"In the old days before winter had come into the land, the beasts and the birds, the fishes, and even the insects, all had one language. They could speak the speech of the Red Men and they all lived together in peace and friendship.
"In those days, there was no killing and no war. But after winter had come upon the land, the Red Men learned to kill the wild folk and to use their flesh for food and their skins for wigwams and for clothing.
"At first this was bad enough, but after men had learned to use bows and arrows, spears, knives, and hooks, it was still worse. They became more and more cruel. They delighted to slaughter even creatures for which they had no use. Out of heedlessness, they trod upon the worms and the frogs, and killed them without caring for the pain and suffering which they caused. At last the animals made up their minds to try to find out some means to check the slaughter of the wild kindreds.
"The bears were the first to meet in council. After much talk, they decided to begin war at once against the human race.
"'What weapons shall we use against them?' asked one of the bears.
"'Why,' answered another, 'the same that they use; bows and arrows, of course.'
"'But how shall we make them?' asked one bear.
"'Oh, that is easy,' said another. 'I'll show you how to do it. You know I lived for a long time in one of their villages.'
"So this bear got a piece of ashwood and a string, some straight reeds and pieces of flint, and made a bow and some arrows.
"The White Bear, who was chief of the council, stepped out to make a trial of the bow. He pulled back the string and let the arrow fly, but his long claws caught the string and spoiled the shot.
"Seeing this, one of the bears proposed to cut off his own claws and make another trial. This was done and the arrow went straight to the mark.
"Now all the bears were ready to cut off their claws that they might practice with the bow and arrow. But their chief, the old White Bear, was wise.
"'No,' said he, 'let us not cut off our claws. If we do, we shall not be able to climb trees or to tear our food to pieces, and we shall all starve together. It is better to trust to the teeth and claws that the Master of Life has given us. Man's weapons are not for us.'
"All the bears agreed to this, and the council broke up without any plan for dealing with their cruel enemies.
"The deer were the next to hold a council. Each one had some story to tell about the cruelty of men. Each one had lost his father or his mother, his wife or his children, his brother or his sister.
"After much talk, their chief, Little Deer, spoke. 'It is a law,' said he, 'among all the kindreds that each may kill to supply his needs. The men folk need our flesh to eat and our skins for clothing.
"'But there is another law. It is that no one shall kill cruelly or needlessly. Upon such as do so, let us send pains and aches. Let us make their joints swell and become stiff, so that they cannot follow us and kill us. Besides, let us make another law, that when a hunter kills one of the deer family, he must pray to the spirit of the deer for pardon. If he has killed to supply his needs and without cruelty, he shall be pardoned. If not, he shall become a helpless cripple.'
"The deer people all agreed to this and sent word to the nearest Indian village, to tell the hunters about the new law.
"Since that time every Indian hunter is careful to pray to the spirit of the deer which he has killed.
"Next the fishes and the snakes held a council. Each one had complaints to make against the cruelty of men. After much talk, A-tos-sa the chief of the snakes spoke.
"'We of the snake kindred,' said he, 'will afflict men with diseases of their nerves. They shall tremble and shake when there is nothing to be afraid of. And when they draw the bow-strings, their arrows shall go wide of the mark by reason of the unsteadiness of eye and hand. And we will send upon them in their sleep evil dreams. The ghosts of the snakes which they have needlessly killed shall twine about them, with fearful fangs, ready to pierce their flesh, and the cold sweat of terror shall ooze from their skin, and they shall awake with cries and tremblings.'
"After him the chief of the fishes spoke.
"'We,' said he, 'will afflict men with diseases of the stomach. In their sleep, they shall dream of eating raw or decayed fish and their appetites shall pass from them.'
"These plans were agreed upon, and the council of the fishes and the snakes broke up.
"After this, the smaller animals, the birds and the insects, gathered themselves together in a common council. Here, too, all were bitter against the useless cruelty of mankind. After all complaints had been heard, Am-wee-soo the Wasp addressed the council.
"'Each creature,' said he, 'has the right to live. Our cruel enemies deprive us of our lives which they cannot restore. It is just that they shall be punished. We, the wasps, the bees, and the flies, will send upon men boils and wasting fevers, which shall sap their strength and bring them to their graves.'
