Two Indian Children of Long Ago

"Oh, yes; when the rice is not quite ripe it is just right for parching. As soon as my rows are all tied, you shall help me gather the greenish kernels."

Good Bird worked until she had used all her string. The long rows of heads, neatly tied, looked very fine.

New plants were found, and the stalks beaten with a stick. The rice fell into the canoe, and White Cloud found it was good to eat even without cooking. By sunset the bottom of the canoe was covered with grain, and they started home across the quiet lake.

"May we have maple sugar with our rice to-night, Mother?"

"There is very little left, my daughter. I think we would better save it for winter."

"When are we going to the sugar trees to make more?"

"After the winter is nearly over and the first crow comes to tell us that the sap is flowing. Then we will move to our sugar lodge and stay for a whole moon."

"May I take care of a kettle and boil sugar next time we go to the lodge?" asked White Cloud, "By that time I can count eight winters."

"You may if you will cut birch bark and make your own sap dishes. You will need a great many."

"Why can't we eat the sugar we have, Mother? What is the use of saving it?"

"There may be little food on the cold, snowy days that are coming. We shall need the sugar more then than we do now. Have you forgotten the story of the ant and the katydid?"

"Tell it again. Tell it now before we get home, Mother."

"I think there is time, as it is a short story," said Good Bird. And White Cloud listened to the tale of the lazy katydid and the hard-working ant while the canoe moved slowly across the quiet lake.

THE ANT AND THE KATYDID

The oldest ant was building an underground home. Through the long summer days she worked, carrying out a grain of sand at a time. Then she filled her storehouse with food for the winter.

Her work was finished just as the frost came to mow down the growing plants. All summer the katydid called from the trees, and the locust danced and buzzed in the sunshine.

When winter came, the oldest ant was warm and comfortable and she had enough food for her daily needs.

But the locust and the katydid were cold and hungry. "Why should we freeze?" chirped the katydid. "The ant has a warm house." "And why should we be hungry?" said the locust. "The ant has plenty of food." So together they went to the home of the oldest ant.

"Let us in, let us in, kind ant," they cried. "We are cold and hungry."

"What did you do through the warm weather?" asked the oldest ant.

"We played in the sunshine. We chirped and buzzed and sang."

"Did you build no lodge? Could you not store food for the time of frost and storm?"

"We had no need to work when the summer was here with its warmth and beauty. We danced away the happy hours."

"Go dance away the winter, then," said the oldest ant. "I worked hard through all the long summer days, and I had no time to dance or sing."

The locust and the katydid turned away shivering. "It is not fair," they said, "that the ant has plenty and we have nothing. She should be forced to let us in."

HOW WILD RICE WAS DISCOVERED

When Good Bird and White Cloud reached home, they found great rejoicing. Swift Elk had shot his first deer, and the meat was already roasting by an outdoor fire.

The hunters had found game in abundance that day, and many feasts were already called in the village.

Swift Elk had chosen to invite only his grandparents, and they were already listening to his story of the hunt.

White Cloud made haste to parch the rice, and soon a very hungry family was enjoying the fresh and abundant food.

After the supper the children asked their grandfather to tell them stories about wild rice.

The old man remembered more than one fierce battle for the possession of the rice fields. Many years had passed since the peace pipe was last smoked, and the children had lived without being in constant fear of war.

"My grandchildren," he said, "I will tell you how rice came to be used in the earliest times. There are many stories about Manabush, and you have heard how he wrestled with Mondamin and obtained the gift of corn.

"In his early youth Manabush lived with his grandmother, who taught him his duty to his people.

"One day she said to him: 'My grandson, you are old enough to prove yourself a man. Before you can become a great warrior you must show that you are able to endure many hardships without complaint.

"'Set forth on a long journey alone and without food. Travel through unknown forests, enduring hunger and thirst. Sleep on the cold ground, and pray for a vision that shall be your guide through life.'

"Manabush took his bow and arrows and went out into the forest. He fasted many days until he became weak and faint from hunger.

"In his wanderings he drew near the shore of a lake. Great beds of wild rice filled half its waters, but Manabush did not know that the seeds were good to eat.

"As he walked along within reach of the growing plants, he heard a soft voice say, 'Sometimes they eat us.'

"'Who is speaking?' he asked. All the bushes that grew so thickly in the water seemed full of whispers. He looked about and saw birds of many kinds feeding on the tall grass-like plants.

"So he picked some of the grain and ate it. 'Oh, but you are good! What do they call you?' he asked.

