you 
suppose if he tried hard enough, he could get through the sky, 
and bring the Summer down to us?" 

"Of course!" exclaimed the squirrel. "That is why I spoke 
to you about it. Your father is a Manito. If you beg him 
hard enough, and tell him how unhappy you are, he is sure to 
make the attempt. When you go back, show him your frost- 
bitten fingers. Tell him how you tramp all day through the 
snow, and how difficult it is to make your way home. Tell 
him that some day you may be frozen stiff, and never get back 
at all. Then he will do as you ask, because he loves you very 

The boy thanked the squirrel, and promised to follow this 
advice. From that day he gave his father no peace. At 
last O-jeeg said to him: 

"My son, what you ask me to do is a dangerous thing, and 
I do not know what may come of it. But my power as a 
Manito was given me for a good purpose, and I can put it 
to no better use than to try to bring the Summer down from 
the sky, and make the world a more pleasant place to live in." 

Then he prepared a feast to which he invited his friends, 
the otter, the beaver, the lynx, the badger, and the wolverine; 
and they all put their heads together, to decide what was best 
to be done. The lynx was the first to speak. He had trav- 
elled far on his long legs, and had been to many strange places. 

41 • 1? j* TW * ^tFi „^ftf^f 
mmencanimdianifairyliaLeS -w- 'Af 

Besides, if you had good strong eyes, and you looked at the 
sky, on a clear night when there was no moon, you could see a 
little group of stars which the wise old men said was exactly 
like a lynx. It gave him a certain importance, especially in 
matters of this kind; so when he began to speak, the others 
listened with great respect. 

"There is a high mountain," said he, "that none of you 
has ever seen. No one ever saw the top, because it is always 
hidden by the clouds; but I am told it is the highest mountain 
in the world, and almost touches the sky." 

The otter began to laugh. He is the only animal that can 
do this; sometimes he laughs for no particular reason, unless 
it is that he thinks himself more clever than the other animals, 
and likes to "show off." 

"What are you laughing at?" asked the lynx. 

"Oh, nothing," answered the otter. "I was just laughing." 

"It will get you into trouble some day," said the lynx. 
"Just because you never heard of this mountain, you think it 
is not there." 

"Do you know how to get to it?" asked O-jeeg. "If we 
could climb to the top, we might find a way to break through 
the sky. It seems a good plan." 

"That is what I was thinking," said the lynx. "It is true 
I don't know just where it is. But a moon's journey from here, 
there lives a Manito who has the shape of a giant. He knows, 
and he could tell us." 

So O-jeeg bade good-bye to his wife and his little son, 
and the next day the lynx began the long journey, with 
O-jeeg and the others following close behind. It was just 
as the lynx had said. When they had travelled, day and 
night, for a moon, they came to a lodge, as the white 
men call an Indian's tent; and there was the Manito stand- 
ing in the doorway. He was a queer-looking man, such 
as they had never seen before, with an enormous head 

kinencanJmdianlFaii^ilal^gliF "Xf 

and three eyes, one eye being set in his forehead above 
the other two. 

He invited them into the lodge, and set some meat before 
them; but he had such an odd look, and his movements were 
so awkward, that the otter could not help laughing. At this, 
the eye in the Manito's forehead grew red, like a live coal, 
and he made a leap at the otter, who barely managed to slip 
through the doorway, out into the bitter cold and darkness 
of the night, without having tasted a morsel of supper. 

When the otter had gone, the Manito seemed satisfied, 
and told them they could spend the night in his lodge. They 
did so; and O-jeeg, who stayed awake while his friends slept, 
noticed that only two of the Manito's eyes were closed, while 
the one in his forehead remained wide open. 

In the morning the Manito told O-jeeg to travel straight 
toward the North Star, and that in twenty suns — the Indian 
name for days — they would reach the mountain. "As you 
are a Manito yourself," he said, "you may be able to climb 
to the top, and to take your friends with you. But I cannot 
promise that you will be able to get down again." 

"If it is close enough to the sky," answered O-jeeg, "that 
is all I ask." 

Once more they set out. On their way they met the otter, 
who laughed again when he saw them; but this time he laughed 
because he was glad to find them, and glad to get some meat 
that O-jeeg had saved from the Manito's supper. 

In twenty days they came to the foot of the mountain. 
Then up and up they climbed, till they passed quite through 
the clouds; up once more, till at last they stopped, all out of 
breath, and sat down to rest on the highest peak in the world. 
To their great delight, the sky seemed so close that they could 
almost touch it. 

O-jeeg and his comrades filled their pipes. But before 
smoking, they called out to the Great Spirit, asking for success 



in their attempt. In Indian fashion they pointed to the earth, 
to the sky overhead, and to the four winds. 

"Now," said O-jeeg, when they had finished smoking, 
"which of you can jump the highest?" 

The otter grinned. 

"Jump, then!" commanded O-jeeg. 

The otter jumped, and, sure enough, his head hit the sky. 
But the sky was the harder of the two, and back he fell 
When he struck the ground, he began to slide down the moun- 
tain; soon he was out of sight, and they saw him no more. 

"Ugh!" grunted the lynx. "He is laughing on the other 
side of his mouth." 

It was the beaver's turn. He, too, hit the sky, but fell 
down in a heap. The badger and the lynx had no better 
luck, and their heads ached for a long time afterward. 

"It all depends on you," said O-jeeg to the wolverine. 
"You are the strongest of them all. Ready, now — jump!" 

The wolverine jumped, and fell, but came down on his 
feet, sound and whole. 

"Good!" cried O-jeeg. "Try again!" 

This time the wolverine made a dent in the sky. 

"It's cracking!" exclaimed O-jeeg. "Now, once more!" 

For the third time the wolverine jumped. Through the 
sky he went, passing out of sight, and O-jeeg quickly followed 

Looking around them, they beheld a beautiful land. 
O-jeeg, who had spent his life among the snows, stood like a 
man who dreams, wondering if it could be true. He had left 
behind him a bare world, white with winter, whose waters 
were always frozen, a world without song or color. He had 
now come into a country that was a great green plain, with 
flowers of many hues; where birds of bright plumage sang 
amid the leafy branches of trees hung with golden fruit. 
Streams wandered through the meadows, and flowed into 

f^Tnenca2ilm<^anlFaj.i^lCle^ *W •?> 

lovely lakes. The air was mild, and filled with the perfume 
from a million blossoms. It was Summer. 

Along the banks of a lake were the lodges in which lived 
the people of the sky, who could be seen some distance away. 
The lodges were empty, but before them were hung cages in 
which there were many beautiful birds. Already the warm 
air of Summer had begun to rush through the hole made by 
the wolverine, and O-jeeg now made haste to open the cages, 
so that the birds could follow. 

The sky-dwellers saw what was happening, and raised a 
great shout. But Spring, Summer and Autumn had already 
escaped through the opening into the world below, and many 
of the birds as well. 

The wolverine, too, had managed to reach the hole, and 
descend to the earth, before the sky-dwellers could catch him. 
But O-jeeg was not so fortunate. There were still some birds 
remaining that he knew his son would like to see, so he went 
on opening the cages. By this time the sky dwellers had closed 
the hole, and O-jeeg was too late. 

As the sky-dwellers pursued him, he changed himself into 
the Fisher, and ran along the plain, toward the North, at 
the top of his speed. In the form of the Fisher he could run 
faster. Also, when he took this shape, no arrow could injure 
him unless it hit a spot near the tip of his tail. 

But the sky-dwellers ran even faster, and the Fisher 
climbed a tall tree. They were good marksmen, and they shot 
a great many arrows, until at last one of these chanced to hit 
the fatal spot. Then the Fisher knew that his time had come. 

Now he saw that some of his enemies were marked with the 
totems, or family arms, of his own tribe. "My Cousins'" 
he called to them. "I beg of you that you go away, and leave 
me here alone." 

The sky-dwellers granted his request. When they had 
gone, the Fisher came down from the tree, and wandered 





around for a time, seeking some opening in the plain through 
which he might return to the earth. But there was no open- 
ing; so at last, feeling weak and faint, he stretched himself 
flat on the floor of the sky, through which the stars may be 
seen from the world below. 

"I have kept my promise," he said with a sigh of content. 
"My son will now enjoy the summer, and so will all the people 
who dwell on the earth. Through the ages to come I shall 
be set as a sign in the heavens, and my name will be spoken 
with praise. I am satisfied." 

So it came about that the Fisher remained in the sky, 
where you can see him plainly for yourself, on a clear night, 
with the arrow through his tail. The Indians call them the 
Fisher Stars — O-jeeg An-nung; but to white men are they 
known as the constellation of the Plough. 


[HERE was once a merry young 

Indian who could jump so high, and who 
played so many pranks, that he came to 
be known as Grasshopper. He was a tall, 
handsome fellow, always, up to mischief of one kind or another; 
and though his tricks were sometimes amusing, he carried 
them much too far, and so in time he came to grief. 