"'And we,' said Da-hin-da the Bull Frog, 'will afflict men with colds and coughs, which shall make them weak and short of breath.'
"'We, the birds,' declared E-kes-ke the Blue Jay, 'will afflict them with sores and diseases of the skin.'
"And so it went on. Each of the tribes of the wild folk agreed to afflict mankind with some sort of sickness.
"A-bal-ka the Chipmunk alone spoke in favor of the men. But he had hardly said ten words, before the others became so enraged that they fell upon and drove him from the council. He barely escaped with his life.
"And as it was, Up-wee-kis the Lynx fastened his claws on A-bal-ka's neck and tore four gashes the length of his back. You can see the marks to this day. That is the way the chipmunk got his black stripes."
"The wounded ground squirrel hid himself in his den beneath the roots of a great oak, where his enemies could not get at him. There he remained until the other creatures had departed and his wounds were somewhat healed.
"When he was well enough to get about again, he visited the villages of the Red Men. Everywhere he went, he found sickness and death. The kind-hearted chipmunk was sorry to see so much suffering and sorrow. So he revealed the secret plans which had been formed in the councils of the wild folk.
"Men now knew what was the cause of their troubles. But this knowledge did little good, since it did not heal their diseases or save them from death. For a time, it seemed as if the human race would be entirely destroyed.
"In their despair, they appealed to their kind friend A-bal-ka the little ground squirrel. 'What shall we do?' they wailed. 'Cannot you, who are so kind of heart and so wise, help us?'
"'I will do my best,' he replied, 'but I must take time to think about it.' After turning the matter over in his mind carefully, he went about among the plants and trees and told them what had been done by the wild folk against their friends the men.
"'Cannot you,' said he, 'do something to heal their diseases and save the human race from destruction?'
"After much coming and going on the part of A-bal-ka the ground squirrel, and much talking and thinking on the part of the plants and trees, it was resolved that they, too, should hold councils, to see what they could do toward checking and overcoming the evils which had befallen the human race.
"First the big trees of the forest and the shrubs held their council. They talked over the matter and agreed that each should do all in its power to furnish remedies to cure the diseases which the wild folk had inflicted upon men.
"'We,' said the pine, the spruce, and the balsam trees, 'will give our gums and our balsam.' The slippery elm offered its bark; the sassafras its roots; the cherry tree its bark and its berries. One after another, the other trees and shrubs offered their berries, their bark, their leaves, or their roots as medicine to heal the diseases of men.
"Next the plants held their council and resolved to come to the aid of men in their distress. 'I,' said the ginseng plant, 'will give my roots to make a healing drink. It shall be good for headaches and for cramps and for many other kinds of pains and aches.'
"'And I,' said the snake-root, 'will give my roots also for a healing drink. It shall cure fevers and coughs and many other diseases.'
"And so it went on. The silkweed, the skull-cap, catnip, boneset, the peppermint, wild ginger, wintergreen, and scores of other plants, all gladly offered their roots, their berries, or their leaves.
"Their number was so great that the little striped squirrel, who had attended both councils, was scarcely able to remember them all.
"After the councils were over, he went about among the villages of the Red Men and told them what the trees and the plants had said. They at once began to gather and prepare the medicines which they needed to cure the different diseases from which they suffered. And from this time, on account of the use of these medicines, they were sometimes able to heal their diseases and save many of their people from death.
"This is the story of how diseases came upon men and medicines to cure them were found.
"The Red Men were grateful to the little ground squirrel for the help he had given them, and loved him more than any other of the wild folk, and to this day no Indian boy will injure a chipmunk."
One day as little Luke was sitting on a fallen log in the woods, Mee-ko the Red Squirrel ran out on a branch over his head. There he sat up on his hind legs and began to chatter and scold and cough.
He remembered the day when the little boy had stoned him away from the nest of O-pee-chee the Robin. Ever since that time he had never missed a chance of saying bad words at him. But the little boy didn't mind Mee-ko's scolding; he only laughed at him for his bad temper and spitefulness.
"Mee-ko," said he, "what makes you cough so? Tell me. I think there must be a story about it."
