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The Indian Fairy Book: From the Original Legends

by Cornelius Mathews · English · Gutenberg #22248 · 433,418 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Indian Fairy Book: From the Original Legends

Author: Cornelius Mathews

Illustrator: John McLenan


        
Release date: August 5, 2007 [eBook #22248]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22248

Credits: Produced by Janet Blenkinship and The Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INDIAN FAIRY BOOK: FROM THE ORIGINAL LEGENDS ***




Produced by Janet Blenkinship and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









  THE

  INDIAN FAIRY BOOK.

  FROM THE ORIGINAL LEGENDS.

  BY

  CORNELIUS MATHEWS.

  With Illustrations by John McLenan.

  ENGRAVED BY A. V. S. ANTHONY.


  NEW-YORK:
  PUBLISHED BY ALLEN BROTHERS.
  1869.

  Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1868, BY CORNELIUS
  MATHEWS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern
  District of New-York.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: THE CELESTIAL SISTERS. Page 11.]




PREFACE.


The following stories have been, time out of mind, in their original
form, recited around the lodge-fires and under the trees, by the Indian
story-tellers, for the entertainment of the red children of the West.
They were originally interpreted from the old tales and legends by the
late Henry R. Schoolcraft, and are now re-interpreted and developed by
the Editor, so as to enable them, as far as worthy, to take a place with
the popular versions of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, Cinderella,
Little Red Riding Hood, and other world-renowned tales of Europe and the
East, to which, in their original conception, they bear a resemblance in
romantic interest and quaint extravagance of fancy. The Editor hopes
that these beautiful and sprightly legends of the West, if not marred in
the handling, will repay, in part at least, the glorious debt which we
have incurred to the Eastern World for her magical gifts of the same
kind.
                                                        October, 1868.




  CONTENTS.
                                                          PAGE

  I.--THE CELESTIAL SISTERS                                  7

  II.--THE BOY WHO SET A SNARE FOR THE SUN                  16

  III.--STRONG DESIRE AND THE RED SORCERER                  22

  IV.--THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF GRASSHOPPER                34

  V.--THE TWO JEEBI                                         68

  VI.--OSSEO, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR                   74

  VII.--GRAY EAGLE AND HIS FIVE BROTHERS                    83

  VIII.--THE TOAD-WOMAN                                     90

  IX.--THE ORIGIN OF THE ROBIN                              98

  X.--WHITE FEATHER AND THE SIX GIANTS                     102

  XI.--SHEEM, THE FORSAKEN BOY                             115

  XII.--THE MAGIC BUNDLE                                   135

  XIII.--THE RED SWAN                                      138

  XIV.--THE MAN WITH HIS LEG TIED UP                       170

  XV.--THE LITTLE SPIRIT OR BOY-MAN                        179

   XVI.--THE ENCHANTED MOCCASINS                           190

  XVII.--HE OF THE LITTLE SHELL                            207

  XVIII.--MANABOZHO, THE MISCHIEF-MAKER                    215

  XIX.--LEELINAU, THE LOST DAUGHTER                        252

  XX.--THE WINTER SPIRIT AND HIS VISITOR                   261

  XXI.--THE FIRE-PLUME                                     264

  XXII.--WEENDIGOES AND THE BONE-DWARF                     288

  XXIII.--THE BIRD LOVER                                   299

  XXIV.--BOKWEWA THE HUMPBACK                              315

  XXV.--THE CRANE THAT CROSSED THE RIVER                   324

  XXVI.--WUNZH, THE FATHER OF INDIAN CORN                  330




  ILLUSTRATIONS.


  FRONTISPIECE.--THE CELESTIAL SISTERS                      11

  THE BEAR SERVANTS                                         59

  THE MAN WITH HIS LEG TIED UP                             176

  THE MORNING STAR AND HER BROTHER                         212




I.

THE CELESTIAL SISTERS.


Waupee, or the White Hawk, lived in a remote part of the forest, where
animals abounded. Every day he returned from the chase with a large
spoil, for he was one of the most skillful and lucky hunters of his
tribe. His form was like the cedar; the fire of youth beamed from his
eye; there was no forest too gloomy for him to penetrate, and no track
made by bird or beast of any kind which he could not readily follow.

One day he had gone beyond any point which he had ever before visited.
He traveled through an open wood, which enabled him to see a great
distance. At length he beheld a light breaking through the foliage of
the distant trees, which made him sure that he was on the borders of a
prairie. It was a wide plain, covered with long blue grass, and enameled
with flowers of a thousand lovely tints.

After walking for some time without a path, musing upon the open
country, and enjoying the fragrant breeze, he suddenly came to a ring
worn among the grass and the flowers, as if it had been made by
footsteps moving lightly round and round. But it was strange--so strange
as to cause the White Hawk to pause and gaze long and fixedly upon the
ground--there was no path which led to this flowery circle. There was
not even a crushed leaf nor a broken twig, nor the least trace of a
footstep, approaching or retiring, to be found. He thought he would hide
himself and lie in wait to discover, if he could, what this strange
circle meant.

Presently he heard the faint sounds of music in the air. He looked up in
the direction they came from, and as the magic notes died away he saw a
small object, like a little summer cloud that approaches the earth,
floating down from above. At first it was very small, and seemed as if
it could have been blown away by the first breeze that came along; but
it rapidly grew as he gazed upon it, and the music every moment came
clearer and more sweetly to his ear. As it neared the earth it appeared
as a basket, and it was filled with twelve sisters, of the most lovely
forms and enchanting beauty.

As soon as the basket touched the ground they leaped out, and began
straightway to dance, in the most joyous manner, around the magic ring,
striking, as they did so, a shining ball, which uttered the most
ravishing melodies, and kept time as they danced.

The White Hawk, from his concealment, entranced, gazed upon their
graceful forms and movements. He admired them all, but he was most
pleased with the youngest. He longed to be at her side, to embrace her,
to call her his own; and unable to remain longer a silent admirer, he
rushed out and endeavored to seize this twelfth beauty who so enchanted
him. But the sisters, with the quickness of birds, the moment they
descried the form of a man, leaped back into the basket, and were drawn
up into the sky.