"Again the rustling whispers in the tall grass seemed to say, 'Wild rice. They call us wild rice!'

"Manabush waded out into the water and beat the grain from the heads. So his fast was broken by the new food given in answer to his prayers in the forest.

"And since that time, my children, the wild rice feeds thousands of our people every year. It grows without planting in the lakes and rivers of our forest land.

"Another story tells us that Manabush returned one day from a long hunt without game. The fire in front of his lodge was still burning, and a duck was sitting on the kettle eating boiled rice.

"Manabush tasted the new food and found it good. He followed the bird to a lake not far away where wild rice had grown and ripened. Afterwards boiled rice became a common food among his tribe."

MOVING THE DOLLS' CAMP

White Cloud ran out of her wigwam home. Her work was done, and a happy time of play was before her.

She hurried through the tall grass toward a near-by lodge, calling: "Flying Squirrel, come and play with me."

The skin curtain hanging over the lodge door was raised and a little head appeared. But there was no squirrel to be seen, only an Indian girl with the blackest of hair and eyes.

Her playmates had given her the name of Flying Squirrel because she was always climbing trees and jumping from one branch to another.

"Bring your dolls," said White Cloud. "We'll build lodges for them. Come as soon as you can, for my baby is trying to get away."

"Your baby! What do you mean? Where did you find a baby?"

White Cloud was rejoicing in a family of young puppies—new playthings for her. She had bound one of them to a board, and had tied the board cradle to her back, as a squaw carries a papoose.

"Be still! Be still, bad baby!" she cried to her squirming pet. But the little dog would not be still. He howled louder and louder, and struggled so hard that he broke away from his cords and bands.

"Bad baby! Bad baby!" said White Cloud. "Next time I'll tie you tighter!"

Flying Squirrel brought out an armful of dolls, and the children went to the bushes to cut long straight sticks. They soon found enough poles for their dolls' wigwams. Each child set up her sticks in a circle, bringing them together at the top.

"Now we'll hunt birch bark," said Flying Squirrel. "My father has made me a new knife."

Soon the small lodges were covered with long strips of bark and the floors sprinkled with cedar twigs.

"I wish we had skin covers for our dolls' wigwams," said White Cloud.

Flying Squirrel looked at the even strips of bark that were well placed around her frame of slender poles. "Lots of people have bark covers," she replied. "My father has seen whole villages of bark-covered lodges."

"When the peace pipe was smoked over west, my father was there," said White Cloud. "Now we can get big skins in trade, and sometime we'll have ponies. Have you ever seen a pony, Flying Squirrel?"

"No; but my father saw white men when he went north in the moon of snow to trade furs. He says the tribes west will come and fight us again for our rice beds. Let's play a war is coming and move our camp. Where are your dolls, White Cloud?"

"I couldn't bring them, for I had my puppy baby. You have dolls enough for both of us."

Flying Squirrel gave her playmate two of the queerest-looking dolls you ever saw. They were rolls of deerskin with faces painted in black on the ends.

The children tied the smaller dolls in board cradles, hung them to the lodge poles, and sang lullabies.

Good Bird had packed a basket of food for her little daughter. Dried meat, berries, parched rice, and corn made a fine feast. All were invited, even the puppy, and the largest dolls were honored guests.

"I wish I had my new beaded bag to show you," said White Cloud. "I shall put my doll's best clothes in it and hang it over her bed. Are you learning to sew, Flying Squirrel?"

"I don't like to sew. I would rather climb trees. It's time to move now. Let's get ready. We will go to the stream that flows into the lake." And Flying Squirrel began to whistle for her dogs.

"My big dog is home with the rest of her puppies. May I have one of yours?" asked White Cloud. "Last moon my father visited a friendly camp. There were thirty lodges and more dogs than he could count. I wish he had brought me another big one."

White Cloud did not say "thirty," for she knew no word for so large a number. She raised her ten fingers three times, just as she had seen her father do.

Flying Squirrel called her dogs, and they came running to her. She had begun to train them to draw loads, and they stood quite still while the girls harnessed them for moving. The bark covers of the two lodges were taken off and carefully rolled. Then the lodge poles were corded in two long straight bundles. Flying Squirrel crossed the small ends and fastened them above the dog's back. The large ends dragged on the ground.

Soon the camp was packed, and the children started. The dogs trotted along quietly, and everything went well for a time. As they came near the little stream where they wished to set their camp, a rabbit ran across the trail. Away went the dogs.