"Well, suppose there is?" snapped Mee-ko. "I wouldn't tell you anyway. A Man Cub has no business to know the animal talk. I did my best to keep you from touching the Magic Speech Flower. I hate you! I hate you! I wish I were as big as my forefathers were, I'd drive you out of the woods!"
"Come, now, Mee-ko," replied the boy, "don't be so spiteful. I haven't done you any harm. I stopped you from stealing Mother O-pee-chee's eggs, but you had no business with the eggs anyway. How would you like to have some one eat up your young ones? Let bygones be bygones and tell me about your forefathers."
"I'll not be friends with you on any terms," replied Mee-ko. "I wish you'd stay about the farmhouse where you belong. You've no business sneaking about in the woods, disturbing us wood folk, and spying on us and tattling about us. Go away. You know too much now."
"Yes, no doubt he knows too much about you. We all do," said a voice. Little Luke looked up and there was old Ko-ko-ka the Big Owl, sitting in a hole in a tree. "As for spying and tattling," Ko-ko-ka went on, "you are the worst of all the wild folk. It runs in your blood. The Mee-ko family have always been meddlers. It was the first of your tribe, as all the wood folk know, who, with his tattling; tongue, set Mal-sum the Wicked Wolf trying to kill Gloos-cap the Good. Your foreparents were thieves and murderers too; and you take after them.
"The Master of Life has formed some of us so that we must kill to live and for us to kill is lawful. It is not so with you. You were made to live on seeds and nuts, yet Kag-ax the Weasel, whom we all hate, is scarcely more bloodthirsty than you are. And you are a coward to boot. You haven't the courage to fight and you kill for pleasure and by stealth."
Mee-ko started to talk back at Ko-ko-ka, but the big owl snapped his beak angrily and rustled his wings. Mee-ko saw and heard and he didn't wait to finish his remarks. He scurried along the branch, took a flying leap to the next tree, and disappeared.
"Let him go. His room is better than his company," remarked Ko-ko-ka.
"That's so," said little Luke, "I never did like him much anyway. But tell me, what did he mean about his forefathers?"
"Well," answered Ko-ko-ka, "I've had a good nap and haven't anything to do till sundown. So, if you like, I'll tell you about it."
"Long, long ago," began the old owl, "when the world was new, there dwelt upon the earth a wise and good man whose name was Gloos-cap. He was a servant of the Master of Life, who had sent him to teach the men and all the other creatures everything that was good for them to know. So he went about from place to place, teaching the kindreds.
"He taught the Red Men how to build their wigwams and to plant corn and care for it. He taught the beavers how to build their lodges and the birds how to build their nests and care for their little ones. To all the kindreds he taught the things which each most needed to know.
"At first all the creatures were good and heeded the teachings of Gloos-cap. But after a time their hearts became evil. Gloos-cap often spoke to them and did his best to turn them from their wicked ways, but in vain. They grew more and more envious, spiteful, and quarrelsome. At last they became so wicked that they began to fight and kill each other. Worse than all else, the victors took to devouring the bodies of the slain.
"The good Gloos-cap was grieved and disgusted. He made up his mind to invite them to a feast and try once more to turn them from their evil ways. When they came, he set before each one of them food in abundance. Although each had enough and more than enough for himself, some of them were not satisfied. They began to quarrel and fight, each striving to take from the other his portion.
"Now Gloos-cap was a mighty magician. By his magic power, he caused the food to turn to ashes in the mouths of the greedy ones. As soon as they tasted the ashes, they tried to talk and scold, but they could scarcely say two words on account of the ashes which got into their throats.
"The angry Gloos-cap waved his hand over them, and by his magic power the quarrelsome, envious, and greedy ones disappeared. In their place there were a number of red squirrels, who chattered and scolded and coughed as red squirrels always do even to this day. These were the foreparents of all the red squirrels in the world.
"'Now,' said Gloos-cap to the other creatures, 'take warning by the fate of these who are now squirrels and cease from being quarrelsome, envious, and greedy.'"
