"I do not know how," cried the magpie.
"We are teaching you," said the other birds. But the magpie was lazy, and she thought, "If I do not learn, they will build a nest for me."
The other birds talked together. "She does not wish to learn," they said, "and we will not help her any longer." So they went away from her.
Then the magpie was sorry. "Come back," she called, "and I will learn." But by this time the other birds had eggs in their nests, and they were busy taking care of them, and had no time to teach the lazy magpie. This is why the magpie's nest is not well built.
Long, long ago the raven's feathers were white as snow. He was a beautiful bird, but the other birds did not like him because he was a thief. When they saw him coming, they would hide away the things that they cared for most, but in some marvelous way he always found them and took them to his nest in the pine-tree.
One morning the raven heard a little bird singing merrily in a thicket. The leaves of the trees were dark green, and the little bird's yellow feathers looked like sunshine among them.
"I will have that bird," said the raven, and he seized the trembling little thing.
The yellow bird fluttered and cried, "Help, help! Will no one come and help me!"
The other birds happened to be far away, and not one heard her cries. "The raven will kill me," she called. "Help, help!"
Now hidden in the bark of a tree was a wood-worm.
"I am only a wood-worm," he said to himself, "and I cannot fly like a bird, but the yellow bird has been good to me, and I will do what I can to help her."
When the sun set, the raven went to sleep. Then the wood-worm made his way softly up the pine-tree to the raven's nest, and bound his feet together with grass and pieces of birch-bark.
"Fly away," whispered the wood-worm softly to the little yellow bird, "and come to see me by and by. I must teach the raven not to be cruel to the other birds."
The little yellow bird flew away, and the wood-worm brought twigs, and moss, and birch-bark, and grass, and put them around the tree. Then he set them all on fire. Up the great pine-tree went the flames, leaping from bough to bough.
"Fire! fire!" cried the raven. "Come and help me! My nest is on fire!"
The other birds were not sorry to see him flutter. "He is a thief," said they. "Let him be in the fire."
By and by the fire burned the grass and the pieces of birch-bark that fastened his feet together, and the raven flew away. He was not burned, but he could no longer be proud of his shining white feathers, for the smoke had made every one of them as black as night.
Oh, it was so cold! The wind blew the leaves about on the ground. The frost spirit hid on the north side of every tree, and stung every animal of the forest that came near. Then the snow fell till the ground was white. Through the snowflakes one could see the sun, but the sun looked cold, for it was not a clear, bright yellow. It was almost as white as the moon.
The Indians drew their cloaks more and more closely around them, for they had no fire.
"How shall we get fire?" they asked, but no one answered.
All the fire on earth was in the wigwam of two old women who did not like the Indians.
"They shall not have it," said the old women, and they watched night and day so that no one could get a firebrand.
At last a young Indian said to the others, "No man can get fire. Let us ask the animals to help us."
"What beast or what bird can get fire when the two old women are watching it?" the others cried.
"The bear might get it."
"The deer can run."
"His antlers would not go through the door of the wigwam."
"The raven can go through the door."
"It was smoke that made the raven's feathers black, and now he always keeps away from the fire."
"The serpent has not been in the smoke."
"No, but he is not our friend, and he will not do anything for us."
"Then I will ask the wolf," said the young man. "He can run, he has no antlers, and he has not been in the smoke."
So the young man went to the wolf and called, "Friend wolf, if you will get us a firebrand, I will give you some food every day."
"I will get it," said the wolf. "Go to the home of the old women and hide behind a tree; and when you hear me cough three times, give a loud war-cry."
Close by the village of the Indians was a pond. In the pond was a frog, and near the pond lived a squirrel, a bat, a bear, and a deer. The wolf cried, "Frog, hide in the rushes across the pond. Squirrel, go to the bushes beside the path that runs from the pond to the wigwam of the two old women. Bat, go into the shadow and sleep if you like, but do not close both eyes. Bear, do not stir from behind this great rock till you are told. Deer, keep still as a mountain till something happens."
The wolf then went to the wigwam of the two old women. He coughed at the door, and at last they said, "Wolf, you may come in to the fire."
The wolf went into the wigwam. He coughed three times, and the Indian gave a war-cry. The two old women ran out quickly into the forest to see what had happened, and the wolf ran away with a firebrand from the fire.