Lamenting his ill-luck, Waupee gazed longingly upon the fairy basket as
it ascended and bore the lovely sisters from his view. "They are gone,"
he said, "and I shall see them no more."

He returned to his solitary lodge, but he found no relief to his mind.
He walked abroad, but to look at the sky, which had withdrawn from his
sight the only being he had ever loved, was painful to him now.

The next day, selecting the same hour, the White Hawk went back to the
prairie, and took his station near the ring; in order to deceive the
sisters, he assumed the form of an opossum, and sat among the grass as
if he were there engaged in chewing the cud. He had not waited long when
he saw the cloudy basket descend, and heard the same sweet music
falling as before. He crept slowly toward the ring; but the instant the
sisters caught sight of him they were startled, and sprang into their
car. It rose a short distance when one of the elder sisters spoke:

"Perhaps," she said, "it is come to show us how the game is played by
mortals."

"Oh no," the youngest replied; "quick, let us ascend."

And all joining in a chant, they rose out of sight.

Waupee, casting off his disguise, walked sorrowfully back to his
lodge--but ah, the night seemed very long to lonely White Hawk! His
whole soul was filled with the thought of the beautiful sister.

Betimes, the next day, he returned to the haunted spot, hoping and
fearing, and sighing as though his very soul would leave his body in its
anguish. He reflected upon the plan he should follow to secure success.
He had already failed twice; to fail a third time would be fatal. Near
by he found an old stump, much covered with moss, and just then in use
as the residence of a number of mice, who had stopped there on a
pilgrimage to some relatives on the other side of the prairie. The White
Hawk was so pleased with their tidy little forms that he thought he,
too, would be a mouse, especially as they were by no means formidable
to look at, and would not be at all likely to create alarm.

He accordingly, having first brought the stump and set it near the ring,
without further notice became a mouse, and peeped and sported about, and
kept his sharp little eyes busy with the others; but he did not forget
to keep one eye up toward the sky, and one ear wide open in the same
direction.

It was not long before the sisters, at their customary hour, came down
and resumed their sport.

"But see," cried the younger sister, "that stump was not there before."

She ran off, frightened, toward the basket. Her sisters only smiled, and
gathering round the old tree-stump, they struck it, in jest, when out
ran the mice, and among them Waupee. They killed them all but one, which
was pursued by the younger sister. Just as she had raised a silver stick
which she held in her hand to put an end to it, too, the form of the
White Hawk arose, and he clasped his prize in his arms. The other eleven
sprang to their basket, and were drawn up to the skies.

Waupee exerted all his skill to please his bride and win her affections.
He wiped the tears from her eyes; he related his adventures in the
chase; he dwelt upon the charms of life on the earth. He was constant in
his attentions, keeping fondly by her side, and picking out the way for
her to walk as he led her gently toward his lodge. He felt his heart
glow with joy as he entered it, and from that moment he was one of the
happiest of men.

Winter and summer passed rapidly away, and as the spring drew near with
its balmy gales and its many-colored flowers, their happiness was
increased by the presence of a beautiful boy in their lodge. What more
of earthly blessing was there for them to enjoy?

Waupee's wife was a daughter of one of the stars; and as the scenes of
earth began to pall upon her sight, she sighed to revisit her father.
But she was obliged to hide these feelings from her husband. She
remembered the charm that would carry her up, and while White Hawk was
engaged in the chase, she took occasion to construct a wicker basket,
which she kept concealed. In the mean time, she collected such rarities
from the earth as she thought would please her father, as well as the
most dainty kinds of food.

One day when Waupee was absent, and all was in readiness, she went out
to the charmed ring, taking with her her little son. As they entered the
car she commenced her magical song, and the basket rose. The song was
sad, and of a lowly and mournful cadence, and as it was wafted far away
by the wind, it caught her husband's ear. It was a voice which he well
knew, and he instantly ran to the prairie Though he made breathless
speed, he could not reach the ring before his wife and child had
ascended beyond his reach. He lifted up his voice in loud appeals, but
they were unavailing. The basket still went up. He watched it till it
became a small speck, and finally it vanished in the sky. He then bent
his head down to the ground, and was miserable.

Through a long winter and a long summer Waupee bewailed his loss, but he
found no relief. The beautiful spirit had come and gone, and he should
see it no more!

He mourned his wife's loss sorely, but his son's still more; for the boy
had both the mother's beauty and the father's strength.

In the mean time his wife had reached her home in the stars, and in the
blissful employments of her father's house she had almost forgotten that
she had left a husband upon the earth. But her son, as he grew up,
resembled more and more his father, and every day he was restless and
anxious to visit the scene of his birth. His grandfather said to his
daughter, one day:

"Go, my child, and take your son down to his father, and ask him to come
up and live with us. But tell him to bring along a specimen of each kind
of bird and animal he kills in the chase."

She accordingly took the boy and descended. The White Hawk, who was
ever near the enchanted spot, heard her voice as she came down the sky.
His heart beat with impatience as he saw her form and that of his son,
and they were soon clasped in his arms.

He heard the message of the Star, and he began to hunt with the greatest
activity, that he might collect the present with all dispatch. He spent
whole nights, as well as days, in searching for every curious and
beautiful animal and bird. He only preserved a foot, a wing, or a tail
of each.

When all was ready, Waupee visited once more each favorite spot--the
hill-top whence he had been used to see the rising sun; the stream where
he had sported as a boy; the old lodge, now looking sad and solemn,
which he was to sit in no more; and last of all, coming to the magic
circle, he gazed widely around him with tearful eyes, and, taking his
wife and child by the hand, they entered the car and were drawn up--into
a country far beyond the flight of birds, or the power of mortal eye to
pierce.