Grasshopper owned all the things that an Indian likes 
most to have. In his lodge were all sorts of pipes and weapons, 
ermine and other choice furs, deer-skin shirts wrought with 
porcupine quills, many pairs of beaded moccasins, and more 
wampum belts than one person could have honestly come by. 

The truth is, Grasshopper did not get these things by his 
skill and courage as a hunter. He got them by shaking pieces 
of colored bone and wood in a wooden bowl, then throwing 
them on the ground. That is to say, Grasshopper was a 
gambler, and such a lucky gambler that he easily won from 
others, with his game of Bowl and Counters, the things that 
they had obtained by risking their lives in the hunt. 

If people put up with his ways, and even laughed at some 
of his mad pranks, it was because he could dance so well. 
Never had there been such a dancer. Was there a wedding 
to be celebrated, or some feast following a successful hunt — 
then who but Grasshopper could so well supply the enter- 

He could dance with a step so light that it seemed to leave 
no mark upon the earth. He could dance as the Indian 
dances when he goes to war, or as when he holds a festival in 
honor of the corn. But the dance in which he excelled was a 
furious, dizzy dance, with leaps and bounds, that fairly turned 
the heads of the beholders. 

IF v 1W * 3 TPt ^jpg^F 
kinencanlhicuanlrairyilaLeg tSp <n> 

It was then that Grasshopper became a kind of human 
whirlwind. As he spun round and round, his revolving body 
drew up the dry leaves and the dust, till the dancer all but 
faded from view, and you saw instead what looked like 
a whirling cloud. 

Once, when the great Manito, named Man-a-bo-zho, took 
a wife and came to live with the tribe, that he might teach 
them best how to live, Grasshopper danced at the wedding. 
The Beggar's Dance, he called it, and such a dance! On the 
shores of the Big-Sea-Water, Gitche Gumee, are heaps of 
sand rising into little hills known as dunes. Had you asked 
Iagoo, he would have told you that these dunes were the work 
of Grasshopper, who whirled the sands together, and piled 
them into hills, as he spun madly around in his dance at 
Man-a-bo-zho's wedding. 

But though Grasshopper came to the wedding, and danced 
this crazy Beggar's Dance, it seems probable that he did it 
more to please himself, and to show his skill, than to honor 
the great Man-a-bo-zho. Grasshopper really had no respect 
for anybody. When Iagoo's grandfather was in the middle 
of some interesting story, and had come to the most exciting 
part, Grasshopper likely as not would yawn and stretch him- 
self, and say in a loud whisper that he had heard it all before. 

So, too, with Man-a-bo-zho. This great Manito, who was 
the son of the West- Wind, Mud-je-kee-wis, had magic powers 
which he used for the good of the tribe. It was he who fasted 
and prayed, that his people might be given food other than 
the wild things of the woods; and whose prayer was answered 
with the gift of the Indian corn. Then when Kah-gah-gee, 
King of ravens, flew down with his band of black thieves, 
to tear up the seed in the ground, it was Man-a-bo-zho who 
snared him, and tied him fast to the ridge-pole of his lodge, 
to croak out a warning to the others. 

But Man-a-bo-zho's goodness and wisdom had little effect 

OOO The Beggars Dance.. <]Q^ 

on Grasshopper. "Pooh!" he would say. "Why should an 
Indian bother his head with planting corn, when he can draw 
his bow and kill a good fat deer?" Then he shook his wolf- 
skin pouch, and rattled the pieces of bone and wood. "As 
long as I have these," he said to himself, "I need nothing more. 
After all, it is everybody else that works for the man who 
knows how to use his head." 

He walked through the village, very proud and straight, 
with his fan of turkey-feathers, a swan's plume fastened in his 
long, black hair, and the tails of foxes trailing from his heels. 
In his white deer-skin shirt, edged with ermine, his leggings 
and moccasins ornamented with beads and porcupine quills, 
he cut a fine figure. There was to be a dance that night, and 
Grasshopper, who was a great dandy and a favorite with all 
the young girls and women, had decked himself out for the 
occasion. He had painted his face with streaks of blue and 
vermilion; his blue-black hair, parted in the middle, and 
glistening with oil, hung to his shoulders in braids plaited with 
sweet grass. The warriors might call him Shau-go-daya, a 
coward, and make jokes at his expense, but he did not care. 
Could he not beat them all when it came to playing ball or 
quoits, and were not the maidens all in love with his good looks ? 

Meanwhile, Grasshopper wished to pass the time in some 
pleasant way. Glancing through the door of a lodge, he saw 
a group of young men seated on the ground, listening to one 
of old Iagoo's stories. 

"Ha !" he cried. "Have you nothing better to do ? Here's 
a game worth playing." 

He drew from his pouch the thirteen pieces of bone and 
wood, and juggled them from one hand to the other. But 
no one paid any attention to him. After all, Grasshopper 
had "more brains in his heels than in his head." For once he 
had been too cunning; fearing his skill, no one could be found 
who would play with him. 

dian lFairyJEle^^8F ^ 


"Pooh!" muttered Grasshopper, as he turned away. 
"I see how it is. The pious Man-a-bo-zho has been preaching 
to them again. This village is getting to be pretty tiresome 
to live in. It's about time for me to strike out, and find a 
place where the young men don't sit around and talk to the 

He walked along, bent on mischief. Even the dance was 
forgotten; he wondered what he could do to amuse himself. 
As he came to the outskirts of the village, he passed the lodge 
of Man-a-bo-zho. "I would like to play him some trick," 
he said, under his breath, "so he will remember me when I am 
gone." But he was well aware that Man-a-bo-zho was much 
more powerful than himself; so he hesitated, not knowing 
exactly what do to. 

At last he walked softly to the doorway, and listened, but 
could hear no sound of voices. "Good!" he said with a grin. 
"Perhaps nobody is at home." With that, he spun around 
the outside of the lodge, on one leg, raising a great cloud of 
dust. No one came out; but on the ridge-pole of the lodge, 
the captive Kah-gah-gee, King of ravens, flapped his big 
black wings, and screamed with a hoarse, rasping cry. 

"Fool!" cried Grasshopper. "Noisy fool!" 

With a bound, he leapt clear over the lodge, and then back 
again; at which the raven screamed more harshly than ever. 
But within the lodge all was silent. 

Grasshopper grew bolder. Going to the doorway again, 
he rattled the flap of buffalo hide. Nobody answered; so, 
cautiously drawing the curtain to one side, he ventured to 
peer in. Then he chuckled softly. The lodge was empty. 

"This is my chance!" he exclaimed. "Man-a-bo-zho is 
away, and so is his foolish wife. I'll just pay my respects 
before they come back, and then I'll be off for good." 

Saying this, he went in, and began to turn everything up- 
side down. He threw all the bowls and kettles in a corner, 


kmencanltri<lianlFaj.rylCle§ *W %> 

filled the drinking gourds with ashes from the fire, flung the 
rich furs and embroidered garments this way and that, and 
strewed the floor with wampum belts and arrows. When he 
finished, one might have thought a crazy man had been there. 
No woman in the village was more neat and orderly than the 
wife of Man-a-bo-zho, and Grasshopper knew this would vex 
her more than anything else he could do. 

"Now for Man-a-bo-zho," he grinned as he left the lodge, 
well pleased with the mischief he had wrought. 

"Caw, caw!" screamed the King of ravens. 

"Kaw!" answered Grasshopper, mocking him. "A pretty 
sort of pet you are. Does Man-a-bo-zho keep you sitting 
there because you are so handsome? Or is it your beautiful 

3» i 


With that, he made a leap to the ridge-pole, seized the raven 
by the neck, and whirled it round and round till it was quite 
limp and lifeless. Then he left it hanging there, as an insult 
to Man-a-bo-zho. 

He was now in high good humor, and went his way through 
the forest, whistling and singing, and turning hand-springs to 
amuse the squirrels. There was a high rock, overlooking the 
lake, from the top of which one could view the country for 
miles and miles. Grasshopper climbed it. He could see the 
village plainly, so he thought he would wait there till 
Man-a-bo-zho came home. That would be part of the joke. 

As he sat there, many birds darted around him, flying close 
over his head. Man-a-bo-zho called these fowls of the air 
his chickens, and he had put them under his protection. But 
Grasshopper had grown reckless. Along came a flock of moun- 
tain chickens, and he strung his bow, and shot them as they 
flew, for no better reason than because they were Man-a-bo-zho's, 
and not because he needed them for food. Bird after bird 
fell, pierced by his arrows; when they had fallen, he would 
throw their bodies down the cliff, upon the beach below. 

Icl Ulr ^iTnencanllniianlFainrjEle^TiF "af 

At last Kay-oshk, the sea-gull, spied him at this cruel 
sport, and gave the alarm. "Grasshopper is killing us," 
he called. "Fly, brothers! Fly away, and tell our protector 
that Grasshopper is slaying us with his arrows." 