The rabbit leaped over the narrow stream. One of the dogs plunged after him, and out went the dolls and bark into the water.

The other dog shook himself free from his harness. The lodge poles he was dragging turned upside down, holding the howling puppy in the mud.

"Oh, my puppy will drown!" cried White Cloud as she dashed down the muddy banks in rescue.

"My dolls! My best dolls are spoiled!" mourned Flying Squirrel.

Soon the dogs were called back, everything found, the dolls bathed and laid out to dry. Then the lodges were set up, and the children rested in the sun.

As they looked about, White Cloud saw a feather lying on the grass. It was painted, as if it had fallen from a warrior's bonnet.

"You had better take that feather to your father now," said Flying Squirrel. "Perhaps there is going to be a war, and a spy has passed this way. I am afraid. I shall pack all my things and go home with my dogs.

"Here, put this leaf around it and run to your mother. She will know what to do."

Away ran White Cloud, holding a sprawling puppy in her arms and trying to protect the feather, which she had concealed in a large leaf.

FINDING A WAR FEATHER

"Look, Mother; look at the big feather I have found. It is not like the ones in my father's war bonnet."

Good Bird took the feather and examined it carefully.

"Where did you find it, White Cloud?" she asked.

"Near the little stream that runs into the lake. Flying Squirrel and I have moved our dolls' lodges this morning."

"You must take the feather to your father at once. It may be that some enemy is planning war and getting ready to surprise our camp.

"Then you must move your dolls and their lodge near by where I can see you play. You may be in danger.

"Your father is spearing fish in the lake. Now run to him. Let no one see the feather, and do not turn aside to talk to any one like the little hare that did not mind its mother."

"When will you tell me the story of the hare?" asked White Cloud.

"Do not talk about stories now. Run along. You must not wait a minute. I will watch you all the way. Your father, I think, will come back with you."

White Cloud soon found her father. He left his fishing and returned with his little daughter.

A council of the tribe was called, for the strange feather had been dropped by no friendly Indian.

Then the medicine drum was beaten to call the people together. They were told of the danger, and there was a great stir in the village. Everything was made ready for sudden moving in case of attack. All the trained dogs were called and tied in the wigwams of their owners.

A guard of young Indians was placed on watch for the night. Fleet Deer came late to his lodge, and after eating he joined the warriors.

As nothing more could be done, Good Bird comforted her frightened little daughter by stories. Swift Elk pretended to be very brave. He did not run out of the wigwam as usual, but lay on the ground and listened to his mother.

"Now, my daughter," she said, "I'll tell you the story you asked for this morning."

THE LYNX AND THE HARE

Once a little hare asked her mother if she might play on the big rock near the lodge.

"Yes, little one, but you must not leave the rock. And be sure that you do not speak to any stranger who passes by," replied her mother.

Now the rock was low near the lodge, but very high on the other side, where it overlooked a stream.

A hungry lynx saw the little hare jumping on the high rock. "I must have that hare for my dinner," he said. So he spoke in a kind voice. "Wabose, Wabose. Come here, my little white one."

The hare went to the edge of the rock and looked down.

"Come here, pretty Wabose. I want to talk with you," said the lynx in a coaxing voice.

"Oh, no," said the hare. "I am afraid of you. My mother told me not to talk to strangers."

"You are very pretty, and you are a good, obedient child. But I am not a stranger. I am a relative of yours. Go down the rock and come to the stream where I can see you better. I want to send some word to your lodge. Come down and see me, you pretty little hare."

The hare was pleased to be praised and called pretty. When she heard that the lynx was a relative, she forgot to obey her mother.

She jumped down from the rock where she stood and trotted to the stream. There the lynx pounced upon her and tore her to pieces.

"Don't you know any war stories?" asked Swift Elk.

"Yes; I heard one in the moon of snow that you will like," answered his mother.

HOW THE ANIMALS SAVED THE TRIBE

Once there was an Indian village in great danger. The trail of the enemy had been found on every side of the camp.

The women were making ready for flight. They had harnessed their dogs to the dragging poles. The rawhide netting between the braces that held the poles in place was packed with household goods.

An attack was expected in the early morning. Guards were stationed to call the men to battle, and to tell the women which way to flee with their children.

The warriors all were ready. Their chief went out alone under the stars, and prayed that he might be able to save his people from death.

Suddenly a deer with branching horns stood before him. "I have come to tell you that your prayers are heard," he said.

"We, the animals, invite you to our council. We shall give you the power to save your tribe."