Great joy was manifested upon their arrival at the starry plains. The
Star Chief invited all his people to a feast; and when they had
assembled, he proclaimed aloud that each one might continue as he was,
an inhabitant of his own dominions, or select of the earthly gifts such
as he liked best. A very strange confusion immediately arose; not one
but sprang forward. Some chose a foot, some a wing, some a tail, and
some a claw. Those who selected tails or claws were changed into
animals, and ran off; the others assumed the form of birds, and flew
away. Waupee chose a white hawk's feather. His wife and son followed his
example, and each one became a white hawk. He spread his wings, and,
followed by his wife and son, descended with the other birds to the
earth, where he is still to be found, with the brightness of the starry
plains in his eye, and the freedom of the heavenly breezes in his
wings.




II.

THE BOY WHO SET A SNARE FOR THE SUN.


At the time when the animals reigned in the earth, they had killed all
the people but a girl and her little brother, and these two were living
in fear, in an out-of-the-way place. The boy was a perfect little pigmy,
and never grew beyond the size of a mere infant; but the girl increased
with her years, so that the task of providing food and shelter fell
wholly upon her. She went out daily to get wood for the lodge-fire, and
she took her little brother with her that no mishap might befall him;
for he was too little to leave alone. A big bird, of a mischievous
disposition, might have flown away with him. She made him a bow and
arrows, and said to him one day, "My little brother, I will leave you
behind where I have been gathering the wood; you must hide yourself, and
you will soon see the snow-birds come and pick the worms out of the logs
which I have piled up. Shoot one of them and bring it home."

He obeyed her, and tried his best to kill one, but he came home
unsuccessful. His sister told him that he must not despair, but try
again the next day.

She accordingly left him at the gathering-place of the wood, and
returned to the lodge. Toward night-fall she heard his little footsteps
crackling through the snow, and he hurried in and threw down, with an
air of triumph, one of the birds which he had killed. "My sister," said
he, "I wish you to skin it, and stretch the skin, and when I have killed
more, I will have a coat made out of them."

"But what shall we do with the body?" said she; for they had always up
to that time lived upon greens and berries.

"Cut it in two," he answered, "and season our pottage with one half of
it at a time."

It was their first dish of game, and they relished it greatly.

The boy kept on in his efforts, and in the course of time he killed ten
birds--out of the skins of which his sister made him a little coat:
being very small, he had a very pretty coat, and a bird skin to spare.

"Sister," said he, one day, as he paraded up and down before the lodge,
enjoying his new coat, and fancifying himself the greatest little fellow
in the world--as he was, for there was no other beside him--"My sister,
are we really alone in the world, or are we playing at it? Is there
nobody else living? And, tell me, was all this great broad earth and
this huge big sky made for a little boy and girl like you and me?"

She told him, by no means; there were many folks very unlike a harmless
girl and boy, such as they were, who lived in a certain other quarter of
the earth, who had killed off all of their kinsfolk; and that if he
would live blameless and not endanger his life, he must never go where
they were. This only served to inflame the boy's curiosity; and he soon
after took his bow and arrows and went in that direction. After walking
a long time and meeting no one, he became tired, and stretched himself
upon a high green knoll where the day's warmth had melted off the snow.

It was a charming place to lie upon, and he fell asleep; and, while
sleeping, the sun beat so hot upon him that it not only singed his
bird-skin coat, but it so shrivelled and shrunk and tightened it upon
the little boy's body, as to wake him up.

When he felt how the sun had seared and the mischief its fiery beams had
played with the coat he was so proud of, he flew into a great passion,
and berated the sun in a terrible way for a little boy no higher than a
man's knee, and he vowed fearful things against it.

"Do not think you are too high," said he; "I shall revenge myself. Oh,
sun! I will have you for a plaything yet."

On coming home he gave an account of his misfortune to his sister, and
bitterly bewailed the spoiling of his new coat. He would not eat--not so
much as a single berry. He lay down as one that fasts; nor did he move
nor change his manner of lying for ten full days, though his sister
strove to prevail on him to rise. At the end of ten days he turned over,
and then he lay full ten days on the other side.

When he got up he was very pale, but very resolute too. He bade his
sister make a snare, for, he informed her, that he meant to catch the
sun. She said she had nothing; but after awhile she brought forward a
deer's sinew which the father had left, and which she soon made into a
string suitable for a noose. The moment she showed it to him he was
quite wroth, and told her that would not do, and directed her to find
something else. She said she had nothing--nothing at all. At last she
thought of the bird-skin that was left over when the coat was made; and
this she wrought into a string. With this the little boy was more vexed
than before. "The sun has had enough of my bird-skins," he said; "find
something else." She went out of the lodge saying to herself, "Was there
ever so obstinate a boy?" She did not dare to answer this time that she
had nothing. Luckily she thought of her own beautiful hair, and pulling
some of it from among her locks, she quickly braided it into a cord,
and, returning, she handed it to her brother. The moment his eye fell
upon this jet black braid he was delighted. "This will do," he said; and
he immediately began to run it back and forth through his hands as
swiftly as he could; and as he drew it forth, he tried its strength. He
said again, "this will do;" and winding it in a glossy coil about his
shoulders, he set out a little after midnight. His object was to catch
the sun before he rose. He fixed his snare firmly on a spot just where
the sun must strike the land as it rose above the earth; and sure
enough, he caught the sun, so that it was held fast in the cord and did
not rise.

The animals who ruled the earth were immediately put into great
commotion. They had no light; and they ran to and fro, calling out to
each other, and inquiring what had happened. They summoned a council to
debate upon the matter, and an old dormouse, suspecting where the
trouble lay, proposed that some one should be appointed to go and cut
the cord. This was a bold thing to undertake, as the rays of the sun
could not fail to burn whoever should venture so near to them.

At last the venerable dormouse himself undertook it, for the very good
reason that no one else would. At this time the dormouse was the largest
animal in the world. When he stood up he looked like a mountain. It
made haste to the place where the sun lay ensnared, and as it came
nearer and nearer, its back began to smoke and burn with the heat, and
the whole top of his huge bulk was turned in a very short time to
enormous heaps of ashes. It succeeded, however, in cutting the cord with
its teeth and freeing the sun, which rolled up again, as round and
beautiful as ever, into the wide blue sky. But the dormouse--or blind
woman as it is called--was shrunk away to a very small size; and that is
the reason why it is now one of the tiniest creatures upon the earth.