When Man-a-bo-zho heard the news, his eyes flashed fire, 
and he spoke in a voice of thunder: 

"Grasshopper must die for this! He cannot escape me. 
Though he fly to the ends of the earth, I shall follow, and visit 
my vengeance upon him." 

On his feet he bound his magic moccasins with which, at 
each stride, he could step a full mile. On his hands he drew 
his magic mittens with which, at one blow, he could shatter 
the hardest rock. Then he started in pursuit. 

Grasshopper had heard the warning call of the sea-gull, 
and knew it was time to be off. He, too, could run. So 
fleet of foot was he that he could shoot an arrow ahead of him, 
and reach the spot where it fell before it dropped to earth. 
Also, he had the power to change himself into other shapes, 
and it was almost impossible to kill him. If, for example, 
he entered the body of a beaver, and the beaver was slain, no 
sooner had its flesh grown cold than the Jee-bi, or spirit, of 
Grasshopper would leave the dead body, and Grasshopper 
would become a man again, ready for some new adventure. 

But at first he trusted to his legs and to his cunning. On 
rushed Man-a-bo-zho, breathing vengeance; swiftly, like a 
moving shadow, fled Grasshopper. Through the forest and 
across the hills he fled, faster than the hare. His pursuer was 
hot on the trail. Once he came upon the forest bed where the 
grass was still warm and bent; but the Grasshopper, who 
had rested there, was far away. Once Man-a-bo-zho, 
high on a mountain, spied him in the meadow below. Grass- 
hopper had shown himself on purpose, and mocked the great 
Manito, and defied him. The truth is, Grasshopper was just 
a bit conceited. 

f£ t*F ^America*!. ImdianlELirylCleg HF <n$ 

At last he grew tired of running. Not that his legs ached 
him or his feet were sore. But this kind of life was not much 
to his liking, and he kept his eye open for something new. 
Pretty soon he came to a stream where the water was backed 
up by some kind of a dam, so that it flooded the banks. 
Grasshopper had run about a thousand miles that day — count- 
ing all the turns and twists. He was hot and dusty, and the 
pond, with its water-lilies and rushes, looked cool and refresh- 
ing. From far, far away came a faint sound; it was the voice 
of Man-a-bo-zho, shouting his war-cry. 

"Tiresome fellow!" said Grasshopper. "I could almost 
wish I were a beaver, and lived down there at the bottom of 
the pond, where no one would disturb me." 

Then up popped the head of a beaver, who looked at him 

"Don't be alarmed. I left my bow and arrows over there 
in the grass," explained Grasshopper. "Besides, I was just 
thinking I would like to be a beaver myself. What do you 
say to that?" 

"I shall have to consult Ahmeek, our chief," answered the 
friendly animal. 

Down he dived to the bottom, and pretty soon Ahmeek's 
head appeared above the water, followed by the heads of 
twenty others. 

"Let me be one of you," said Grasshopper. "You have a 
pleasant home down there in the clear, cool water, and I am 
tired of the life I lead." 

Ahmeek was pleased that such a strong, handsome young 
Indian should wish to join their company. 

"But I can help you," he answered, "only after you have 
plunged into the pond. Do you think you can change your- 
self into one of us?" 

"That is easy," said Grasshopper. 

He waded into the water up to his waist; and behold! he 

fa l^^Mnencanlm<^anl^ryjEle5^lr 'A? 

had a broad flat tail. Deeper and deeper he went; as the 
water closed above his head he became a beaver, with glossy, 
black fur, and feet webbed like a duck's. Down he sank with 
the others to the bottom, which was covered with heaps of 
logs and branches. 

"That," explained Ahmeek, "is the food we have stored 
for the winter. We eat the bark, and you will soon be as fat 
as any of us." 

"But I want to be even fatter," said Grasshopper. "Fatter 
and ten times as big." 

"As you please," agreed Ahmeek. "We can help to make 
you just as big as you wish." 

They reached the lodge where the beavers lived, and en- 
tered the doorway, leading into a number of large rooms. 
Grasshopper selected the largest one for himself. 

"Now," he said, "bring me all the food I can eat, and when 
I am big enough I will be your chief." 

The beavers were willing. They set to work getting 
quantities of the juiciest bark for Grasshopper, who was de- 
lighted with this lazy life, and did little more than eat or sleep. 
Bigger and bigger he grew, till at last he was ten times the 
size of Ahmeek, and could barely manage to move around. in 
his lodge. He was perfectly happy. 

But one day the beaver who kept watch up above, among 
the rushes of the pond, came swimming to the lodge in a state 
of great excitement. 

"The hunters are after us," he panted. "It is indeed 
Man-a-bo-zho himself, with his hunters. They are breaking 
down our dam!" 

Even as he spoke, the water in the pond sank lower and 
lower; the next moment came the tramping of feet, as the 
hunters leapt upon the roof of the lodge, trying to break it open. 

All the beavers but Grasshopper scampered out of the 
lodge, and escaped into the stream, where they hid themselves 


in some deep pools, or swam far down with the current. 
Grasshopper did his best to follow them, but could not. The 
doorway was too small for his big, fat body; when he attempted 
to go through it, he found himself stuck fast. 

Then the roof gave way, and the head of an Indian 

"Ty-au!" he called. "Tut-ty-au! See what's here! 
This must be Me-shau-mik, the King of the beavers." 

Man-a-bo-zho came, and gave one look. 

"It's Grasshopper!" he cried. "I can see through his 
tricks. It's Grasshopper in the skin of a beaver." 

Then they fell upon him with their clubs; and eight tall 
Indians, having swung his limp carcass upon poles, carried it 
off in triumph through the woods. 

But his Jee-bi, or spirit, was still in the body of the beaver, 
and struggled to escape. The Indians bore him to their lodges 
and prepared to make a feast. Then, when the squaws were 
ready to skin him, his flesh was quite cold, and the spirit 
of Grasshopper left the beaver's body, and glided swiftly 
away. As the shadowy shape fled across the prairie, into the 
forest, the watchful Man-a-bo-zho saw it take the human form 
of Grasshopper, and he started in pursuit. 

Grasshopper's life among the beavers had made him lazier 
than ever, and as he ran he looked around for some easier way 
than running. Soon he came upon a herd of elk, a species of 
deer with large, spreading horns. The elk were feeding 
contentedly, and looked sleek and fat. 

"They lead a free and happy life," said Grasshopper as he 
watched them. "Why fatigue myself with running? I'll 
change myself into an elk, and join their band." 

Horns sprouted from his head; in a few minutes the trans- 
formation was complete. Still he was not satisfied. 

"I am hardly big enough," he said to the leader. "My 
feet are much too small, and my horns should be twice the 

size of yours. Is there nothing I can do to make them grow?" 

"Yes," answered the leader of the elks. "But you do it 
at your own risk." 

He took Grasshopper into the woods, and showed him a 
bright red berry that hung in clusters on some small, low 

"Eat these," he said, "and nothing else, and your horns 
and feet will soon be much bigger than ours. However, it 
would be wise if you did not eat too many of them." 

The berries were delicious. Grasshopper felt that he could 
not get enough, and he ate them greedily whenever he could 
find them. Before long his feet had grown so large and heavy 
he could hardly keep up with the herd, while his horns had such 
a huge spread that he sometimes found them rather in his way. 

One cold day the herd went into the woods for shelter; 
pretty soon some of the elks who had lingered behind came 
rushing by with snorts of alarm. Hunters were pursuing 

"Run!" called out the leader to Grasshopper. "Follow 
us out on the prairie, where the Indians cannot catch us." 

Grasshopper tried to follow them; but his big feet weighted 
him down, and he ran slowly. Then, as he plunged madly 
through a thicket, his spreading horns were entangled in some 
low branches that held him fast. Already several arrows had 
whizzed by him; another pierced his heart, and he sank to the 

Along came the hunters, with a whoop. "Ty-au!" they 
exclaimed when they saw the enormous elk. "It is he who 
made the large tracks on the prairie. Ty-au!" 

As they were skinning him, Man-a-bo-zho joined the party; 
and at that moment the Jee-bi, or spirit, of Grasshopper escaped 
through the mouth of the dead elk, and passed swiftly to 
the open plains, like a puff of white smoke driven before the 
wind. Then, as Man-a-bo-zho watched it melt away, he 

ifc Tl^^mTiciencaiilmdianlEai^lELLeg ISF ^af 

saw once more the mortal shape of Grasshopper; and once more 
he followed after, breathing vengeance. 

As Grasshopper ran on, a new thought came into his head. 
Above him in the clear blue sky the birds wheeled and soared. 
"There is the place for me," he said, "far up in the sky. Let 
me have wings, and I can laugh at Man-a-bo-zho." 

Ahead of him was a lake; approaching it, he saw a flock of 
wild geese known as brant, feeding among the rushes. "Ha," 
said Grasshopper, admiring them as they sailed smoothly 
here and there. "They will soon be winging their way to the 
North. I would like to fly in their company." 