"Now in those days Mee-ko the Red Squirrel was much larger than he is to-day,—as large as Moo-ween the Bear; and his temper was even as his size. He desired most earnestly to take revenge upon Gloos-cap the Good for what he had done to him. So he sought out the brother of Gloos-cap, even Mal-sum the Wicked Wolf, and tempted him to kill his brother.
"'I would gladly slay him,' said Mal-sum, 'but I know not how it may be done. On account of his magic power, there is only one thing in all the world that can hurt him, and I know not what that is.'
"'Go you,' said Mee-ko, 'and pretend to be friendly with him and find out his secret. Then you may slay him.'
"Mal-sum thought this good advice, and acted according to it. For many days he behaved to his brother with pretended kindness, always watching to find out his secret.
"'My brother,' said he, one day when they were hunting together, 'you know that there is but one thing in all the world that can hurt either of us, one thing for you, and another for me. Tell me what it is with which you may be slain?'
"Now Gloos-cap the Good knew the wickedness and spite that lay hid in the heart of his brother. So he said, 'Nay, but tell me first, what it is with which you may be slain?'
"And the wicked Mal-sum thought in his heart, 'What would it matter even if he knew the truth? I shall slay him before he can harm me.' So he answered truly, 'By the stroke of a fern-root only can I be slain. Now what is your secret?'
"But Gloos-cap, knowing his brother's wickedness, was unwilling to trust him. So he answered falsely and craftily, 'By the stroke of an owl's feather it is fated that I shall be some day slain.'
"Now the wicked Mai-sum was greatly rejoiced in heart at hearing this. So he left his brother, making some excuse, and went off into the woods alone. There finding an owl, one of my foreparents, he shot him, and, taking some of his feathers, returned home.
"That night while Gloos-cap was sleeping, the wicked Mai-sum arose, and taking the owl's feather, struck his brother upon the forehead. But Gloos-cap, awakened by the blow, only laughed. 'It is not really a feather,' said he, 'but a pine-root that shall end my life. I was but joking with you this morning.'
"But the wicked Mai-sum feigned that lie, too, had been only in sport, and the two brothers lay down again and slept.
"But the next night, while Gloos-cap was sleeping, Mai-sum again arose and struck him upon the forehead with a pine-root.
"This time Gloos-cap, seeing the wickedness of his brother's heart, and that he was bound to take his life, arose and drove Mai-sum forth into the woods. Then he went away and sat down by the brookside, considering what he should do.
"'Truly,' said he to himself, 'he will yet slay me. If he but knew that a flowering rush is fated to be my bane, my life would not be safe for a moment.'
"Now it chanced that the beaver was hidden among the reeds in the brook and heard what Gloos-cap had said. So he went off to Mal-sum, and told him his brother's secret for a reward.
"The reward was that Mal-sum by his magic power should grant whatever the beaver might ask. So the beaver asked that he might have wings like a wood dove. But Mal-sum only laughed at him. 'Wings for you!' he chuckled; 'you, who have nothing to do but paddle about in the mud and eat bark! what need have you of wings? Besides, how would you with that flat tail of yours look with wings!'
"Now you may be sure that the beaver was angry at being thus made sport of. So he went straightway to Gloos-cap and told him that Mal-sum had found out his secret.
"'Now,' said Gloos-cap to himself, 'I must needs slay him. He does naught but evil in the world, and I have not yet finished the good work which the Master of Life sent me to do.' That night he arose and, talking a fern-root, smote the wicked Mal-sum on the head so that he died.
"Now Gloos-cap knew that Mee-ko the Red Squirrel had tempted his brother to try to slay him, and since Mee-ko was so large and of such an evil temper, lie feared that he would do much harm. So meeting Mee-ko one day in the woods, he said, 'Tell me, what would you do if you should see a man?'
"'If I should see a man,' answered Mee-ko, 'I would dig up the trees of the forest, so that they would fall upon and slay him. Then I would feast upon his dead body.'
"'You are too large and too wicked,' said Gloos-cap. 'I fear I cannot change your temper, but I can your size,' So he passed his hands over the big red squirrel's back, and behold, he shrunk and shriveled until he became small, even as small as he is at this day. But his temper remained almost as bad as before. Even to-day, he can scarcely see any creature without scolding and saying bad words."