The little boy returned home when he discovered that the sun had escaped
his snare, and devoted himself entirely to hunting. "If the beautiful
hair of my sister would not hold the sun fast, nothing in the world
could," he said. "He was not born, a little fellow like himself, to look
after the sun. It required one greater and wiser than he was to regulate
that." And he went out and shot ten more snow-birds; for in this
business he was very expert; and he had a new bird-skin coat made, which
was prettier than the one he had worn before.




III.

STRONG DESIRE, AND THE RED SORCERER.


There was a man called Odshedoph, or the Child of Strong Desires, who
had a wife and one son. He had withdrawn his family from the village,
where they had spent the winter, to the neighborhood of a distant
forest, where game abounded. This wood was a day's travel from his
winter home, and under its ample shadow the wife fixed the lodge, while
the husband went out to hunt. Early in the evening he returned with a
deer, and, being weary and athirst, he asked his son, whom he called
Strong Desire, to go to the river for some water. The son replied that
it was dark, and he was afraid. His father still urged him, saying that
his mother, as well as himself, was tired, and the distance to the water
very short. But no persuasion could overcome the young man's reluctance.
He refused to go.

"Ah, my son," said the father, at last, "if you are afraid to go to the
river, you will never kill the Red Head."

The stripling was deeply vexed by this observation; it seemed to touch
him to the very quick. He mused in silence. He refused to eat, and made
no reply when spoken to. He sat by the lodge door all the night through,
looking up at the stars, and sighing like one sorely distressed.

The next day he asked his mother to dress the skin of the deer, and to
make it into moccasins for him, while he busied himself in preparing a
bow and arrows.

As soon as these were in readiness, he left the lodge one morning, at
sunrise, without saying a word to his father or mother. As he passed
along, he fired one of his arrows into the air, which fell westward. He
took that course, and coming to the spot where the arrow had fallen, he
was rejoiced to find it piercing the heart of a deer. He refreshed
himself with a meal of the venison, and the next morning he fired
another arrow. Following its course, after traveling all day he found
that he had transfixed another deer. In this manner he fired four
arrows, and every evening he discovered that he had killed a deer.

By a strange oversight, he left the arrows sticking in the carcasses,
and passed on without withdrawing them. Having in this way no arrow for
the fifth day, he was in great distress at night for the want of food.

At last he threw himself upon the earth in despair, concluding that he
might as well perish there as go further. But he had not lain long
before he heard a hollow rumbling noise, in the ground beneath him, like
that of an earthquake moving slowly along.

He sprang up, and discovered at a distance the figure of a human being,
walking with a stick. He looked attentively, and saw that the figure was
walking in a wide beaten path in a prairie, leading from a dusky lodge
to a lake, whose waters were black and turbid.

To his surprise, this lodge, which had not been in view when he cast
himself upon the ground, was now near at hand. He approached a little
nearer, and concealed himself; and in a moment he discovered that the
figure was no other than that of the terrible witch, the little old
woman who makes war. Her path to the lake was perfectly smooth and
solid, and the noise Strong Desire had heard was caused by the striking
of her walking staff upon the ground. The top of this staff was
decorated with a string of the toes and bills of birds of every kind,
who, at every stroke of the stick, fluttered and sung their various
notes in concert.

She entered her lodge and laid off her mantle, which was entirely
composed of the scalps of women. Before folding it, she shook it
several times, and at every shake the scalps uttered loud shouts of
laughter, in which the old hag joined. The boy, who lingered at the
door, was greatly alarmed, but he uttered no cry.

After laying by the cloak, she came directly to him. Looking at him
steadily, she informed him that she had known him from the time he had
left his father's lodge, and had watched his movements. She told him not
to fear or despair, for she would be his protector and friend. She
invited him into her lodge, and gave him a supper. During the repast,
she questioned him as to his motives for visiting her. He related his
history, stated the manner in which he had been disgraced, and the
difficulties he labored under.

"Now tell me truly," said the little old woman who makes war, "you were
afraid to go to the water in the dark."

"I was," Strong Desire answered, promptly.

As he replied, the hag waved her staff. The birds set up a clamorous
cry, and the mantle shook violently as all the scalps burst into a
hideous shout of laughter.

"And are you afraid now," she asked again.

"I am," again answered Strong Desire, without hesitation.

"But you are not afraid to speak the truth," rejoined the little old
woman. "You will be a brave man yet."

She cheered him with the assurance of her friendship, and began at once
to exercise her power upon him. His hair being very short, she took a
great leaden comb, and after drawing it through his locks several times,
they became of a handsome length like those of a beautiful young woman.
She then proceeded to dress him as a female, furnishing him with the
necessary garments, and tinting his face with colors of the most
charming dye. She gave him, too, a bowl of shining metal. She directed
him to put in his girdle a blade of scented sword-grass, and to proceed
the next morning to the banks of the lake, which was no other than that
over which the Red Head reigned. Now Hah-Undo-Tah, or the Red Head, was
a most powerful sorcerer, living upon an island in the centre of his
realm of water, and he was the terror of all the country. She informed
him that there would be many Indians upon the island, who, as soon as
they saw him use the shining bowl to drink with, would come and solicit
him to be their wife, and to take him over to the island. These offers
he was to refuse, and to say that he had come a great distance to be the
wife of the Red Head, and that if the chief could not seek her for
himself, she would return to her village. She said, that as soon as the
Red Head heard of this he would come for her in his own canoe, in which
she must embark.

"On reaching the shore," added the little old woman, "you must consent
to be his wife; and in the evening you are to induce him to take a walk
out of the village, and when you have reached a lonesome spot, use the
first opportunity to cut off his head with the blade of grass."