When the two women saw that the wolf had the firebrand, they were very angry, and straightway they ran after him.
"Catch it and run!" cried the wolf, and he threw it to the deer. The deer caught it and ran.
"Catch it and run!" cried the deer, and he threw it to the bear. The bear caught it and ran.
"Catch it and fly!" cried the bear, and he threw it to the bat. The bat caught it and flew.
"Catch it and run!" cried the bat, and he threw it to the squirrel. The squirrel caught it and ran.
"Oh, serpent," called the two old women, "you are no friend to the Indians. Help us. Get the firebrand away from the squirrel."
As the squirrel ran swiftly over the ground, the serpent sprang up and tried to seize the firebrand. He did not get it, but the smoke went into the squirrel's nostrils and made him cough. He would not let go of the firebrand, but ran and ran till he could throw it to the frog.
When the frog was running away with it, then the squirrel for the first time thought of himself, and he found that his beautiful bushy tail was no longer straight, for the fire had curled it up over his back.
"Do not be sorry," called the young Indian across the pond. "Whenever an Indian boy sees a squirrel with his tail curled up over his back, he will throw him a nut."
All this time the firebrand was burning, and the frog was going to the pond as fast as he could. The old women were running after him, and when he came to the water, one of them caught him by the tail.
"I have caught him!" she called.
"Do not let him go!" cried the other.
"No, I will not," said the first; but she did let him go, for the little frog tore himself away and dived into the water. His tail was still in the woman's hand, but the firebrand was safe, and he made his way swiftly across the pond.
"Here it is," said the frog.
"Where?" asked the young Indian. Then the frog coughed, and out of his mouth came the firebrand. It was small, for it had been burning all this time, but it set fire to the leaves and twigs, and soon the Indians were warm again. They sang and they danced about the flames.
At first the frog was sad, because he was sorry to lose his tail; but before long he was as merry as the people who were dancing, for the young Indian said, "Little frog, you have been a good friend to us, and as long as we live on the earth, we will never throw a stone at a frog that has no tail."
"It is lonely living in this great tree far away from the other birds," said the owl to herself. "I will get some one to come and live with me. The quail has many children, and I will ask her for one of them."
The owl went to the quail and said, "Will you let me have one of your children to come and live with me?"
"Live with you? No," answered the quail. "I would as soon let my child live with the serpent. You are hidden in the tree all day long, and when it is dark, you come down like a thief and catch little animals that are fast asleep in their nests. You shall never have one of my children."
"I will have one," thought the owl.
She waited till the night had come. It was dark and gloomy, for the moon was not to be seen, and not a star twinkled in the sky. Not a leaf stirred, and not a ripple was on the pond. The owl crept up to the quail's home as softly as she could. The young birds were chattering together, and she listened to their talk.
"My mother is gone a long time," said one. "It is lonely, and I am afraid."
"What is there to be afraid of?" asked another. "You are a little coward. Shut your eyes and go to sleep. See me! I am not afraid, if it is dark and gloomy. Oh, oh!" cried the boaster, for the owl had seized him and was carrying him away from home and his little brothers.
When the mother quail came home, she asked, "Where is your brother?" The little quails did not know. All they could say was that something had seized him in the darkness and taken him away.
"It crept up to the nest in the dark," said one.
"And oh, mother, never, never go away from us again!" cried another. "Do not leave us at home all alone."
"But, my dear little ones," the mother said, "how could you have any food if I never went away from our home?"
The mother quail was very sad, and she would have been still more sorrowful if she had known what was happening to her little son far away in the owl's nest. The cruel owl had pulled and pulled on the quail's bill and legs, till they were so long that his mother would not have known him.
One night the mole came to the quail and said, "Your little son is in the owl's nest."
"How do you know?" asked the quail.
"I cannot see very well," answered the mole, "but I heard him call, and I know that he is there."
"How shall I get him away from the owl?" the quail asked the mole.
"The owl crept up to your home in the dark," said the mole, "but you must go to her nest at sunrise when the light shines in her eyes and she cannot see you."
At sunrise the quail crept up to the owl's nest and carried away her dear little son to his old home. As the light grew brighter, she saw what had happened to him. His bill and his legs were so long that he did not look like her son.
"He is not like our brother," said the other little quails.
"That is because the cruel owl that carried him away has pulled his bill and his legs," answered the mother sorrowfully. "You must be very good to him."