"Your acts of kindness, oh, warrior, are known to us," said the eagle. "You have hunted only for food, as the animals hunt. Your arrows have not been shot to take life without a reason. No bird nor beast has been left by you to suffer and die.

"Therefore, I, the eagle, king of birds, give you of my courage. You shall fear no warlike band, however many. Alone you shall conquer the enemy."

"And I," said the bear, "give you of my gift of healing. You shall be able to cure yourself, and also your fellow warriors, of any wounds you may receive in battle."

"My fleetness is yours," said the deer. "You shall outstrip all others and run like the wind."

The wolf stretched himself and walked noiselessly into the circle. "When you creep into the enemy's camp," he said, "no eye shall be able to see you. Thus may you rout your enemies, and no one shall know who is striking the blows."

"I am small," said the field mouse; "I leave no tracks on the grass, and send no sound into the air. I give you my power, that none may follow your trail nor hear your footfall."

"No one can give a better gift than I," said the owl. "You shall see in the dark as I do. The night shall be to you like the day."

"You have fed me," said the dog. "You have taken me into your lodge and let me lie by the warm fire. I give you in return my power of smell that you may follow the trail of your enemy."

Suddenly there was no cave in sight, no animals in council. Where he had been praying under the open sky, the warrior chief stood alone. Was it all a dream?

From the grass came a faint strange smell. He followed it fast as the fleetest deer. In what seemed but a moment he was in sight of the sleeping foe.

He entered their camp as silently as the field mouse. Like the eagle he had no fear. He struck out with his weapons. In great surprise the painted Indians awoke and jumped to their feet.

Wounded men fell under blows that could not be seen nor heard. Their chief lay still upon the ground.

"There is magic here," they cried. "We cannot fight against magic." And they aroused their band and fled, leaving everything behind them.

Then the victor sped with the fleetness of the deer to his own tribe. The men, waiting for the battle signal, followed him to the deserted camp. They returned laden with weapons, the finest of bows and arrows, spears, war bonnets, stores of food, and other spoils of war.

Joy spread among the people. In the village of wigwams feasting took the place of fear.

"I wish I had been that warrior," said Swift Elk.

"You may have a chance to be just as brave to-morrow," answered his mother. "I depend on you to take your father's place here if he goes into battle."

The children could keep awake no longer, but Good Bird did not close her eyes. The dawn came on, the sun rose, and there was no attack.

For many days and nights the young braves took their turn in watching. There were no further signs of an enemy, and no one ever found out how the strange feather came to be dropped near the camp.

WINTER EVENINGS

The wind roared in the trees, and the snow was falling. But Fleet Deer's lodge was warm and comfortable. Good Bird, his wife, knew how to make a lodge, and how to keep it from being smoky.

She had sewed heavy skins together for the outside cover of the wigwam. Inside, the lower walls were of tanned doeskin, nearly white. The cold air passing between the lining and the cover ventilated the room and carried the smoke out of the smoke hole.

In the middle of the circular floor was a stone-lined fire pit, now filled with glowing coals that gave light to the room.

Warm skins with the fur uppermost covered the three long platforms that were used for seats in the daytime and for beds at night.

Good Bird took great pride in her home. She kept the floor swept with a cedar broom and everything in its place.

She had braided her hair neatly, and drawn a line of fresh red paint along the parting. Her forehead and cheeks were also touched with red.

"Are you going to a dance, Mother?" asked White Cloud.

Good Bird said nothing, but smiled as she thought of the guest who was expected and the pleasant surprise in store for her children.

The evening meal was over. Nokomis had opened her stores of maple sugar and corn in honor of Swift Elk, who had won the game of tops that day.

Whipping his winter top over level snow and high drifts alike, he had outdistanced his companions by fifty paces.

White Cloud sat by the fire drying her moccasins. She had been out sliding with her playmates until the sun left the sky. You would have thought their sleds very funny, for they were made of the curved rib bones of a large deer.

Swift Elk was studying the strange signs and markings on the lining of the wigwam. He was never tired of hearing the pictures explained, for they showed in order the chief events in his father's life.

Here was the grizzly bear that Fleet Deer had killed single-handed. For this deed of bravery he was entitled to wear an eagle's feather.

Here was the deer that was killed in time of famine, after a long and dangerous hunt.

Other pictures showed Indians in the war dance, on the war trail, surprising the foe, returning with the honors of battle, holding a council, and smoking the peace pipe.

Fleet Deer was master of the Indian art of picture writing, and he had, that very day, added new paintings to the record. His children had never heard of any other way to read or write, and they had never seen a book.