She also gave Strong Desire general advice how he was to conduct himself
to sustain his assumed character of a woman. His fear would scarcely
permit him to consent to engage in an adventure attended with so much
danger; but the recollection of his father's looks and reproaches of the
want of courage, decided him.

Early in the morning he left the lodge of the little old woman who makes
war, which was clouded in a heavy brackish fog, so thick and heavy to
breathe, that he with difficulty made his way forth. When he turned to
look back for it, it was gone.

He took the hard beaten path to the banks of the lake, and made for the
water at a point directly opposite the Red Head's lodge.

Where he now stood it was beautiful day. The heavens were clear, and the
sun shone out as brightly to Strong Desire as on the first morning when
he had put forth his little head from the door of his father's lodge. He
had not been long there, sauntering along the beach, when he displayed
the glittering bowl by dipping water from the lake. Very soon a number
of canoes came off from the island. The men admired his dress, and were
charmed with his beauty, and almost with one voice they all made
proposals of marriage. These, Strong Desire promptly declined.

When this was reported to Red Head, he ordered his royal bark to be
launched by his chosen men of the oar, and crossed over to see this
wonderful girl. As they approached the shore, Strong Desire saw that the
ribs of the sorcerer's canoe were formed of living rattlesnakes, whose
heads pointed outward to guard him from his enemies. Being invited, he
had no sooner stepped into the canoe, than they began to hiss and rattle
furiously, which put him in a great fright; but the magician spoke to
them, when they became pacified and quiet. Shortly after they were at
the landing upon the island. The marriage took place immediately; and
the bride made presents of various valuables which had been furnished
her by the old witch who inhabited the cloudy lodge.

As they were sitting in the lodge, surrounded by the friends and
relatives, the mother of the Red Head regarded the face of her new
daughter-in-law for a long time with fixed attention. From this scrutiny
she was convinced that this singular and hasty marriage boded no good to
her son. She drew him aside, and disclosed to him her suspicions. This
can be no female, said she; she has the figure and manners, the
countenance, and more especially the eyes, are beyond a doubt those of a
man. Her husband rejected her suspicions, and rebuked her severely for
entertaining such notions of her own daughter-in-law. She still urged
her doubts, which so vexed the husband that he broke his pipe-stem in
her face, and called her an owl.

This act astonished the company, who sought an explanation; and it was
no sooner given, than the mock bride, rising with an air of offended
dignity, informed the Red Head that after receiving so gross an affront
from his relatives she could not think of remaining with him as his
wife, but should forthwith return to her own friends.

With a toss of the head, like that of an angry female, Strong Desire
left the lodge, followed by Red Head, and walked away until he came to
the beach of the island, near the spot where they had first landed. Red
Head entreated him to remain, urging every motive, and making all sorts
of magnificent promises--none of which seemed to make the least
impression. Strong Desire, Red Head thought, was very hard-hearted.
During these appeals they had seated themselves upon the ground, and Red
Head, in great affliction, reclined his head upon his fancied wife's
lap. Strong Desire now changed his manner, was very kind and soothing,
and suggested in the most winning accent that if Red Head would sleep
soundly for awhile he might possibly dream himself out of all his
troubles. Red Head, delighted at so happy a prospect, said that he would
fall asleep immediately.

"You have killed a good many men in your time, Red Head," said Strong
Desire, by way of suggesting an agreeable train of ideas to the
sorcerer.

"Hundreds," answered Red Head; "and what is better, now that I am fairly
settled in life by this happy marriage, I shall be able to give my whole
attention to massacre."

"And you will kill hundreds more," interposed Strong Desire, in the most
insinuating manner imaginable.

"Just so, my dear," Red Head replied, with a great leer; "thousands.
There will be no end to my delicious murders. I love dearly to kill
people. I would like to kill you if you were not my wife."

"There, there," said Strong Desire, with the coaxing air of a little
coquette, "go to sleep; that's a good Red Head."

No other subject of conversation occurring to the chief, now that he had
exhausted the delightful topic of wholesale murder, he straightway fell
into a deep sleep.

The chance so anxiously sought for had come; and Strong Desire, with a
smiling eye, drawing his blade of grass with lightning swiftness once
across the neck of the Red Head, severed the huge and wicked head from
the body.

In a moment, stripping off his woman's dress, underneath which he had
all along worn his male attire, Strong Desire seized the bleeding
trophy, plunged into the lake, and swam safely over to the main shore.
He had scarcely reached it, when, looking back, he saw amid the darkness
the torches of persons come out in search of the new married couple. He
listened until they had found the headless body, and he heard their
piercing shrieks of rage and sorrow as he took his way to the lodge of
his kind adviser.

The little old woman who makes war was in an excellent humor, and she
received Strong Desire with rejoicing. She admired his prudence, and
assured him his bravery should never be questioned again. Lifting up the
head, which she gazed upon with vast delight, she said he need only have
brought the scalp. Cutting off a lock of the hair for herself, she told
him he might now return with the head, which would be evidence of an
achievement that would cause his own people to respect him.

"In your way home," added the little old woman, "you will meet with but
one difficulty. Maunkahkeesh, the Spirit of the Earth, requires an
offering or sacrifice from all of her sons who perform extraordinary
deeds. As you walk along in a prairie there will be an earthquake; the
earth will open and divide the prairie in the middle. Take this
partridge and throw it into the opening, and instantly spring over it."

With many thanks to the little old witch, who had so faithfully
befriended him, Strong Desire took leave of her, and having, by the
course pointed out, safely passed the earthquake, he arrived near his
own village. He secretly hid his precious trophy.

On entering the village, he found that his parents had returned from the
place of their spring encampment by the wood-side, and that they were in
heavy sorrowing for their son, whom they supposed to be lost. One and
another of the young men had presented themselves to the disconsolate
parents, and said, "Look up, I am your son;" but when they looked up,
they beheld not the familiar face of Strong Desire.