He spoke to them, calling them Pish-ne-kuh, his brothers, 
and they consented to receive him as one of the flock. So he 
floated on his back till feathers sprouted on him, and he be- 
came a brant, with a broad black beak, and a tail that would 
guide him through the air as a rudder steers a ship. 

Greedy as ever, he fed long after the others had had enough, 
so that he soon grew into the biggest brant ever seen. His 
beak looked like the paddles of a canoe; when he spread his 
wings they were as large as two large au-puk-wa, or mats. 
The wild geese gazed at him in astonishment. "You must 
fly in the lead," they said. 

"No," answered Grasshopper. "I would rather fly behind." 

"As you please," they told him. "But you will have to be 
careful. By all means keep your head and neck straight out 
before you, and do not look down as you fly, or you may meet 
with an accident." 

It was a beautiful sight to see them flap their wings, stretch 
their long necks, and rise with a "whir" from the lake, mounting 
the wind, and rushing on before it. They flew with a breeze 
from the south, faster and faster, till their speed was like the 
flight of an arrow. 

One day, passing over a village, they could hear the people 
shouting. The Indians were amazed at the size of the big 

U liF J^mencaitlmclianlfi airylELe^ 1SF ^af 

brant, flying in the rear of the flock; yelling as loud as they 
could yell, their cries made Grasshopper curious. One voice 
especially seemed familiar to him, and he could not resist 
the temptation to draw in his neck and stretch it down to- 
ward the earth. As he did so, the strong wind caught his tail, 
and turned him over and over. In vain he tried to recover 
his balance; the wind whirled him round and round, as it whirls 
a leaf. The earth came nearer, the shouts of the Indians grew 
louder in his ears; at last he fell with a thud, and lay lifeless. 

It was a fine feast of wild goose that had dropped so sud- 
denly from the skies. The hungry Indians pounced upon him, 
and began to pluck his feathers. This was the very village 
where Grasshopper had once lived; little had he dreamed that 
he would ever return to supply it with such a dinner, a dinner 
at which he himself was to be the best dish. 

But again his Jee-bi, or spirit, went forth, and fled in the 
form of Grasshopper; again Man-a-bo-zho, shouting his war- 
cry, followed after. 

Grasshopper had now come to the desert places, where 
there were few trees, and no signs of animal life. Man-a- 
bo-zho was gaining on him; he must play some new trick. 
Coming at last to a tall pine-tree growing in the rock, he climb- 
ed it, pulled off all the green needles, and scattered them about, 
leaving the branches quite bare. Then he took to his heels 
again. When Man-a-bo-zho came, the pine spoke to him, 

"See what Grasshopper has done. Without my foliage 
I am sure to die. Great Manito, I pray you give me back 
my green dress." 

Man-a-bo-zho, who loves and protects all trees, had pity 
on the pine. He collected the scattered needles, and restored 
them to the branches. Then he hastened on with such speed 
that he overtook Grasshopper, and put his hand out to clutch 
him. But Grasshopper stepped quickly aside, and spun 

m Ir =J^TnencanlmcKanlF airjrEle^ 18F "K 

round and round on one leg in his whirlwind dance, till the air 
all about was filled with leaves and sand. In the midst of 
this whirlwind he sprang into a hollow tree, and changed 
himself into a snake. Then he crept out through the roots, 
and not a moment too soon; for Man-a-bo-zho smote the tree 
with one of his magic mittens, and crumbled it to powder. 

Grasshopper changed himself back into his human form, 
and ran for dear life. The only thing left for him to do was 
to hide. But where? In his headlong flight he had come 
again to the shores of the Great Lake; and he saw rising before 
him the high cliff of the Picture Rocks. If he could but manage 
to reach these rocks, the Manito of the Mountain, who lived 
in one of the gloomy caverns, might let him in. Sure enough ! 
As he reached the cliff, calling out for help, the Manito opened 
the door, and told him to enter. 

Hardly had the big door closed with a bang, than along 
came Man-a-bo-zho. With his mitten he gave a tap on the 
rock that made the splinters fly. 

"Open!" he cried, in a terrible voice. , 

But the Manito was brave and hospitable. 

"I have sheltered you," he said to Grasshopper, "and I 
would rather die myself than give you up." 

Man-a-bo-zho waited, but no answer came. 

"As you will," he said at last. "If the door is not opened 
to me by night, I shall call upon the Thunder and the Light- 
ning to do my bidding." 

The hours passed; darkness fell. Then from a black cloud 
that had gathered over the Great Lake, Way-wass-i-mo, the 
red-eyed Lightning, shot his bolts of fire. Crash — boom — 
crash! An-ne-mee-kee, the Thunder, shouted hoarsely from 
the heavens. A wild wind arose; the trees of the forest swayed 
and groaned, and the foxes hid in their holes. 

Way-wass-i-mo, the Lightning, leapt from the black cloud, 
and darted at the cliff. The rock trembled; the door was 





shivered, and fell apart. Out from his gloomy cavern came the 
Manito of the Mountain, asking Man-a-bo-zho for mercy. 
It was granted, and the Manito fled to the hills. 

Grasshopper then appeared; the next moment he was 
buried under a mass of rock shaken loose by An-ne-mee-kee, 
the Thunder. This time he had been killed in his human form, 
he could play his mad pranks no more. 

But Man-a-bo-zho, the merciful, remembered that Grass- 
hopper was not wholly bad. 

"Your Jee-bi" he said, "must no longer remain upon the 
earth in any form whatever. As a man you lived an idle, 
foolish life, and you are no longer wanted here. Instead, I 
shall permit you to inhabit the skies." 

Saying this, he took the ghost of Grasshopper, and clothed 
it with the shape of the war-eagle, bidding him to be chief 
of all the fowls. 

But Grasshopper, the mischievous, is not forgotten by the 
people. In the late winter days, snow fine as powder fills 
the air like a vapor. It keeps the hunter from his traps, the 
fisherman from his hole in the ice. Suddenly a puff of wind 
seizes this light, powdery snow, blows it round and round, 
and sets it whirling along; and when this happens, the Indians 
laugh and say: 

"Look! There goes Grasshopper. See how well he 

jMishrO-sKa , tbeMa^icia^lJ 

N the heart of the great green forest once 
lived a hunter whose lodge was many miles 
distant from the wigwams of his tribe. His 
wife had long since died, and he dwelt there 
all alone with his two young sons, who grew 
up as best they could without a mother's care. 

When the father was away on a hunting trip, the boys had 
no companions but the birds and beasts of the forest, and with 
some of the smaller animals they became fast friends. 
Ad-ji-dau-mo, the squirrel, scampering from tree to tree, would 
let his nut-shells fall plump on the roof of the lodge. That 
was his way of knocking at the door, coming to pay a morning 
call. He was a great talker, without much to say — as is 
often so with those whose voices are seldom still. But he 
was bright and merry, chattering away cheerfully about 
nothing in particular; and it made no difference whether you 
listened to him or not. 

Wa-bo-se, the little white hare, was another friend. One 
winter's day, when forest food was scarce, O-ne-o-ta, the lynx, 
was just about to pounce upon him, when the boys' father 
let fly an arrow — and O-ne-o-ta was no longer interested in 
little white hares. 

Wa-bo-se was grateful for this, and sometimes in his shy 
way he tried to show it. 

The father and the boys lived mostly on big game, like 
bear and venison. This meat would be cut in strips, and cured; 
sometimes it had to last them many a long day, when game 
was scarce, or the woods so dry for want of rain that the twigs 
would snap under the hunter's feet, and warn the animals 

kTiaencaiillriclianirairsrIELeg 1SF ^W 

he was coming. So the boys were used to being left alone for 
weeks at a time, when their father was absent. 

Then came a season of famine. No berries grew on the 
bushes, grass withered on the stalk, few acorns hung on the 
oaks. Some of the brooks went dry. Thus it happened 
that the hunter had gone far in search of game. 

Many months passed. When Seegwun, the elder boy, 
saw that but little meat remained, he said to his younger 
brother Ioscoda: 

"Let us take what meat is left, and strike out through the 
forest, toward the North. I remember our father saying that 
many moons distant lies a great lake called Gitche Gumee, 
whose waters are alive with fish." 

"But can we find our way?" asked Ioscoda, doubtfully. 
"Never fear!" called out a voice from overhead. 
It was Ad-ji-dau-mo, the squirrel, frisky as ever, though 
a little lean for lack of nuts. 

"I'll go along with you," he continued, "and so will 
Wa-bo-se, the white hare. He can hop ahead and find the 
trail, and I can jump from tree to tree, and keep a look-out. 
Between us, we are bound to go right." 

It proved to be a good idea, and Wa-bo-se took the lead. 
Where the trail was overgrown with grass, he would nose his 
way along the ground, without once going wrong; where the 
track was plain, he would run ahead, then stop and sit up on his 
haunches, to wait for the boys, his long ears pricked up and 
moving, to detect the slightest danger. 