But the other little quails were not good to him. They laughed at him, and the quail with the long bill and legs was never again merry and glad with them. Before long he ran away and hid among the great reeds that stand in the water and on the shores of the pond.
"I will not be called quail," he said to himself, "for quails never have long bills and legs. I will have a new name, and it shall be snipe. I like the sound of that name."
So it was that the bird whose name was once quail came to be called snipe. His children live among the reeds of the pond, and they, too, are called snipes.
The serpent is the grandfather of the owl, and once upon a time if the owl needed help, she would say, "My grandfather will come and help me," but now he never comes to her. This story tells why.
When the owl carried away the little quail, she went to the serpent and said, "Grandfather, you will not tell the quail that I have her son, will you?"
"No," answered the serpent, "I will keep your secret. I will not whisper it to any one." So when the mother quail asked all the animals, "Can you tell me who has carried away my little son?" the serpent answered, "I have been sound asleep. How could I know?"
After the quail had become a snipe and had gone to live in the marsh among the reeds, the cruel owl looked everywhere for him, and at last she saw him standing beside a great stone in the water.
She went to the serpent and said, "Grandfather, will you do something for me?"
"I will," hissed the serpent softly, "What is it?"
"Only to take a drink of water," answered the owl. "Come and drink all the water in the marsh, and then I can catch the quail that I made into a snipe."
The serpent drank and drank, but still there was water in the marsh.
"Why do you not drink faster?" cried the owl. "I shall never get the snipe."
The serpent drank till he could drink no more, and still the water stood in the marsh. The owl could not see well by day, and the serpent could not see above the reeds and rushes, so they did not know that the water from the pond was coming into the marsh faster than the serpent could drink it.
Still the serpent drank, and at last his skin burst.
"Oh," he cried, "my skin has burst. Help me to fasten it together."
"My skin never bursts," said the owl. "If you will drink the water from the marsh, I will help you, but I will not fasten any skin together till I get that snipe."
The serpent had done all that he could to help the owl, and now he was angry. He was afraid, too, for he did not know what would happen to him, and he lay on the ground trembling and quivering. It was not long before his old skin fell off, and then he saw that under it was a beautiful new one, all bright and shining. He sheds his old skin every year now, but never again has he done anything to help the owl.
A spirit called the manito always watches over the Indians. He is glad when they are brave, but if they are cowardly, he is angry.
One day when the manito was walking under the pine-trees, he heard a cry of terror in the forest.
"What is that?" said he. "Can it be that any of my Indian children are afraid?"
As he stood listening, an Indian boy came running from the thicket, crying in fear.
"What are you afraid of?" asked the manito.
"My mother told me to go into the forest with my bow and arrows and shoot some animal for food," said the boy.
"That is what all Indian boys must do," said the manito. "Why do you not do as she said?"
"Oh, the great bear is in the forest, and I am afraid of him!"
"Afraid of Hoots?" asked the manito. "An Indian boy must never be afraid."
"But Hoots will eat me, I know he will," cried the boy. "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"
"A boy must be brave," said the manito, "and I will not have a coward among my Indians. You are too timid ever to be a warrior, and so you shall be a bird. Whenever Indian boys look at you, they will say, 'There is the boy who was afraid of Hoots.'"
The boy's cloak of deerskin fell off, and feathers came out all over his body. His feet were no longer like a boy's feet, they were like the feet of a bird. His bow and arrows fell upon the grass, for he had no longer any hands with which to hold them. He tried to call to his mother, but the only sound he could make was "Hoo, hoo!"
"Now you are a dove," said the manito, "and a dove you shall be as long as you live. You shall always be known as the most timid of birds."
Again the dove that had once been a boy tried to call, but he only said, "Hoo, hoo!"
"That is the only sound you will ever make," said the manito, "and when the other boys hear it, they will say, 'Listen! He was afraid of Hoots, the bear, and that is why he says Hoo, hoo!'"
In the olden times when the earth was young, all the birds knew the language of men and could talk with them. Everybody liked the parrot, because he always told things as they were, and they called him the bird that tells the truth.
This bird that always told the truth lived with a man who was a thief, and one night the man killed another man's ox and hid its flesh.
When the other man came to look for it in the morning, he asked the thief, "Have you seen my ox?"
"No, I have not seen it," said the man.