Having been often deceived in this manner, when their own son in truth
presented himself they sat with their heads down, and with their eyes
nearly blinded with weeping. It was some time before they could be
prevailed upon to bestow a glance upon him. It was still longer before
they could recognize him as their son who had refused to draw water from
the river, at night, for fear, for his countenance was no longer that
of a timid stripling; it was that of a man who has seen and done great
things, and who has the heart to do greater still.

When he recounted his adventures they believed him mad. The young men
laughed at him--him, Strong Desire--who feared to walk to the river at
night-time.

He left the lodge, and ere their laughter had ceased, returned with his
trophy. He held aloft the head of the Red Sorcerer, with the great
ghastly leer which lighted it up before his last sleep, at prospect of a
thousand future murders, fresh upon it. It was easily recognized, and
the young men who had scoffed at Strong Desire shrunk into the corners
out of sight. Strong Desire had conquered the terrible Red Head! All
doubts of the truth of his adventures were dispelled.

He was greeted with joy, and placed among the first warriors of the
nation. He finally became a chief, and his family were ever after
respected and esteemed.




IV.

THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF GRASSHOPPER.


A man, of small stature, found himself standing alone on a prairie. He
thought to himself, "How came I here? Are there no beings on this earth
but myself? I must travel and see. I must walk till I find the abodes of
men."

So soon as his mind was made up, he set out, he knew not whither, in
search of habitations. He was a resolute little fellow, and no
difficulties could turn him from his purpose: neither prairies, rivers,
woods nor storms, had the effect to daunt his courage or turn him back.
After traveling a long time, he came to a wood, in which he saw decayed
stumps of trees, as if they had been cut in ancient times, but no other
trace of men. Pursuing his journey, he found more recent marks of the
same kind; after this, he came upon fresh traces of human beings; first
their footsteps, and then the wood they had felled, lying in heaps.
Pushing on, he emerged toward dusk from the forest, and beheld at a
distance a large village of high lodges standing on rising ground.

"I am tired of this dog-trot," he said to himself. "I will arrive there
on a run."

He started off with all his speed. On coming to the first lodge, without
any especial exertion, he jumped over it, and found himself standing by
the door on the other side. Those within saw something pass over the
opening in the roof; they thought from the shadow it cast that it must
have been some huge bird--and then they heard a thump upon the ground.
"What is that?" they all said and several ran out to see.

They invited him in, and he found himself in company with an old chief
and several men who were seated in the lodge. Meat was set before him;
after which the old chief asked him whither he was going, and what was
his name. He answered that he was in search of adventures, and that his
name was "Grasshopper."

They all opened their eyes upon the stranger with a broad stare.

"Grasshopper!" whispered one to another; and a general titter went
round.

They invited him to stay with them, which he was inclined to do; for it
was a pleasant village, but so small as to constantly embarrass
Grasshopper. He was in perpetual trouble; whenever he shook hands with
a stranger, to whom he might be introduced, such was the abundance of
his strength, without meaning it, he wrung his arm off at the shoulder.
Once or twice, in mere sport, he cuffed the boys, about the lodge, by
the side of the head, and they flew out of sight as though they had been
shot from a bow; nor could they ever be found again, though they were
searched for in all the country round, far and wide. If Grasshopper
proposed to himself a short stroll in the morning, he was at once miles
out of town. When he entered a lodge, if he happened for a moment to
forget himself, he walked straight through the leathern, or wooden, or
earthen walls, as if he had been merely passing through a bush. At his
meals he broke in pieces all the dishes, set them down as lightly as he
would; and putting a leg out of bed when he rose, it was a common thing
for him to push off the top of the lodge.

He wanted more elbow-room; and after a short stay, in which, by the
accidentally letting go of his strength, he had nearly laid waste the
whole place, and filled it with demolished lodges and broken pottery,
and one-armed men, he made up his mind to go further, taking with him a
young man who had formed a strong attachment for him, and who might
serve him as his pipe-bearer; for Grasshopper was a huge smoker, and
vast clouds followed him wherever he went; so that people could say,
"Grasshopper is coming!" by the mighty smoke he raised.

They set out together, and when his companion was fatigued with walking,
Grasshopper would put him forward on his journey a mile or two by giving
him a cast in the air, and lighting him in a soft place among the trees,
or in a cool spot in a water-pond, among the sedges and water-lilies. At
other times he would lighten the way by showing off a few tricks, such
as leaping over trees, and turning round on one leg till he made the
dust fly; at which the pipe-bearer was mightily pleased, although it
sometimes happened that the character of these gambols frightened him.
For Grasshopper would, without the least hint of such an intention, jump
into the air far ahead, and it would cost the little pipe-bearer half a
day's hard travel to come up with him; and then the dust Grasshopper
raised was often so thick and heavy as to completely bury the poor
little pipe-bearer, and compel Grasshopper to dig diligently and with
might and main to get him out alive.

One day they came to a very large village, where they were well
received. After staying in it some time (in the course of which
Grasshopper, in a fit of abstraction, walked straight through the sides
of three lodges without stopping to look for the door), they were
informed of a number of wicked spirits, who lived at a distance, and who
made it a practice to kill all who came to their lodge. Attempts had
been made to destroy them, but they had always proved more than a match
for such as had come out against them.

Grasshopper determined to pay them a visit, although he was strongly
advised not to do so. The chief of the village warned him of the great
danger he would incur, but finding Grasshopper resolved, he said:

"Well, if you will go, being my guest, I will send twenty warriors to
serve you."

Grasshopper thanked him for the offer, although he suggested that he
thought he could get along without them, at which the little pipe-bearer
grinned, for his master had never shown in that village what he could
do, and the chief thought that Grasshopper, being little himself, would
be likely to need twenty warriors, at the least, to encounter the wicked
spirits with any chance of success. Twenty young men made their
appearance. They set forward, and after about a day's journey they
descried the lodge of the Manitoes.

Grasshopper placed his friend, the pipe-bearer, and the warriors, near
enough to see all that passed, while he went alone to the lodge.