Up in the woods on the side of the mountain Mother Mit-chee the Ruffled Partridge built her nest, close beside the trail. It was nothing but a little hollow in the ground, lined with leaves.
It was in plain sight and you would have supposed that anyone going along the trail would have seen it. But they didn't. Old John the Indian and Sam the hired man passed it a dozen times and never noticed it. Even Old Boze did not find it, although he followed Sam up and down the trail many times.
You see, Mother Mit-chee knew enough to sit perfectly still, and her mottled feathers blended so exactly with the tree trunks and the dead leaves about her that only the sharp eyes of the Finder of the Magic Flower ever found her out.
Little Luke saw her one day as he was walking up the trail beside Sam the hired man, and with Old Boze following at his heels. But he went right on by, as if he had not seen Mother Mit-chee at all. He did not want Sam or Old Boze to see her, for he knew they could not be trusted. They would be almost sure to try to kill Mother Mit-chee, or at the very least, they would rob her nest.
The next morning the little boy went up the trail alone, to pay Mother Mit-chee a visit. "Good morning, Mother Mit-chee," said he, "I saw you yesterday, but Sam and Old Boze didn't, and I wouldn't tell them."
"I knew you saw me," replied Mother Mit-chee, "and I knew you wouldn't tell. You are too kind-hearted for that, especially since you found the Magic Flower and learned the animal talk. We all trust you. You may come to see me as often as you like, but be careful not to leave any trail near my nest. I don't want Old Boze nosing around here. And when you come along with any of the house people, just go right by and don't look this way. I am more afraid of Old John the Indian than of anyone else. He looked right at me the other day and I was sure he saw me. I was scared, I tell you. I was all ready to fly away. But he didn't see me. If he had, I never should have seen my eggs again."
"All right," said the little boy, "I'll do just as you say." And after some more talk, he went on up the trail to visit some of his other friends among the wild folk.
Many times during the days that followed the little boy stopped and talked with the Mother Partridge. "If you will come to-morrow," said she, one day, "I'll show you as fine a brood of partridge chicks as anyone could wish to see."
"I'll be sure to come," answered the little boy, "for I want to see them very much."
As he came up the next day, Mother Mit-chee stepped off her nest. "There," said she, "there they are. Now aren't they fine ones?"
The little boy looked. In the nest there were a dozen of the daintiest, downiest, little creatures he had ever seen. They were scarcely bigger than an acorn. "They surely are a fine brood," said he. "Aren't you afraid that something will catch them?"
"Of course I am afraid. I'm always afraid." said Mother Mit-chee, "but the creature that catches them will have to be pretty sharp. I know a trick or two that will fool most of the wild folk, and the house people as well. You come up to-morrow and I'll show you. They are pretty young now, and I don't want to disturb them unless I have to."
The next day the little boy found the nest empty. He looked carefully about for Mother Mit-chee and her brood. Suddenly something rose almost from under his feet, and whizzed off through the wood. There was a sound like an explosion, followed by thunder, which scared the little boy so that he jumped. But he saw that it was only Mother Mit-chee, and he had seen her do that before.
He knew that the chicks were near at hand, and looked around carefully for them.
Pretty soon Mother Mit-chee sailed around through the woods and dropped to the ground but a little way from the boy. She seemed to have been hurt, badly hurt. One wing dragged as if it was broken, and she limped sadly.
"Ha, ha," laughed the little boy, "you can't fool me with that trick. You needn't keep it up any longer, I shan't follow you. I know that you are not hurt at all. Old John told me all about it. He told me that he saw you playing that very trick on Kee-wuks the Red Fox only the other day."
"Well, well!" said Mother Mit-chee. "Did Old John see that? I didn't know he was anywhere about. Yes," she went on. "Kee-wuks thought he had me that time. I let him get close up. Then he jumped for me; but when he landed where I was, I wasn't there! If I hadn't made him believe he could catch me he might have found my chicks."
"Well," said Little Luke, "I heard Sam say that no one could find a young partridge chick, but I'm going to try it. You know since I found the Magic Flower my eyes are sharper than those of any of the other house people."