"Is that the truth?" the owner asked.
"Yes, it is. I have not seen the ox," repeated the man.
"Ask the parrot," said one of the villagers. "He always tells the truth."
"O bird of truth," said they to the parrot, "did this man kill an ox and hide its flesh?"
"Yes, he did," answered the parrot.
The thief knew well that the villagers would punish him the next day, if he could not make them think that the parrot did not always tell the truth.
"I have it," he said to himself at last. "I know what I can do."
When night came he put a great jar over the parrot. Then he poured water upon the jar and struck it many times with a tough piece of oak. This he did half the night. Then he went to bed and was soon fast asleep.
In the morning the men came to punish him.
"How do you know that I killed the ox?" he asked.
"Because the bird of truth says that you did," they answered.
"The bird of truth!" he cried. "That parrot is no bird of truth. He will not tell the truth even about what happened last night. Ask him if the moon was shining."
"Did the moon shine last night?" the men asked.
"No," answered the parrot. "There was no moon, for the rain fell, and there was a great storm in the heavens. I heard the thunder half the night."
"This bird has always told the truth before," said the villagers, "but there was no storm last night and the moon was bright. What shall we do to punish the parrot?" they asked the thief.
"I think we will no longer let him live in our homes," answered the thief.
"Yes," said the others, "he must fly away to the forest, and even when there is a storm, he can no longer come to our homes, because we know now that he is a bird of a lying tongue."
So the parrot flew away sorrowfully into the lonely forest. He met a mocking-bird and told him what had happened.
"Why did you not repeat men's words as I do?" asked the mocking-bird. "Men always think their own words are good."
"But the man's words were not true," said the parrot.
"That is nothing," replied the mocking-bird, laughing. "Say what they say, and they will think you are a wonderful bird."
"Yes, I see," said the parrot thoughtfully, "and I will never again be punished for telling the truth. I will only repeat the words of others."
Far away in the forest there once lived the most cruel man on all the earth. He did not like the Indians, and he said to himself, "Some day I will be ruler of them all." Then he thought, "There are many brave warriors among the Indians, and I must first put them to death."
He was cunning as well as cruel, and he soon found a way to kill the warriors. He built some wigwams and made fires before them as if people lived in each one.
One day a hunter on his way home heard a baby crying in one of the wigwams. He went in, but he never came out again. Another day a hunter heard a child laughing. He went in, but he never came out again. So it was day after day. One hunter heard a woman talking, and went to see who it was; another heard a man calling to people in the other wigwams, and went to see who they were; and no one who once went into a wigwam ever came out.
One young brave had heard the voices, but he feared there was magic about them, and so he had never gone into the wigwams; but when he saw that his friends did not come back, he went to the wigwams and called, "Where are all the people that I have heard talk and laugh?"
"Talk and laugh," said the cunning man mockingly.
"Where are they? Do you know?" cried the brave, and the cunning man called, "Do you know?" and laughed.
"Whose voices have I heard?"
"Have I heard?" mocked the cunning man.
"I heard a baby cry."
"Cry," said the cunning man.
"Who is with you?"
"You."
Then the young brave was angry. He ran into the first wigwam, and there he found the man who had cried like a baby and talked in a voice like a woman's and made all the other sounds. The brave caught him by the leg and threw him down upon the earth.
"It was you who cried and talked and laughed," he said. "I heard your voice and now you are going to be punished for killing our braves. Where is my brother, and where are our friends?"
"How do I know?" cried the man. "Ask the sun or the moon or the fire if you will, but do not ask me;" and all the time he was trying to pull the young brave into the flames.
"I will ask the fire," said the brave. "Fire, you are a good friend to us Indians. What has this cruel man done with our warriors?"
The fire had no voice, so it could not answer, but it sprang as far away from the hunter as it could, and there where the flames had been he saw two stone arrowheads.
"I know who owned the two arrowheads," said the brave. "You have thrown my friends into your fire. Now I will do to you what you have done to them."
He threw the cunning man into the fire. His head burst into two pieces, and from between them a bird flew forth. Its voice was loud and clear, but it had no song of its own. It could only mock the songs of other birds, and that is why it is called the mocking-bird.
"I must have a boy to watch my sheep and my cows," thought an old woman, and so she went out to look for a boy. She looked first in the fields and then in the forest, but nowhere could she find a boy. As she was walking down the path to her home, she met a bear.