As he entered, Grasshopper saw five horrid-looking Manitoes in the act
of eating. It was the father and his four sons. They were really
hideous to look upon. Their eyes were swimming low in their heads, and
they glared about as if they were half starved. They offered Grasshopper
something to eat, which he politely refused, for he had a strong
suspicion that it was the thigh-bone of a man.

"What have you come for?" said the old one.

"Nothing," answered Grasshopper; "where is your uncle?"

They all stared at him, and answered:

"We ate him, yesterday. What do you want?"

"Nothing," said Grasshopper; "where is your grandfather?"

They all answered, with another broad stare:

"We ate him a week ago. Do you not wish to wrestle?"

"Yes," replied Grasshopper, "I don't mind if I do take a turn; but you
must be easy with me, for you see I am very little."

Pipe-bearer, who stood near enough to overhear the conversation, grinned
from ear to ear when he caught this remark. The Manitoes answered:

"Oh yes, we will be easy with you."

And as they said this they looked at each other, and rolled their eyes
about in a dreadful manner. A hideous smile came over their faces as
they whispered among themselves:

"It's a pity he's so thin. You go," they said to the eldest brother.

The two got ready--the Manito and Grasshopper--and they were soon
clinched in each other's arms for a deadly throw. Grasshopper knew their
object--his death; they wanted a taste of his delicate little body, and
he was determined they should have it, perhaps in a different sense from
that they intended.

"Haw! haw!" they cried, and soon the dust and dry leaves flew about as
if driven by a strong wind. The Manito was strong, but Grasshopper
thought he could master him; and all at once giving him a sly trip, as
the wicked spirit was trying to finish his breakfast with a piece out of
his shoulder, he sent the Manito head-foremost against a stone; and,
calling aloud to the three others, he bade them come and take the body
away.

The brothers now stepped forth in quick succession, but Grasshopper
having got his blood up, and limbered himself by exercise, soon
dispatched the three--sending one this way, another that, and the third
straight up into the air, so high that he never came down again.

It was time for the old Manito to be frightened, and dreadfully
frightened he got, and ran for his life, which was the very worst thing
he could have done; for Grasshopper, of all his gifts of strength, was
most noted for his speed of foot. The old Manito set off, and for mere
sport's sake, Grasshopper pursued him. Sometimes he was before the
wicked old spirit, sometimes he was flying over his head, and then he
would keep along at a steady trot just at his heels, till he had blown
all the breath out of the old knave's body.

Meantime his friend, the pipe-bearer, and the twenty young warriors,
cried out:

"Ha, ha, ah! ha, ha, ah! Grasshopper is driving him before him!"

The Manito only turned his head now and then to look back. At length,
when he was tired of the sport, to be rid of him, Grasshopper, with a
gentle application of his foot, sent the wicked old Manito whirling away
through the air, in which he made a great number of the most curious
turn-overs in the world, till he came to alight, when it so happened
that he fell astride of an old bull-buffalo, grazing in a distant
pasture, who straightway set off with him at a long gallop, and the old
Manito has not been heard of to this day.

The warriors and the pipe-bearer and Grasshopper set to work and burned
down the lodge of the wicked spirits, and then when they came to look
about, they saw that the ground was strewn on all sides with human bones
bleaching in the sun; these were the unhappy victims of the Manitoes.
Grasshopper then took three arrows from his girdle, and after having
performed a ceremony to the Great Spirit, he shot one into the air,
crying, "You are lying down; rise up, or you will be hit!"

The bones all moved to one place. He shot the second arrow, repeating
the same words, when each bone drew toward its fellow-bone; the third
arrow brought forth to life the whole multitude of people who had been
killed by the Manitoes. Grasshopper conducted the crowd to the chief of
the village, who had proved his friend, and gave them into his hands.
The chief was there with his counselors, to whom he spoke apart.

"Who is more worthy," said the chief to Grasshopper, "to rule than you.
_You_ alone can defend them."

Grasshopper thanked him, and told him that he was in search of more
adventures. "I have done some things," said little Grasshopper, rather
boastfully, "and I think I can do some more."

The chief still urged him, but he was eager to go, and naming
pipe-bearer to tarry and take his place, he set out again on his
travels, promising that he would some time or other come back and see
them.

"Ho! ho! ho!" they all cried. "Come back again and see us!" He renewed
his promise that he would; and then set out alone.

After traveling some time he came to a great lake, and on looking about
he discovered a very large otter on an island. He thought to himself,
"His skin will make me a fine pouch." And he immediately drew up at
long shots, and drove an arrow into his side. He waded into the lake,
and with some difficulty dragged him ashore, and up a hill overlooking
the lake.

As soon as Grasshopper got the otter into the sunshine where it was
warm, he skinned him, and threw the carcass some distance off, thinking
the war-eagle would come, and that he should have a chance to secure his
feathers as ornaments for the head; for Grasshopper began to be proud,
and was disposed to display himself.

He soon heard a rushing noise as of a loud wind, but could see nothing.
Presently a large eagle dropped, as if from the air, upon the otter's
carcass. Grasshopper drew his bow, and the arrow passed through under
both of his wings. The bird made a convulsive flight upward, with such
force that the cumbrous body was borne up several feet from the ground;
but with its claws deeply fixed, the heavy otter brought the eagle back
to the earth. Grasshopper possessed himself of a handful of the prime
feathers, crowned his head with the trophy, and set off in high spirits
on the look out for something new.

After walking awhile, he came to a body of water which flooded the trees
on its banks--it was a lake made by beavers. Taking his station on the
raised dam where the stream escaped, he watched to see whether any of
the beavers would show themselves. A head presently peeped out of the
water to see who it was that disturbed them.

"My friend," said Grasshopper, in his most persuasive manner, "could you
not oblige me by turning me into a beaver like yourself. Nothing would
please me so much as to make your acquaintance, I can assure you;" for
Grasshopper was curious to know how these watery creatures lived, and
what kind of notions they had.

"I do not know," replied the beaver, who was rather short-nosed and
surly. "I will go and ask the others. Meanwhile stay where you are, if
you please."

"To be sure," answered Grasshopper, stealing down the bank several paces
as soon as the beaver's back was turned.