But nothing happened to alarm them. The lynx, the wild- 
cat and the wolf had all fled before the famine, and the silent 
forest was empty of savage beasts. On and on they went, 
till it seemed as if the woods would never end. Then, one 
day, Ad-ji-dau-mo climbed a tall pine, from whose topmost 
bough he could see far over the forest. The sun was shining 
bright; as he cocked his eye and looked toward the north, 


something that seemed to meet the sky sparkled like silver. 
It was Gitche Gumee, the Great Lake. 

They had reached a place where nuts were plentiful, and 
many green things grew that would fatten the white hare. 
So Wa-bo-se and the squirrel bade good-bye to the boys, who 
could now make their way with ease. Soon they came to 
the edge of the woods. They heard a piping cry. It was 
Twee-tweesh-ke-way, the plover, flying along the beach; in 
another moment the great glittering waters lay before them. 

Seegwun with his sharp hunting knife cut a limb from an 
ash-tree, and made a bow; from an oak bough he whittled some 
arrows, which he tipped with flint. He found feathers fallen 
from a gull's wing for the shaft; a strip cut from his deer-skin 
shirt supplied the bow-string. Then giving the bow and arrow 
to Ioscoda, to practice with, he gathered some seed pods from 
the wild rose, to stay their hunger. 

An arrow, badly aimed by his brother, fell into the lake, 
and Seegwun waded in, to recover it. He had walked into 
the water till it reached his waist, and put out his hand to 
grasp the arrow, when suddenly, as if by magic, a canoe came 
skimming along like a bird. In the canoe was an ugly old man, 
who reached out, seized the astonished boy, and pulled him 
on board. 

"If I must go with you, take my brother, too!" begged 
Seegwun. "If he is left here, all alone, he will starve." 

But Mish-o-sha, the Magician, only laughed. Then strik- 
ing the side of the canoe with his hand, and uttering the 
magic words, Chemaun Poll, it shot across the lake like a thing 
alive, so that the beach was quickly lost to sight. Soon it 
came to rest on a sandy shore, and Mish-o-sha, leaping out, 
beckoned him to follow. 

They had landed on an island. Before them, in a grove 
of cedars, were two wigwams, or lodges; from the smaller one 
two lovely young girls came out, and stood looking at them. 

Hit Ir^^TnencanlladianlfiaryjIaLe^ 1SF ^Jlf 

To Seegwun, who had never before seen a girl, these maidens 
looked like spirits from the skies. He gazed at them in wonder, 
half expecting they would vanish. For their part they looked 
at him without smiling; in their dark eyes were only sym- 
pathy and sadness. 

"My daughters!" said the old man to Seegwun, with a 
chuckle that displayed his long, yellow teeth. Then turning 
to the girls: 

"Are you not glad to see me safely back?" he asked, "and 
are you not pleased with my handsome young friend here?" 

They bent their heads politely, but said nothing. 

"It's a long time since you were favored with such a 
visitor," he went on, in a loud whisper to the elder girl. "He 
would make you a fine husband." 

The maiden murmured something under her breath, and 
Mish-o-sha gave her a wicked look. 

"We shall see, we shall see!" he muttered to himself, 
laughing like a magpie, and rubbing his long, bony hands 

Seegwun, much troubled in mind, and hardly knowing 
what to make of it all, resolved to keep his eyes open. Luckily 
Mish-o-sha was sometimes careless. He walked on ahead, 
and entered his lodge, leaving the others together; whereupon 
the elder girl, approaching Seegwun, spoke to him quickly: 

"We are not his daughters," she said. "He brought us 
here as he brought you. He hates the human race. Every 
moon he seizes a young man, and pretends he has borne him 
here as a husband for me. But soon he takes him off in his 
canoe, and the young man never comes back. We feel sure 
Mish-o-sha has made away with them all." 

"What must I do?" asked Seegwun. "I care less for my- 
self than for my little brother. He was left behind on a wild 
beach, and may die of hunger." 

"Ah!" said the maiden. "You are really good and unself- 

}fc UF Jtkmencanllnclianll airyllaLeg 1*F OS 

ish; so, no matter what comes of it, we must aid you. Ko- 
ko-ko-ho, the great owl, keeps watch all night on the bare 
limb of that big cedar. Wait till Mish-o-sha falls asleep, 
then wrap yourself from head to foot in his blanket, and steal 
softly to the door of our lodge. Whisper myname,Nin-i-mo-sha, 
and I shall come out and tell you what to do." 

"Nin-i-mo-sha," murmured the youth. "What a beautiful 
name!" Then, before he could thank her, the girls were gone. 

Mish-o-sha now appeared, and made a sign to Seegwun to 
join him. The old man seemed to be in a good humor, and 
passed the time telling stories; but Seegwun was not deceived 
by this pretense of friendship. When the Magician was sound 
asleep, he rose, wrapped Mish-o-sha's blanket around him, 
and walked carefully to the door of the little lodge. 

"Nin-i-mo-sha!" he whispered, and his heart beat fast; 
for Nin-i-mo-sha in the Indian tongue is "My Sweetheart." 

"Seegwun!" she answered; and his name, meaning"Spring," 
came like music from her lips. 

She drew aside the curtain, and came out. 

"Here," she said, "is food that will last your brother for 
several days. Get into Mish-o-sha's canoe, pronounce the 
magic charm, and it will take you where you wish. You can 
be back before daybreak." 

"But the owl?" asked Seegwun. "Will he not cry out?" 

"Walk with a stoop, the way Mish-o-sha walks," she 
explained. "Ko-ko-ko-ho, when he sees you, will cry 'Hoot, 
hoot!' You must answer, 'Hoot, hoot, whoo! Mish-o-sha. ' 
Then he will let you pass." 

Seegwun did as he was told, and was soon skimming across 
the lake. Having landed on the beach, he began to bark like 
a squirrel; and at this friendly signal his brother ran up and 
flung his arms around him. Seegwun made a shelter for the 
boy, and told him he would come again. Then he returned 
in the canoe, and was soon fast asleep in the Magician's lodge. 


ulian IFairylELeg *W w 

Mish-o-sha, who trusted in his owl, suspected nothing. 
How should he know what lovers can do when they put their 
heads together? 

"You have slept well, my son," said he. "And now we 
have a pleasant journey before us. We are going to an island 
where thousands of gulls lay their eggs in the sand, and we 
shall get all we can carry away." 

Remembering what Nin-i-mo-sha had said, Seegwun shiv- 
ered. But she kissed her hand, and waved him a good-bye; 
and this put heart in him. 

As the canoe sped away, he made sure that his hunting knife 
slipped easily in its sheath, and he did not take his eyes off 
Mish-o-sha for a moment. 

When they reached the island the gulls rose in great 
numbers, and flew screaming above their heads. 

"You gather the eggs," said the Magician, "while I keep 
watch in the canoe." 

Seegwun hastened ashore, glad to quit the old man's com- 
pany. Then the Magician cried out to the gulls: 

"Ho, my feathered friends! Here is the human offering 
I promised you when you agreed to call me master. Fly 
down, my pretty ones! Fly down, and devour him!" 

Striking the side of his canoe, he abandoned the youth to 
the mercy of the birds. 

With harsh cries, the gulls swept down on Seegwun. 
Never had he heard such a clamor. Ten thousand wings 
beat the air, and stirred it like a storm. Whirling and darting 
they came upon him in a cloud. But Seegwun did not flinch. 
Shouting the Saw-saw-quan, or war-cry, he seized the first 
bird that attacked him. Then grasping it by the neck, he 
held it high above his head in his left hand, and with his 
right hand drew his knife, which glittered in the sun. 

"Hold!" he cried. "Hold, you poor fools! Beware the 
vengeance of the Great Spirit." 


The gulls paused in their attack, but still circled around 
him, with sharp beaks extended. 

"Hear me, O Gulls!" he continued. "The Great Spirit 
gave you life that you might serve mankind. Slay me, and 
you slay one made to rule over all the beasts and birds. I tell 
you, beware!" 

"But Mish-o-sha is all powerful." screamed the gulls. 
"He has bidden us destroy you." 

"Mish-o-sha is no Manito," answered Seegwun. "He is 
only a wicked magician who would use you for his own evil 
ends. Bear me on your wings back to his island; for it is he 
who must be destroyed." 

Then the gulls, persuaded that Mish-o-sha had tricked 
them, drew close together, that the youth might lie upon their 
backs. Rising on the wind, they carried him across the 
waters, setting him down gently by the lodge before the 
Magician had arrived there. 

Nin-i-mo-sha rejoiced when she saw it was really Seegwun. 
"I was not mistaken in you," she told him. "It is plain that 
the Great Spirit protects you. But Mish-o-sha will try again, 
so be on your guard." 

The Magician now arrived in his magic canoe. When he 
saw Seegwun he tried to smile pleasantly. But having had 
little practice in thinking kind thoughts, he only grinned like 
a gargoyle, which, excepting perhaps the hyena, has the most 
painful possible smile. 