"All right," said Mother Mit-chee, "I'll call them out. I'm afraid if you walk around there, you'll step on them; they're right around your feet." And she began calling to the chicks. "Kreet, kreet, come out, come out, right away," she called.
Right before little Luke a dead leaf that was curled up seemed to come to life, but it wasn't really the leaf. It was the partridge chick that had squatted upon it that moved. Just before him, little Luke saw a tiny bunch under the dead leaves. He reached down and seized it, but very carefully. It was another one of the chicks. And the ground about him seemed alive with the little ones as they came out at their mother's call.
"Well done," said Mother Mit-chee, "your eyes certainly are good. But handle him carefully. Don't squeeze too tight. There now, you've hurt him!" (The little one was peeping as if in pain.)
Little Luke set him very carefully on the ground. "Don't worry," said he, "he isn't hurt, he's only a little scared."
"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "I must take these babies of mine down to the spring and teach them how to drink. They have never tasted water yet."
"Kreet, kreet, come along, come along," called Mother Mit-chee.
"Peep, peep, we're coming, we're coming, mother," said the little ones. And they all started down the mountainside toward the spring.
It took a good while to get there, for the chicks were young, and their little legs so short and so weak that Mother Mit-chee had to wait for them a good many times. But it was a pretty sight. The yellow, downy, little fellows marched along boldly behind their mother. Sometimes she would go on a little way ahead. Then she would stop and call, "Kreet, kreet, come along, children," and the little fellows would race to see who could catch up first.
Some of them were not so strong as others, and at times they would squat upon the ground to rest. Mother Mit-chee would wait as long as she thought proper, and then tell them to "come along." And away they would go down the mountainside.
At last they reached the spring. The little ones had never seen water before, and did not know what to do. But Mother Mit-chee took a drop of clear, cold water in her bill, and raised her head before she swallowed it. Each chick copied her motion exactly. It was fun for the little boy to watch them. Nearly the whole dozen would clip their little bills into the water at once, and raise their heads to swallow it, as they had seen their mother do.
"Mother Mit-chee," said the little boy, after they had all finished drinking, "what makes you raise your head before you swallow the water?"
"Oh," said Mother Mit-chee, "that is our way of giving thanks to the Master of Life for the cool, sweet water. Our family learned to do it a long time ago, and we have always done it since."
"That sounds as if there might be a story about it," said the little boy, who was always on the watch for stories.
"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "there is a story about it."
"A long time ago," she went on, "there came a summer when no rain fell for many weeks. As you know, all the feathered folk can get along pretty well if there are only dew-drops to drink. But after a time there was no dew, and even the grass withered and died.
"All the feathered tribes suffered terribly from thirst. At last they gathered together in a great council, and asked the Master of Life to take pity on them in their sad state. He heard their prayer, and sent the angel who cares for the wild folk to speak to them.
"'The Master of Life,' said he, 'has seen your sufferings and heard your prayers. He is merciful and kind, and has given orders to the Angel of the Rain Clouds to supply your needs. Look!' said he, pointing to the west. All the feathered folk looked, and behold, in the distance, the dark Rain Clouds were already flying toward them, driven by the breath of the Angel of the Winds.
"Soon the rain began to fall, the grass, the flowers, and the trees revived, the springs were filled, and the sweet murmur of running water was again heard in the brooks and rivers. The wild folk drank and were refreshed.
"Before the Angel of the Wild Folk departed, he said, 'From this time on forever when you drink, you must raise your head as a token of thankfulness to the Master of Life who has sent you the refreshing rain.'
"If you watch them, you will notice that all the feathered folk show their gratitude to the Master of Life in the same way."
"Where is Father Mit-chee?" asked the little boy of the Mother Partridge, one day.
"I don't know," she answered; "I haven't seen him since I began to sit."
"Well," said the little boy, "I think he's a mean, lazy scamp, to go off and leave you to take care of the family alone."
"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "it would be rather nice to have some help. I feel a bit lonesome sometimes, especially when I notice how kind Father O-loo-la is to his wife and family. But it isn't the custom in our family. The fathers leave the mothers to take care of the family. They never come near us until their children are able to take care of themselves. I've taught these youngsters of mine what to eat and where to find it. They have learned to fly pretty well, and taken some lessons in whirring, so that they can frighten their enemies. I wouldn't be surprised to see Father Mit-chee any day. Why, there he is now! I can tell his drumming any time."