"Where are you going?" asked the bear.
"I am looking for a boy to watch my cows and my sheep," she answered.
"Will you have me?"
"Yes, if you know how to call my animals gently."
"Ugh, ugh," called the bear. He tried to call softly, but he had always growled before, and now he could do nothing but growl.
"No, no," said the old woman, "your voice is too loud. Every cow in the field would run, and every sheep would hide, if you should growl like that. I will not have you."
Then the old woman went on till she met a wolf.
"Where are you going, grandmother?" he asked.
"I am looking for a boy to watch my cows and my sheep," she answered.
"Will you have me?" asked the wolf.
"Yes," she said, "if you know how to call my animals gently."
"Ho-y, ho-y," called the wolf.
"Your voice is too high," said the old woman. "My cows and my sheep would tremble whenever they heard it. I will not have you."
Then the old woman went on till she met a fox.
"I am so glad to meet you," said the fox. "Where are you going this bright morning?"
"I am going home now," she said, "for I cannot find a boy to watch my cows and my sheep. The bear growls and the wolf calls in too high a voice. I do not know what I can do, for I am too old to watch cows and sheep."
"Oh, no," said the cunning fox, "you are not old, but any one as beautiful as you must not watch sheep in the fields. I shall be very glad to do the work for you if you will let me."
"I know that my sheep will like you," said she.
"And I know that I shall like them dearly," said the fox.
"Can you call them gently, Mr. Fox?" she asked.
"Del-dal-halow, del-dal-halow," called the fox, in so gentle a voice that it was like a whisper.
"That is good, Mr. Fox," said the old woman. "Come home with me, and I will take you to the fields where my animals go."
Each day one of the cows or one of the sheep was gone when the fox came home at night. "Mr. Fox, where is my cow?" the old woman would ask, or, "Mr. Fox, where is my sheep?" and the fox would answer with a sorrowful look, "The bear came out of the woods, and he has eaten it," or, "The wolf came running through the fields, and he has eaten it."
The old woman was sorry to lose her sheep and her cows, but she thought, "Mr. Fox must be even more sorry than I. I will go out to the field and carry him a drink of cream."
She went to the field, and there stood the fox with the body of a sheep, for it was he who had killed and eaten every one that was gone. When he saw the old woman coming, he started to run away.
"You cruel, cunning fox!" she cried.
She had nothing to throw at him but the cream, so she threw that. It struck the tip of his tail, and from that day to this, the tip of the fox's tail has been as white as cream.
Once upon a time there was a man who had two children, a boy and a girl, whom he treated cruelly. The boy and the girl talked together one day, and the boy, Wah-wah-hoo, said to his sister, "Dear little sister, are you happy with our father?"
"No," answered the girl, whose name was Hah-hah. "He scolds me and beats me, and I can never please him."
"He was angry with me this morning," said the boy, "and he beat me till the blood came. See there!"
"Let us run away," said Hah-hah. "The beasts and the birds will be good to us. They really love us, and we can be very happy together."
That night the two children ran away from their cruel father. They went far into the forest, and at last they found a wigwam in which no one lived.
When the father found that Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were gone, he was very unhappy. He went out into the forest to see if he could find them. "If they would only come again," he said aloud, "I would do everything I could to please them."
"Do you think he tells the truth?" asked the wolf.
"I do not know," answered the mosquito. "He never treated them well when they were with him."
"Wolf," called the father, "will you tell me where my children are?"
Wah-wah-hoo had once told the wolf when a man was coming to shoot him, and so the wolf would not tell where they were.
"Mosquito," said the father, "where are my children?"
Hah-hah had once helped the mosquito to go home when the wind was too strong for him, and so the mosquito would not tell.
For a long time Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were really happy in the forest, for there was no one to scold them and to beat them, but at last there was a cold, cold winter. All the earth was covered with snow. The animals had gone, and Wah-wah-hoo could find no food. Death came and bore away the gentle Hah-hah. Wah-wah-hoo sat alone in the gloomy wigwam wailing for his sister. Then in his sadness he threw himself down from a high mountain and was killed.
All this time the father had been looking for his children, and at last he saw his son lying at the foot of the mountain. Then he too wailed and cried aloud, for he was really sorry that he had treated them so cruelly. He was a magician, and he could make his son live, but he could not make him a boy again.