"Good, my son !" he managed to say. "You must not 
misunderstand me. I did it to test your courage; and now 
Nin-i-mo-sha is sure to love you. Ah, my children, you will 
make a happy pair!" 

Nin-i-mo-sha turned away to hide her disgust, but Seegwun 
pretended to believe the malicious old man was in earnest. 

"However," continued the Magician, "I owe you something 
for having seemed to play you such a trick. I see you wear 

lit mir ^^^ineri<^m.JmiianlftarylCLe§ l8F 'A? 

no ornaments. Come with me, then, to the Island of Glitter- 
ing Shells, and soon you will be attired as becomes a handsome 

The island where they landed was indeed a wonderful place, 
covered with colored shells that gleamed in the sun like jewels. 

"Look!" said Mish-o-sha, as they walked along the beach. 
"Out there a little way. See it shining on the bottom." 

Seegwun waded in. When the water reached his thighs, 
the Magician made a leap for the canoe, and shoved it far out 
into the lake. 

"Come, King of Fishes!" he called. "You have always 
served me well. Here is your reward." 

Then, striking his canoe, he quickly disappeared. 

Immediately an enormous fish, with jaws wide open, rose 
to the surface a few feet away. But Seegwun only smiled, 
saying as he drew his long blade: 

"Know, Monster, that I am Seegwun — named after him 
whose breath warms the ice-bound waters and clothes the hills 
with green. The cowardly Mish-o-sha, fearing the anger of 
the Great Spirit, seeks to make you do what he dares not do 
himself. Spill but one drop of my blood, and it will dye the 
waters of the lake, in which all your tribe will miserably perish.' 

"Mish-o-sha has deceived me," said the King of Fishes. 
"He promised me a tender maiden, and has brought instead 
a youth with the eyes of a warrior. How shall I aid you, 
my Master?" 

"Wretch!" exclaimed Seegwun. "Rejoice that he did not 
keep his frightful promise. You deserve to die at my hands, 
but I give you a chance to repent. Take me on your back to 
the island of Mish-o-sha, and I will spare your life." 

The King of Fishes hastened to take Seegwun astride his 
broad back, and swam so swiftly that he reached the island 
soon after Mish-o-sha. The Magician was explaining to Nin- 
i-mo-sha how the youth had fallen from the canoe into the 

minen(^m.Jmdian&iryllaLeg ^r <H> 

jaws of a big fish, when along came Seegwun himself, strolling 
up from the Lake as if he had returned from an everyday 
excursion. Even so, Mish-o-sha still sought to excuse himself. 

"My daughter," said he. "I was only trying to find out 
how much you cared for him." 

But all the while he was saying to himself that the next 
time he would not fail. And the next time was the very next 

"My owl is growing old, and cannot live much longer," 
he explained. "I should like to catch a young eagle, and 
tame him. Will you help me?" 

Seegwun consented, and went with him in the magic canoe 
to a rocky point of land reaching out into the lake. There, in 
the fork of a tall pine, was an eagle's nest, in which were some 
young eagles, who could not yet fly. 

"Quick!" said Mish-o-sha. "Climb the tree before the 
old birds return." 

Seegwun had almost reached the nest when the Magician 
spoke to the pine, commanding it to grow taller. At once it 
began to rise, until it was so high, and swayed so in the wind, 
that he felt it would take all his courage to get down again. 
At the same time the Magician uttered a peculiar cry, at which 
the father and mother eagles came swooping from the clouds 
to protect their young. 

"Ho, ho!" laughed Mish-o-sha. "This time I have made 
no mistake. Either you will fall and break your neck, or the 
eagles will scratch your eyes out." 

Striking his canoe, he vanished in the mist. 

The eagles now circled around Seegwun, who, resting on a 
branch, thus addressed them: 

"My brothers, behold the eagle's feather in my hair! It 
proves my admiration for your bravery and skill. Yet in me 
you see your master; for I am a man, and you are only birds. 
Obey me, then, and bear me to Mish-o-sha's island." 

See^wun had almost 
reached the nest~ 

3&W* M ' ILj* IE.' Tfi /W/R 

=fiv W = ^jmencanimdianlffairyJiaUg W A> 

This praise pleased the eagles, who respected the youth's 
cool courage. Mounting on the back of the enormous male 
bird, Seegwun was borne through the air, and set down safely 
on the enchanted island. 

Mish-o-sha now saw that neither bird nor beast would 
harm this handsome youth, who seemed to be protected by 
some powerful Manito. It must be done some other way. 

"One more test," he said to Seegwun, "and then you may 
take Nin-i-mo-sha for your wife. But first you must prove 
your skill as a hunter. Come!" 

They made a lodge in the forest; and Mish-o-sha, by his 
magic, caused a snow-storm, with a stinging gale from the 
north, like a flight of icy arrows. Seegwun, that night, before 
going to sleep, had hung his moccasins and leggings by the 
fire to dry; and Mish-o-sha, rising first, at daybreak, took one 
of each and threw them into the flames. Then he rubbed his 
hands, and laughed like a prairie wolf. 

"What is it?" asked Seegwun, sitting up. 

"Alas, my son!" said Mish-o-sha. "I was just too late. 
This is the season of the moon when fire attracts all things. 
It has drawn to it one of your moccasins and leggings, and 
destroyed them. Yeo, yeol I should have warned you." 

Seegwun held his tongue, though the thing was plain 
enough. Mish-o-sha meant that he should freeze to death. 
But Seegwun, praying silently to his Manito for aid, took from 
the fireplace a charred stick with which he blackened one leg 
and foot, murmuring at the same time a charm. Then put- 
ting on his remaining moccasin and legging, he was ready 
for the hunt. 

Their way led through snow and ice, into thickets of thorn, 
and over bogs half-frozen, where Seegwun sank to the knees. 
But his prayer had been heard; the charm worked, and the 
youth walked on, dry shod. With his first arrow he slew a 

3fr ^If =AinericaiilmclianllairylClieg <W ^fS 

"Now," he said, looking the Magician full in the eye. 
"I see you are suffering from the cold. Let us go back to your 

At Seegwun's bold look, Mish-o-sha bent his head, and 
mumbled some foolish answer. At last he had met his match: 
and he knew it. 

"Take up the bear on your shoulders!" commanded 

Again the Magician obeyed. For the first time they re- 
turned together to the island, where the two young girls 
looked on in amazement to see the proud Mish-o-sha stagger- 
ing under the weight of the bear, grunting with helpless rage. 

"His power is broken," agreed Nin-i-mo-sha, when Seegwun 
had told her all. "But we shall never sleep in safety until 
we are really rid of him. What is best to do?" 

They put their heads together; and when they had talked 
it over, Nin-i-mo-sha laughed merrily. 

"He deserves a greater punishment," she said. "The 
world will not be safe as long as he has life. Yet what we plan 
to do will revenge us, without shedding a single drop of blood." 

The next day Seegwun said to the Magician: 

"It is time that we rescued my brother, whom we left all 
alone on the beach. Come with me." 

Mish-o-sha made a wry face, but prepared to go. Landing 
on the beach, they soon spied the boy, who joyfully clambered 
into the canoe. Then Seegwun said to the old man: 

"Those red willows over on the bank would make good 
smoking mixture. Could you manage to climb up there and 
cut me some?" 

"To be sure, my son, to be sure," answered Mish-o-sha, 
walking rapidly toward the willows. "I am not so weak and 
good-for-nothing as you seem to think." 

Seegwun struck the canoe with his hand, pronouncing the 
magic words, Chemaun Poll; and away it went with the two 

M ' IF i* 1W • 3 TPt ^*E^%F 

mmencanllndianlfairyliaLeS W "Af 

brothers aboard, leaving the Magician high and dry, and 
gnashing his yellow teeth. 

The girls ran to meet them at the shore, Nin-i-mo-sha 
rejoicing that the old man had been left behind, while her 
sister could think of nothing but the attractive boy who looked 
so much like his big brother. 

"But Mish-o-sha can call the canoe back to him," said 
Nin-i-mo-sha, "until a way is found to break the charm. Some 
one must keep watch, with his hand upon it." 

Ioscoda begged permission to do his part; so they left him, 
with night coming on, sitting on the sand and holding fast 
to the canoe. 

It was a tiresome task for a little boy already weary with 
long waiting. To amuse himself he began to count the stars. 
First he counted those in the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, 
then the ones that look like a high-back chair, and the three 
big bright ones in the belt of Orion the Hunter. He did not 
know them by these names, which were given them long 
afterward; but he recognized the cluster called O-jeeg An-nung, 
the Fisher, who brought Summer from the sky because his 
boy was cold. 

Ioscoda also was cold, sitting there in the wet sand. But 
Indian boys do not complain. Yet seeing the Fisher stars, 
he thought of his own dear father, and wondered where he 
might be. Had Ioscoda been a white boy, instead of a red, 
we think the sand he sat on might have been a little wetter 
for his tears. As it was, he found himself looking at the sky 
through a kind of fog. What was it? He rubbed his eyes, 
lost his count, and began all over again. 