The little boy listened. Far off in the distance he heard thump!—thump!—thump!—thump!—thr-r-r-r-r-r!
"Let's go and meet him," said Mother Mit-chee. "He doesn't know you, so I'll go ahead. Then he won't be frightened."
So they went through the woods, Mother Mit-chee in the lead, till they came in sight of the Father Partridge. He was standing on a fallen log and drumming. Just how he did it the little boy could not tell. He flapped his wings like a rooster, and seemed to beat the log or his own sides. As the little boy watched him, he thought that perhaps the sound was made by Father Mit-chee's wings striking together over his back. When he saw Mother Mit-chee coming, he walked up and down the log very proudly. Then he stopped and drummed louder than ever.
"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "so you've come back at last, have you? Here are your children. Don't they look as if I had taken good care of them?"
"Why, yes," replied Father Mit-chee, "they're looking pretty well. I've heard of you several times, and knew that you were getting along all right. But who's that over yonder?" he asked, as he caught sight of Little Luke.
"Oh," answered Mother Mit-chee, "you've heard of him before. He's the boy who found the Magic Flower, and learned the animal talk."
That was the way little Luke came to know Father Mit-chee.
"Father Mit-Chee," said little Luke one day as the two were sitting together on the drumming log, "can't you tell me a story?"
"Why, yes," said Father Mit-chee, "I suppose I might, I might tell you the story of the first partridge."
Long, long ago an Indian was hunting in the woods. As he went along, he heard a noise as of people jumping and dancing on hard ground. "That is queer," said he to himself. "I will go and see what is going on."
So he turned his steps in the direction of the sound, and went on through the forest swiftly but silently. Though at the first the noise had seemed to come from a place near at hand, it was a long time before he came in sight of the dancers. They were a man and a woman, and they were jumping and dancing about a tree, in the top of which was Hes-puns the Raccoon.
Now all three of them, the raccoon as well as the man and woman, were magicians. The man and the woman were enemies to the other, and as their magic was stronger than his, he had turned himself into a raccoon to escape them.
The hunter did not know this. He went toward them, and as he drew near, he saw that the dancers had worn a ditch waist-deep about the tree.
He went up to them and asked them why they did this strange thing.
Now the man and the woman did not want the hunter to know the truth of the matter. So they said, "We are trying to wear away the earth from the root of this tree, so that we can get it down and catch Hes-puns, We are hungry and we have no tomahawk."
"Well," said the hunter, "I have a good tomahawk and I will cut down the tree for you. But you must give me the skin of Hes-puns."
They agreed to this, and the hunter soon brought the tree to the ground. They caught the raccoon and killed and skinned him. Then they gave the skin to the hunter, who went home.
A few days after this, the hunter saw a stranger coming toward his lodge. On his head he wore a strange kind of cap which looked like a small wigwam. When the hunter went out to meet him, the stranger took off his cap and set it upon the ground. At once it grew larger and larger until it became a beautiful lodge with several fine rooms in it.
The hunter was greatly amazed, but invited the stranger into his own lodge and set food before him. While eating, the visitor chanced to see the pelt of Hes-puns hanging on one of the lodge poles.
Now he was a magician and the brother of the one who had turned himself into a raccoon. As soon as he saw the skin, he knew it by certain marks to be the skin of his brother, and supposed that the hunter had killed him. So he thought, how he might be revenged upon him.
"That is a fine pelt you have there," said he to the hunter. "I should like to buy it."
"Yes," replied the hunter, "it is a fine one, but I do not care to sell it."
"I will give you more than it is worth," said the magician. And he offered everything that he had except his magic wigwam.
"No, I do not care to sell it," answered the hunter to each new offer. But finally, he said, "If you will give me that fine lodge of yours, you may have the skin."
"It's a bargain," said the magician; "the lodge is yours. But you must keep me overnight. We will sleep in your new lodge, which is much finer and better furnished than this."
"Very well," replied the hunter, "but you must show me how to carry my new lodge upon my head as you did."