"You shall be a frog," said he, "and you shall make your home in the marsh with the reeds and the rushes. There you shall wail as loud as you will for your sister, and once every moon I will come and wail for her with you. I was cruel to you and to her, and so I must live alone in my gloomy wigwam."
Every summer night one can hear the frog in the marsh wailing for his dear sister Hah-hah. Sometimes a louder voice is heard, and that is the voice of the father wailing because he was so cruel.
One night the moon looked down from the sky upon the people on the earth and said to herself, "How sorrowful they look! I wish I knew what troubles them. The stars and I are never sad, and I do not see why men should be troubled." She listened closely, and she heard the people say, "How happy we should be if death never came to us. Death is always before us."
The path of the moon lies across the sky, and she could not leave it to go to the earth, but she called the white rabbit and said, "Rabbit, should you be afraid to go down to the earth?"
"No," answered the rabbit, "I am not afraid."
"The people on the earth are troubled because death is before them. Now will you go to them and whisper, 'The moon dies every night. You can see it go down into the darkness, but when another night comes, then the moon rises again,'—can you remember to tell them that?"
"Yes," said the rabbit, "I will remember."
"Say this," said the moon: "'The moon dies, but the moon rises again, and so will you.'"
The rabbit was so glad to go to the earth that he danced and leaped and sprang and frolicked, but when he tried to tell the people what the moon had said, he could not remember, and he said, "The moon says that she dies and will not rise again, and so you will die and will not rise again."
The moon saw that the people were still troubled, and she called the rabbit and asked what he had said to them.
"I said that as you die and do not rise, so they too will die and not rise," said the rabbit.
"You did not try to remember, and you must be punished," said the moon, and she fired an arrow tipped with flint at the rabbit.
The arrow struck the rabbit's lip and split it. From that time every rabbit has had a split lip. The rabbit was afraid of the moon, and he was afraid of the people on the earth. He had been brave before, but now he is the most timid of animals, for he is afraid of everything and everybody.
"Come to me, every bird that flies," said the Great Father. "There is work to be done that only my birds can do."
The birds were happy that they could do something to please the Great Father, for they remembered how good he had always been to them. They flew to him eagerly to ask what they should do for him. "O Great Father," they sang all together, "tell us what we can do for you."
"The waters that I have made know not where to go," said the Father. "Some should go to the seas, some should go to the lakes in the hollows among the mountains, and some should make rivers that will dance over the rocks and through the fields on their way to the sea."
"And can even as small a bird as I show them where to go?" asked the sparrow eagerly.
"Yes," said the Father, "even my little humming-bird can help me."
Every bird that flies had come to the Father, but the peetweet had come last because he was lazy.
"I do not really wish to fly all over the earth," said he, "to show the waters where to go."
"Oh, I wish I were a bird," said a butterfly. "I should be so glad to do something for the Father."
But the peetweet went on, "I should think the lakes could find their way into the hollows of the mountains by themselves."
The Father heard the lazy peetweet, and he said, "Do you not wish to show the waters where to go?"
"They never showed me where to go," said the lazy bird. "I am not thirsty. Let whoever is thirsty and needs the water help the lakes and rivers."
The other birds all stood still in wonder. "He will be punished," they whispered.
"Yes, he must be punished," said the Father sadly. Then said he to the lazy peetweet, "Never again shall you drink of the water that is in river or lake. When you are thirsty, you must look for a hollow in the rock where the rain has fallen, and there only shall you drink."
That is why the peetweet flies over river and lake, but ever cries eagerly, "Peet-weet, peet-weet!" for that is his word for "Rain, rain!"
One cold morning when the fox was coming up the road with some fish, he met the bear.
"Good-morning, Mr. Fox," said the bear.
"Good-morning, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "The morning is brighter because I have met you."
"Those are very good fish, Mr. Fox," said the bear. "I have not eaten such fish for many a day. Where do you find them?"
"I have been fishing, Mr. Bear," answered the fox.
"If I could catch such fish as those, I should like to go fishing, but I do not know how to fish."
"It would be very easy for you to learn, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "You are so big and strong that you can do anything."
"Will you teach me, Mr. Fox?" asked the bear.
"I would not tell everybody, but you are such a good friend that I will teach you. Come to this pond, and I will show you how to fish through the ice."