The worst of it was that Indians could reckon only with 
their fingers — unless you include their toes; and Ioscoda's 
toes were tucked away snugly in his moccasins, quite out of 
sight and question. How many fingers had he counted — 
and how — many — stars — ? 

}ft Hr ^:^^inen<^nllnclianlFaii^rlELeg ISF <Ju= 

The fog, or whatever it was, filled his eyes. Lap, lap! 
went the little waves, rocking the canoe like a cradle. Soo, 
soo! sighed the wind in the cedars. All else earthly nodded 
and was still; even the stars blinked and winked, as if weary 
of watching the world. 

And Ioscoda slept. 

Whoo, whoo! The cry of Ko-ko-ko-ho, the owl, shrilled 
evilly on the ears. It was only for a moment. The shadows 
lifted, a squirrel barked. Wa-bun, the East Wind, rising 
above the rim of the waters, let loose his silver arrows. It 
was day. 

Ioscoda sat up, only half aroused, and looked out over the 
lake. Was he still on the wild beach, waiting for his brother? 
Then he remembered, and gave a guilty start. The canoe was 

Gone, but come again ! There it appeared, gliding straight 
toward him; and in it sat Mish-o-sha. 

"Good-morning, child!" called the Magician, as the canoe 
grated on the sand. "Are you not glad to see your grand- 
father again?" 

Ioscoda clenched his small fists. He was very brave, and 
he was angry. 

"You are not my grandfather," he said, "and I am not 
glad to see you again." 

"Esa, esa! (Shame, shame!)" chuckled the old man. 
"But Seegwun will be glad to see me, and so will my dear 
daughters. I hope they have not been worried about me." 

He was much pleased with his cleverness in outwitting them 
all, and was now as impudent as before. But Seegwun bided 
his time. He thought of another plan. 

"Grandfather," said he, "it seems that we must continue 
to live here together. Let us therefore lay in a supply of 
meat for the winter. Come with me to the mainland. I am 
sure you must be a mighty hunter." 

¥fc ^JF^^mTnenc^m.lmclianlFair3?iELeg mF "af 

Mish-o-sha's vanity was his weakest point. 

"Eh, yah!" he answered, boastfully. "I can run all day 
with a dead deer on my back. I have done it." 

"Good!" said Seegwun. "The wind is going north again, 
and we shall need all our strength on the march." 

Now Seegwun had somehow learned the Magician's dear- 
est secret, which was this: Mish-o-sha's left leg and foot were 
the only parts of his body that could be harmed. No arrow 
could pierce his heart; a war-club brought down upon his head 
would be shivered into splinters. As well strike him with a 
straw. But his left leg and foot. Ah! It was not for 
rheumatism that his legging was so well laced. And why 
did he always sit down with his left foot tucked up under him ? 
Ha! Why, indeed? Seegwun had found the answer. 

They made a rude lodge in the forest, just as they had done 
before. And again it came bitter cold; only this time it was 
Seegwun that brought the storm. He could not help laughing. 
There was the blazing fire, and there on the couch was 
Mish-o-sha, sound asleep. 

Seegwun softly rose, took both the Magician's moccasins 
and leggings, and threw them into the flames. 

"Get up, grandfather," he called. "It's the season when 
fire attracts all things, and I fear you have lost something 
you may need." 

When Mish-o-sha saw what had happened he looked so 
frightened that Seegwun was almost sorry for him. But 
remembering Nin-i-mo-sha and his little brother, he could 
think of no other way. "We must be going," he said. 

They set out through the snow. My, how cold it was! 
Mish-o-sha began to run, thinking this would help; while 
Seegwun followed, fearing that if he led, the Magician might 
send an arrow through his back. After running for an hour, 
the Magician was quite out of breath, and his legs and feet 
were growing numb and stiff. 



an Iff airy j 

ilegTSIr vlf 

They had come to the edge of the forest, and reached the 
shore of the lake. Here Mish-o-sha stopped. When he tried 
to take another step, he could not lift his feet. How heavy 
they had grown! He tried again; but something strange had 
happened. His toes sank into the sand, and took the form of 
roots. The feathers in his hair, and then the hair itself, 
changed gradually into leaves. His outstretched arms were 
branches, swaying in the wind; bark appeared on his body. 

Seegwun looked and wondered. That which had been 
Mish-o-sha was no longer a man, but a tree, a sycamore hung 
with button-balls, leaning crookedly toward the lake. 

At last the wicked old Magician had met his master. No 
more would his evil spell be cast on the young and innocent 
Seegwun lingered a moment, to make sure that Mish-o-sha 
would not come to life. Then he took his way across the 
water, where the others, anxiously awaiting him, were told 
the good news. 

"Mish-o-sha is no more," said Seegwun. "He can never 
harm us again. Let us leave this place where we have suffered 
so much, and make our home on the mainland." 

So together they went forth, his sweetheart, her sister, and 
the boy, with Seegwun showing the way. The trail he took 
led them again to the great forest, and once more to the 
lodge from which he had set out. And there they lived happily 
for the rest of their days. 

^r ^r ^TKe Fair^llride -r w 

^L ^ ^L ^ 

il A 4 

jNCE there was a lovely young girl named Neen-i-zu, 
the only daughter of an Indian chief, who lived 
on the shore of Lake Superior; Neen-i-zu, in the 
Indian language, means "My Dear Life." It 
was plain that her parents loved her tenderly, and did every- 
thing in their power to make her happy and to shield her from 
any possible harm. 

There was but one thing that made them uneasy. Neen-i-zu 
was a favorite with the other young girls of the village, 
and joined them in their play. But she liked best of all to 
walk by herself in the forest, or to follow some dim trail that 
led to the heart of the little hills. Sometimes she would be 
absent for many hours; and when she returned, her eyes had 
the look of one who has dwelt in secret places, and seen things 
strange and mysterious. Nowadays, some persons would have 
called Neen-i-zu "romantic." Others, who can never see a 
thing that is not just beneath their noses, would have laughed a 
little, in a superior sort of way, and said she was a "dreamer." 

What was it that Neen-i-zu saw and heard, during these 
lonely walks in the secret places of the hills? Was it perhaps 
the fairies? She did not say. But her mother, who wished 
her to be more like other girls, and who would have liked to 
see her marry and settle down, was much disturbed in mind. 

The mischievous little fairies known as Puk-Wudjies were 
believed tc inhabit the sand dunes where Neen-i-zu so often 
went to walk. These were the sand-hills made by Grass- 
hopper, when he danced so madly at Man-a-bo-zho's wedding, 

\dian IE airyllaleg <wF 

kmencanlincuan iff airyj 

whirling the sand into great drifts and mounds that may be 
seen to this very day. The Puk-Wudjies loved these hills, 
which were seldom visited by the Indians. It was just the 
place for leap-frog and all-hands-'round; in the twilight of 
summer days they were said to gather here in little bands, 
playing all manner of pranks. Then, as night came, they 
would make haste to hide themselves in a grove of pine-trees 
known as the Mantto IVac, or the Wood of the Spirits. 

No one had ever come close to them; but fishermen, pad- 
dling their canoes on the lake, had caught glimpses of them from 
afar, and had heard the tiny voices of these merry little men, 
as they laughed and called to one another. When the fisher- 
men tried to follow, the Puk-Wudjies would vanish in the 
woods; but their foot-prints, no larger than a child's, could be 
seen on the damp sand of a little lake in the hills. 

If anything more were needed to convince those doubters 
who did not believe in fairies, the proof was quickly supplied 
by fishermen and hunters who were victims of their tricks. 
The Puk-Wudjies never really harmed anyone, but they were 
up to many kinds of mischief. Sometimes a hunter, picking 
up his cap in the morning, would find the feathers plucked 
out; sometimes a fisherman, missing his paddle, would dis- 
cover it at last in a tree. When such things happened it was 
perfectly plain that Puk-Wudjies had been up to their pranks, 
and few persons were still stupid enough to believe it could 
be anything else. 

Neen-i-zu had her own ideas concerning these little men; 
for she, like Morning Glory, had often listened to the tales 
that old Iagoo told. One of these stories was the story of a 
Happy Land, a far-off place where it was always Summer; 
where no one wept or suffered sorrow. 

It was for this land that she sighed. It filled her thoughts 
by day, when she sought the secret places of the hills, and sat 
in some lonely spot, listening to the mysterious voices that 

W 18F ^minericaiilinciianlB airyil^g liF '%> 

whispered in the breeze. Where was this Happy Land — this 
place without pain or care? 

Tired out at night, she would sink into her bed. Then 
from their hiding places would come stealing the small mes- 
sengers of Weenz, the Spirit of Sleep. These kindly gnomes — 
too small for the human eye to see — crept quickly up the face 
of the weary Neen-i-zu and tapped gently on her forehead 
with their tiny war-clubs, called pub-ga-mau-guns . Tap — 
tap — tap! — till her eyelids closed, and she sought the Happy 
Land in that other pleasant land of dreams. 