"Oh, that is easy," returned the magician, "you just pick it up and put it on your head. Come out and try it now."
The hunter went out and picked up the lodge and put it upon his head. He found he could carry it easily, for it was as light as a wicker basket.
When he put it upon the ground, it at once grew as large as before. So the hunter and his wife and the stranger went into the lodge. Its new owner was greatly pleased with it. It contained several large rooms, in one of which was a very fine bed covered with a white bear skin. On that bed the hunter and his wife lay down to sleep, while the stranger found a bed in another room.
In the morning when the hunter and his wife awoke, they were more delighted than ever with their new lodge. It seemed large and airy, and from the beams high above their heads hung all kinds of things good to eat. There were ducks and geese, rabbits and venison, ears of corn, and bags of maple sugar.
In their joy, the man and his wife sprang out of bed and made a jump toward the dainties. At once the white bear skin melted and ran away, for it was nothing but the snow of winter. At the same time, their arms spread out into wings, and they flew up to the food, which was only the early buds of the birch tree on which they hung. For the magician had cast a spell upon the man and the woman and they had become partridges and had been sheltering themselves from the storms of winter under a snowdrift, after the manner of their kind, and now came forth to greet the pleasant spring.
And these two were the first partridges, the foreparents of all the partridges that are now in the world.
"That is a strange story," said the little boy. "I thank you for telling it. But now I must go home. Good-bye for to-day."
A few days later little Luke went up into the woods again. As he walked along the trail, he heard Father Mit-chee drumming. He knew where the drumming log was, so he went over to it and sat down on one end.
"Father Mit-chee," said he, when the old partridge had finished, "I noticed a queer thing about your drumming. One day I heard Old John pounding on a canoe he was building. At a distance your drumming sounded just like his pounding. Why was that?"
"Well," said Father Mit-chee, "I suppose it was because Grandfather Mit-chee, the first partridge, was a canoe builder. When he stopped building canoes he kept up his drumming."
"Tell me about it, please," said the little boy.
"All right,' said Father Mit-chee, and he began this story.
"In the olden days, Mit-chee the Partridge was the canoe builder for all the birds. Once upon a time they all came together on the bank of the river, and each one got into his own bark. Truly that was a fine sight to see!
"Kit-chee the Great Eagle paddled off first, using the ends of his broad wings. After him went Ko-ko-ka the Owl; Kusk the Crane; Wee-so-wee the Bluebird; and Chip-sis the Blackbird. Even tiny A-la-moo the Humming Bird had a neat little boat. But his wings were so small that Mit-chee had made for him a dainty little paddle. Some of the birds thought it rather too large, for it was almost an inch long. So the fleet of canoes stood bravely out to sea, and after a pleasant voyage returned safely to land.
"Now the partridge had not taken part in the voyage, for he had built no canoe for himself. 'It's great sport,' said the other birds, on their return. 'Why didn't you build a canoe for yourself?' But Mit-chee only looked wise and drummed upon the log on which he was sitting, and the sound was the sound of one making a canoe.'
"But the birds kept asking him to build a canoe for himself and join them. At last he remarked that he was about to do so, and that when he had finished it, it would be a wonder, something new such as no eye had ever before beheld.
"Then he went off into the woods by himself and was seen no more for several days. When he came back, he invited all the birds to come and see his wonderful canoe,—one he had built for himself on an entirely new plan.
"Now Mit-chee had reasoned that if a boat having two ends could be rowed in two ways, one which was all ends (that is, round) could be rowed in every direction. So he had made a canoe exactly like a nest, perfectly round. When the honest feathered folk saw this, they were greatly amazed and wondered that so simple a thing had not occurred to all of them.
"But when Mit-chee got into his new canoe and began to paddle, their wonder turned into amusement, for he made no headway at all. However hard he worked, the canoe simply turned round and round.
"After wearying himself, and all in vain, he went ashore, and flew off far inland. There he hid himself for shame under the low bushes in the woods, and there he has lived ever since. But at certain seasons, when he thought no one was looking, he would get upon a dead log and drum with his wings, and the sound was like the sound which he used to make when he was building canoes.
"And so his children have always done since that day."