So the fox and the bear went to the frozen pond, and the fox showed the bear how to make a hole in the ice.
"That is easy for you," said the fox, "but many an animal could not have made that hole. Now comes the secret. You must put your tail down into the water and keep it there. That is not easy, and not every animal could do it, for the water is very cold; but you are a learned animal, Mr. Bear, and you know that the secret of catching fish is to keep your tail in the water a long time. Then when you pull it up, you will pull with it as many fish as I have."
The bear put his tail down into the water, and the fox went away. The sun rose high in the heavens, and still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice. Sunset came, but still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice, for he thought, "When an animal is really learned, he will not fear a little cold."
It began to be dark, and the bear said, "Now I will pull the fish out of the water. How good they will be!" He pulled and pulled, but not a fish came out. Worse than that, not all of his tail came out, for the end of it was frozen fast to the ice.
He went slowly down the road, growling angrily, "I wish I could find that fox;" but the cunning fox was curled up in his warm nest, and whenever he thought of the bear he laughed.
One day when the birds were all together, one of them said, "I have been watching men, and I saw that they had a king. Let us too have a king."
"Why?" asked the others.
"Oh, I do not know, but men have one."
"Which bird shall it be? How shall we choose a king?"
"Let us choose the bird that flies farthest," said one.
"No, the bird that flies most swiftly."
"The most beautiful bird."
"The bird that sings best."
"The strongest bird."
The owl sat a little way off on a great oak-tree. He said nothing, but he looked so wise that all the birds cried, "Let us ask the owl to choose for us."
"The bird that flies highest should be our king," said the owl with a wiser look than before, and the others said, "Yes, we will choose the bird that flies highest."
The wren is very small, but she cried even more eagerly than the others, "Let us choose the bird that flies highest," for she said to herself, "They think the owl is wise, but I am wiser than he, and I know which bird can fly highest."
Then the birds tried their wings. They flew high, high up above the earth, but one by one they had to come back to their homes. It was soon seen which could fly highest, for when all the others had come back, there was the eagle rising higher and higher.
"The eagle is our king," cried the birds on the earth, and the eagle gave a loud cry of happiness. But look! A little bird had been hidden in the feathers on the eagle's back, and when the eagle had gone as high as he could, the wren flew up from his back still higher.
"Now which bird is king?" cried the wren. "The one that flew highest should be king, and I flew highest."
The eagle was angry, but not a word did he say, and the two birds came down to the earth together.
"I am the king," said the wren, "for I flew higher than the eagle." The other birds did not know which of the two to choose. At last they went to the oak-tree and asked the owl. He looked to the east, the west, the south, and the north, and then he said, "The wren did not fly at all, for she was carried on the eagle's back. The eagle is king, for he not only flew highest, but carried the wren on his back."
"Good, good!" cried the other birds. "The owl is the wisest bird that flies. We will do as he says, and the eagle shall be our king." The wren crept away. She thought she was wise before, but now she is really wise, for she always flies close to the earth, and never tries to do what she cannot.
The manito of the Indians taught them how to do many things. He told them how to build wigwams, and how to hunt and to fish. He showed them how to make jars in which to keep food and water. When little children came to be with them, it was the manito who said, "See, this is the way to make soft, warm cradles for the babies."
The good spirit often comes down from his happy home in the sky to watch the Indians at their work. When each man does as well as he can, the manito is pleased, but if an Indian is lazy or wicked, the spirit is angry, and the Indian is always punished in one way or another.
One day when the manito was walking in the forest, he said to himself, "Everything is good and happy. The green leaves are whispering merrily together, the waves are lapping on the shore and laughing, the squirrels are chattering and laying up their food for winter. Everything loves me, and the colors of the flowers are brighter when I lay my hand upon them."
Then the manito heard a strange sound. "I have not often heard that," said he. "I do not like it. Some one in the forest has wicked thoughts in his heart."
Beside a great rock he saw a man with a knife.
"What are you doing with the knife?" asked the manito.
"I am throwing it away," answered the man.
"Tell me the truth," said the manito.
"I am sharpening it," replied the man.
"That is strange," said the manito, "You have food in your wigwam. Why should you sharpen a knife?"
The man could not help telling the truth to the manito, and so he answered, but greatly against his will, "I am sharpening the knife to kill the wicked animals."
"Which animal is wicked?" asked the manito. "Which one does you harm?"