The flap of skin covering the lodge entrance was raised and a man entered.

"The story-teller! The story-teller!" shouted the children with delight. He was given the seat of honor and the best food that Good Bird could provide.

When the guest was warm and his meal over, favorite stories were asked for.

"We ought to hear again of the great gift of corn to our people," said Good Bird.

"New stories, I want new stories. Will you tell us some new stories?" asked White Cloud.

"War stories, I want, and stories of boys," said Swift Elk.

Then Fleet Deer, the father, spoke: "I wish my son to know the tale of the White Canoe and how a great warrior honored his parents."

Nokomis had no request. She was a fine story-teller herself and interested in hearing everything that might be related.

Then, to the joy of his hearers, the story-teller began.

First he delighted the children by telling of the ground hog that saved his own life by teaching a new dance.

The next tale was about the first animals and how they came to live in the forests and on the plains.

After the story-teller had explained how sickness came into the world, Fleet Deer wanted to be a medicine man and find all the plants that cure disease.

And so they all listened to one tale after another until the midnight stars shone overhead and the embers grew white where the burning logs had sparkled.

Now you may read for yourselves the stories that were told in an Indian lodge on a winter evening.

THE GROUND-HOG DANCE

Seven wolves once caught a ground hog. "Now we'll kill you and have something good to eat," they said.

But the ground hog replied: "When we find good food we must rejoice over it, as people do in the green-corn dance. I know you mean to kill me, and I can't help myself, but if you want to dance I'll sing for you.

"I will teach you a new dance. I'll lean up against seven trees in turn, and you will dance away, then come back toward me. At the last turn you may kill me."

The wolves were very hungry, but they wanted to learn the new dance. So they told the ground hog to go ahead. The ground hog leaned up against the first tree and began the song.

All the wolves danced away from the trees. When the signal was given they danced back in line.

At the seventh song he said, "Now this is the last dance. When I give the signal you will all turn and come after me. The one who catches me may have me."

So the ground hog began the last song, and kept it up until the wolves were many steps away. Just as the signal was given he made a jump for his hole.

The wolves turned and were after him. But the ground hog reached his hole and dived in. He was scarcely inside when the foremost wolf caught him by the tail and pulled so hard that it broke off.

And the ground hog's tail has been short ever since.

THE LUCKY HUNTER

Soon after the world was made, a hunter lived with his wife and only son near a high mountain. No matter when the man went into the woods he was sure to come back with plenty of meat. And so he went by the name of the Lucky Hunter.

The little boy used to play every day by a river not far from the house. One morning the old people thought they heard laughing and talking in the bushes as if two children were playing together.

When the boy came home at night he was asked who had been with him all day.

"A wild boy comes out of the water," answered the son. "He says he is my elder brother."

The father and mother wished very much to see their son's companion, but the wild boy always ran into the river when he heard them coming.

"This must not go on," said the father.

That night the Lucky Hunter said to his son: "To-morrow when the wild boy comes to play, ask him to wrestle with you. When you have your arms around him, you must hold him and call us."

In this way the wild boy was caught and kept in the house until he was tamed. He was full of mischief, and he led the smaller boy into all kinds of trouble.

One day the wild boy said to his brother: "I wonder where our father gets all his game. Let's follow him and find out."

A few days afterward the Lucky Hunter took a bow and some feathers in his hand and went toward a swamp. After waiting a short time, the boys followed.

The old man cut reeds, fitted the feathers to them, and made arrows.

"What are those things for, I wonder?" said the wild boy.

When the Lucky Hunter had finished his arrows, he went on over the low hills and up the mountain.

Keeping out of sight, the boys watched him. When he was halfway to the top he stopped and lifted a large rock in the side of the mountain.

At once a deer ran out. The Lucky Hunter killed it with his first arrow. Then he carefully replaced the heavy stone and pulled a strong vine over it to conceal the cracks.

"Oho," said the boys. "He keeps the deer shut up inside of the mountain. When he wants meat he lets one out and kills it with the arrows he made in the swamp."

They hurried to reach home before their father, who had the heavy deer to carry.

A few days later the boys went to the swamp, made arrows, and started up the mountain. When they came to the hole, they lifted the rock and a deer came running out.

Before they could shoot him another came, and another. The boys could not stop them, and they could not shoot them.

They darkened the air like a cloud and made such a noise with their wings that the Lucky Hunter heard them.

"My bad boys have got into trouble," he cried. "I must go and see what they are doing."