She, too, had seen the foot-prints of the Puk-Wudjies on 
the sandy beach of the little lake, and had heard their merry 
laughter ring out in the grove of pines. Was it their only 
dwelling place, she asked herself, or were they not messengers 
from the Happy Land, sent to show the way to that mortal 
who believed in it, and longed to enter. 

Neen-i-zu came to think that this must be really so. 
Oftener than ever, she made her way to the meadow bordering 
on the Spirit Wood, and sat there gazing into the grove. 
Perhaps the Puk-Wudjies would understand, and tell the 
fairies whom they served. Then some day a fairy would 
appear at the edge of the pines, and beckon her to come. 
That would surely happen, she thought, if she wished it long 
enough, and could give her wishes wings. So, sitting there, 
she composed the words of a song, and set it to the music the 
pines make when the south wind stirs their branches. Then 
she sang: 

Spirit of the laughing leaves, 

Fairy of the forest pine, 
Listen to the maid who grieves 

For that happy land of thine. 
From your haunt in summer glade 
Hasten to your mournful maid. 

Was it only her fancy, that she seemed to hear the closing 


Mischievous little Fairies 
known, as Puk-Wudjies* 

anencaiiimdianlfairyJialjeg ^r ^af 

words of her song echoed from the deep woods where the merry 
little men had vanished ? Or was it the Puk-Wudjies mocking 

She had lingered later than usual; it was time to go. The 
new moon swung low in the western sky, with its points turned 
upwards to the heavens. An Indian would say he could 
hang his powder horn upon it, and that it meant dry weather, 
when the leaves crackled under the hunter's feet, and the 
animals fled before him, so that he was unable to come near- 
enough to shoot. And Neen-i-zu was glad of this. In the 
Happy Land, she declared no one would suffer, and no life 
would be taken. 

Yet it was a hunter that her mother wished her to marry, 
a man who spent his whole life in slaying the red deer of the 
forest; who thought and talked of almost nothing else. 

This came into her mind as she rose from her seat in the 
meadow, and cast a farewell glance at the pines. The rays of 
the crescent moon touched them with a faint light; and again 
her fancy came into play. What was it that seemed to move 
along the edge of the mysterious woods? Something with 
the dim likeness of a youth — taller than the Puk-Wudjies — 
who glided rather than walked, and whose garments of light 
green stood out against the darker green of the pines. Neen- 
i-zu looked again; but the moon hid behind the hills. All was 
black to the eye; to the ear came no sound but the creepy cry 
of the whip-poor-will. She hastened home. 

That night she heard from her mother's lips what she had 
long expected and feared. "Neen-i-zu," said her mother. 
"I named you 'My dear Life,' and you are as dear as life to me. 
That is why I wish you to be safe and happy. That is why 
I wish you to marry a good man who will take the best care of 
you now, and will protect and comfort you when I am gone. 
You know the man I mean." 

"Yes, mother," answered Neen-i-zu. "I know him well 

ifr UF J^mencanllncli 


enough — as well as ever I want to know him. He hunts the 
deer, he kills the deer, he skins the deer. That is all he does, 
that is all he thinks, that is all he talks about. It is perhaps 
well that someone should do this, lest we starve for want of 
meat. Yet there are many other things in the world, and this 
hunter of yours is content if he does but kill." 

"Poor child!" said her mother. "You are too young to 
know what is best for you." 

"I am old enough, mother dear," answered Neen-i-zu, "to 
know what my heart tells me. Besides, this hunter you would 
have me marry is as tall as a young oak, while I am not much 
taller than one of the Puk-Wudjies. When I stand up very 
straight, my head comes little higher than his waist. A pretty 
pair we would make!" 

What she said was quite true. Neen-i-zu had never grown 
to be much larger than a child. She had a graceful, slender 
body, little hands and feet, eyes black as midnight, and a mouth 
like a meadow flower. One who saw her for the first time, 
passing upon the hills, her slight figure sketched against the 
sky, might have thought that she herself was a fairy. 

For all her gentle, quiet ways, and her love of lonely places, 
Neen-i-zu was often merry. But now she seldom laughed; 
her step was slow; and she walked with her eyes fixed upon the 
ground. "When she is married," thought her mother, "she 
will have other things to occupy her mind, and she will no 
longer go dreaming among the hills." 

But the hills were her one great joy — the hills, and the 
flowery meadows where the lark swayed to and fro, bidding 
her be of good cheer, as he perched on a mullein stalk. Every 
afternoon she sat, singing her little song. Soon she would 
sing no more. The setting sun would gild the pine grove, 
the whip-poor-will would complain to the stars; but the pic- 
ture would be incomplete; there would be no Neen-i-zu. For 
the wedding day was named; she must be the hunter's wife. 


On this day set for her marriage to the man she so disliked, 
Neen-i-zu put on the garments of a bride. Never had she 
looked so lovely. Blood-red blossoms flamed in her jet-black 
hair; in her hand she held a bunch of meadow flowers mingled 
with the tassels of the pine. 

Thus arrayed, she set out for a farewell visit to the grove. 
It was a thing they could not well deny her; but as she went 
her way, and the hills hid her from sight, the wedding guests 
looked uneasily at one another. It was something they could 
not explain. At that moment a cloud blew up from no- 
where, across the sun; where light had been there was now a 
shadow. Was it a sign? They glanced sidelong at the 
hunter, but the bridegroom was sharpening his sheath knife on 
a stone. Sunshine or shadow, his thoughts were following 
the deer. 

Time passed; but Neen-i-zu did not return. Then so late 
was the hour, that the wedding guests wondered and bestirred 
themselves. What could be keeping her so long? At last 
they searched the hills; she was not there. They tracked 
her to the meadow, where the prints of her little moccasins 
led on and on — into the grove itself; then the tracks dis- 
appeared. Neen-i-zu had vanished. 

They never saw her more. The next day a hunter brought 
them strange news. He had climbed a hill, on his way home 
by a short cut, and had paused there a moment to look around. 
Just then his dog ran up to him, whining, with its tail between 
its legs. It was a brave dog, he said, that would not run from 
a bear, but this one acted as if he had seen something that 
was not mortal. 

Then the hunter heard a voice, singing. Soon the singing 
stopped, and he made out — far off — the figure of Neen-i-zu, 
walking straight toward the grove, with her arms held out 
before her. He called to her, but she did not hear, and drew 
nearer and nearer to the Spirit wood. 

ifr TllF =^&TnencanlinclianlF airylEle^ <W "AV 

"She walked like one who dreams," said the hunter, "and 
when she had almost reached the woods, a young man, slender 
as a reed, came out to meet her. He was not one of our tribe. 
No, no! I have never seen his like. He was dressed in the 
leaves of the forest, and green plumes nodded on his head. 
He took her by the hand. They entered the Sacred Grove. 
There is no doubt that he was a fairy — the fairy Evergreen. 
There is nothing more; I have finished." 

So Neen-i-zu became a bride, after all. 

JOHN RAE Children Books 

The "Nature Children" Books, like the "Happy Children" 
Books, illustrate the Yolland ideal in every detail. You will 
find beauty of thought, color loveliness, harmony, happiness 
and wholesomeness in this helpful series for small children. 

The J'olland "Nature Children' Books are: 


By Elizabeth Gordon, illustrated by John Rae 


By Elizabeth Gordon, illustrated by John Rae 


By Elizabeth Gordon, illustrated by Janet Laura Scott 


By Olive Beaupre Miller, illustrated by Maginel Wright Enright 


By Elizabeth Gordon, illustrated by Janet Laura Scott 


By Elizabeth Gordon, illustrated by M. T. Ross 


By Elizabeth Gordon, illustrated by M. T. Ross 


By Edith Brown Kirkwood, illustrated by M. T. Ross 

By Elizabeth Gordon, 
illustrated bv M. T. Ross \ ... 

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of these Yolland books, you can 
get them by writing us. 


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IHIappy Ckildrerc 



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ing for young children which holds stories to be instructive must 
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Recent Volland Happy Children Books 

R AGGEDY ANN AND ANDYandthe Camel with theWrixkled Knees 
Written and illustrated by Johnny Gruelle. 


By Alice Cooper Bailey 
Illustrated by Herman Rosse 


By Ruth Plumly Thompson 
Illustrated by Janet Laura Scott 


Written and illustrated by Johnny Gruelle 


Written and illustrated by Johnny Gruelle 


Written and illustrated by Johnny Gruelle 


By Nina Wilcox Putnam and Norman Jacobsen 
Illustrated by Arthur Henderson 


Written and illustrated by Johnny Gruelle 


By Fairmont Snyder 
Illustrated by Johnny Gruelle 

Volland books are for sale at all the better book, gift and art shops. 


Publishers of Books Good for Children 
New York CHICAGO Toronto 





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This ia a Volland "Fairq Children" Bodk