So he went up the mountain and found the two boys standing by the opening. Not an animal nor a bird was to be seen.

Their father was very angry. Without a word he went into the cave and kicked off the covers of four jars. Out swarmed wasps, hornets, gnats, flies, mosquitoes, and all manner of stinging and biting insects and bugs.

The boys screamed with pain. They rolled over and over on the ground, trying to brush off their tormentors.

Their father looked on until he thought they had been punished enough. Then he spoke.

"See what you have done, you rascals. Always before you have had enough to eat without working for it. Whenever you were hungry, all I had to do was to come up here and take home anything your mother wanted to cook.

"After this when you want a deer to eat, you will have to hunt all over the woods for it, and then may not find one.

"Now you may go and take care of yourselves."

HOW SICKNESS CAME

In the old days when the beasts, birds, fishes, insects, and plants could talk, they lived in peace and friendship with the children of men.

But, as time went on, the people increased in number, and they crowded the animals out of their homes.

This was bad enough, but, to make it worse, man invented bows and arrows, spears, knives, and hooks, and began to kill the animals.

They were killed for clothing, and they were killed for food, and still they were patient. But when man began to kill them for sport, they determined to unite for common safety.

The bears first met in council with their chief. After each in turn had complained of the cruel treatment of man, they all declared war against him.

Some of the bears proposed to make weapons and use them. But the chief said: "It is better to trust to the teeth and claws which Nature has given us."

As no one could think of other plans, their chief dismissed the council. The bears returned to the woods, and have done little harm to man ever since.

The deer next held a council. They decided that any one who killed a deer without asking his pardon should be lame with many pains.

The reptiles and the fish talked the matter over. They agreed to punish man by making him dream of snakes and of eating raw fish.

In the last council the birds, rabbits, squirrels, ducks, and the smaller animals came together. All complained of stolen nests, stones, and arrows.

The ground squirrel alone said a good word for man. This made the others so angry that they fell upon the little animal and tore him with their claws. You can see the stripes on his back even to this day.

Then all the squirrels that had lost legs or tail by arrows, all rabbits running on three legs, all birds that had seen their little ones die, all wild ducks lamed, and all animals that had ever been wounded for sport rose up and called for revenge.

"Let the pains and the trouble that man has sent to us and our children be sent to him and his children," they demanded.

"But how can we do this?" asked the others. "We cannot turn man's weapons against him."

"Let us send new diseases," proposed a limping fox.

All rose up with pleasure at this proposal. And they commenced to invent diseases so fast that they had soon named every kind of sickness that you ever heard of. Had they thought of many more, no human beings would now be alive.

The grubworm, who had been stepped on by man, was so delighted that he fell over backwards and has had to wriggle on his back ever since.

But the plants continued friendly to man. When they heard what the animals had done, they promised to help him and his children forever.

Every tree and plant, even the grass and the moss, agreed to furnish a cure for one of the diseases sent by the animals.

Each said in turn: "I shall help man when he calls on me in his need."

Thus came medicine. And if we only knew where to look, we might find among the plants a cure for every kind of sickness.

HOW SPRING CONQUERED WINTER

Far to the North lives the terrible giant, Winter. When he leaves his home, all people dread his coming. He whistles, and the storms roar about him. Where he steps, the ground turns to rock and plants bow their heads to the earth.

All the animals flee before him and hide in caves and hollow trees. The children leave their happy play and sit shivering by the wigwam fire.

One day old Winter looked about him. He saw no life in field or forest. The wind raged, and the drifts almost hid the lodges of the Indians.

"The world is conquered; I am the only king," said giant Winter. He sat alone in his lodge. The fire was white with ashes, and the tempest howled.

A step was heard, and a young warrior entered the lodge.

He was tall and straight and youthful.

Old Winter welcomed the stranger. "Sit here on the mat beside me," he said. "Let us pass the night together. You shall tell me of your strange adventures, and of the lands in which you have traveled."

The old man drew his long peace pipe from its pouch. It was made of red sandstone, and its stem was a smooth reed. He lighted the pipe from the dying embers and passed it to his guest.

Long they talked and smoked together, each boasting of his power.

"When I blow my breath about me," said old Winter, "rivers stop their flowing, and water turns to stone."

The young man smiled. "When I blow my breath about me," he replied, "I free your prisoned waters, and they rush onward to the seas."

"My power is greater than yours," boasted Winter. "I have only to shake my long hair and the leaves die on the branches. Plants bow their heads before me and go back into the earth."