Presently there was a great splashing of the water, and all the beavers
showed their heads, and looked warily to where he stood, to see if he
was armed; but he had knowingly left his bow and arrows in a hollow tree
at a short distance.

After a long conversation, which they conducted in a whisper so that
Grasshopper could not catch a word, strain his ears as he would, they
all advanced in a body toward the spot where he stood; the chief
approaching the nearest, and lifting his head highest out of the water.

"Can you not," said Grasshopper, noticing that they waited for him to
speak first, "turn me into a beaver? I wish to live among you."

"Yes," answered their chief; "lie down." And Grasshopper in a moment
found himself a beaver, and was gliding into the water, when a thought
seemed to strike him, and he paused at the edge of the lake. "I am very
small," he said, to the beaver, in a sorrowful tone. "You must make me
large," he said; for Grasshopper was terribly ambitious, and wanted
always to be the first person in every company. "Larger than any of you;
in my present size it's hardly worth my while to go into the water."

"Yes, yes!" said they. "By and by, when we get into the lodge it shall
be done."

They all dived into the lake, and in passing great heaps of limbs and
logs at the bottom, he asked the use of them; they answered, "It is for
our winter's provisions."

When they all got into the lodge their number was about one hundred. The
lodge was large and warm.

"Now we will make you large," said they. "Will _that_ do?"

"Yes," he answered; for he found that he was ten times the size of the
largest.

"You need not go out," said the others; "we will bring you food into
the lodge, and you will be our chief."

"Very well," Grasshopper answered. He thought, "I will stay here and
grow fat at their expense." But, soon after, one ran into the lodge, out
of breath, crying out, "We are visited by the Indians!"

All huddled together in great fear. The water began to lower, for the
hunters had broken down the dam, and they soon heard them on the roof of
the lodge, breaking it up. Out jumped all the beavers into the water,
and so escaped.

Grasshopper tried to follow them; but, unfortunately, to gratify his
ambition, they had made him so large that he could not creep out at the
hole. He tried to call them back, but either they did not hear or would
not attend to him; he worried himself so much in searching for a door to
let him out, that he looked like a great bladder, swollen and blistering
in the sun, and the sweat stood out upon his forehead in knobs and huge
bubbles.

Although he heard and understood every word that the hunters spoke--and
some of their expressions suggested terrible ideas--he could not turn
himself back into a man. He had chosen to be a beaver, and a beaver he
must be. One of the hunters, a prying little man, with a single lock
dangling over one eye--this inquisitive little fellow put his head in at
the top of the lodge. "_Ty-au!_" cried he. "_Tut ty-au!_
Me-shau-mik--king of beavers is in." Whereupon the whole crowd of
hunters began upon him with their clubs, and knocked his scull about
until it was no harder than a morass in the middle of summer.
Grasshopper thought as well as ever he did, although he was a beaver;
and he felt that he was in a rather foolish scrape, inhabiting the
carcass of a beaver.

Presently seven or eight of the hunters hoisted his body upon long
poles, and marched away home with him. As they went, he reflected in
this manner: "What will become of me? My ghost or shadow will not die
after they get me to their lodges."

Invitations were immediately sent out for a grand feast; but as soon as
his body got cold, his soul being uncomfortable in a house without heat,
flew off.

Having reassumed his mortal shape, Grasshopper found himself standing
near a prairie. After walking a distance, he saw a herd of elk feeding.
He admired their apparent ease and enjoyment of life, and thought there
could be nothing more pleasant than the liberty of running about and
feeding on the prairies. He had been a water animal and now he wished to
become a land animal, to learn what passed in an elk's head as he roved
about. He asked them if they could not turn him into one of themselves.

"Yes," they answered, after a pause. "Get down on your hands and feet."

He obeyed their directions, and forthwith found himself to be an elk.

"I want big horns, big feet," said he; "I wish to be very large;" for
all the conceit and vain-glory had not been knocked out of Grasshopper,
even by the sturdy thwacks of the hunters' clubs.

"Yes, yes," they answered. "There," exerting their power, "are you big
enough?"

"That will do," he replied; for, looking into a lake hard by,
Grasshopper saw that he was very large. They spent their time in grazing
and running to and fro; but what astonished Grasshopper, although he
often lifted up his head and directed his eyes that way, he could never
see the stars, which he had so admired as a human being.

Being rather cold, one day, Grasshopper went into a thick wood for
shelter, whither he was followed by most of the herd. They had not been
long there when some elks from behind passed the others like a strong
wind, calling out:

"The hunters are after us!"

All took the alarm, and off they ran, Grasshopper with the rest.

"Keep out on the plains," they said. But it was too late to profit by
this advice, for they had already got entangled in the thick woods.
Grasshopper soon scented the hunters, who were closely following his
trail for they had left all the others and were making after him in
full cry. He jumped furiously, dashed through the underwood, and broke
down whole groves of saplings in his flight. But this only made it the
harder for him to get on, such a huge and lusty elk was he by his own
request.

Presently, as he dashed past an open space, he felt an arrow in his
side. They could not well miss it, he presented so wide a mark to the
shot. He bounded over trees under the smart, but the shafts clattered
thicker and thicker at his ribs, and at last one entered his heart. He
fell to the ground, and heard the whoop of triumph sounded by the
hunters. On coming up, they looked on the carcass with astonishment, and
with their hands up to their mouths, exclaimed: "_Ty-au! ty-au!_"

There were about sixty in the party, who had come out on a special hunt,
as one of their number had, the day before, observed his large tracks on
the plains. When they had skinned him his flesh grew cold, and his
spirit took its flight from the dead body, and Grasshopper found himself
in human shape, with a bow and arrows.

But his passion for adventure was not yet cooled; for on coming to a
large lake with a sandy beach, he saw a large flock of brant, and
speaking to them in the brant language, he requested them to make a
brant of him.

"Yes," they replied, at once; for the brant is a bird of a very obliging
disposition.

"But I want to be very large," he said. There was no end to the ambition
of little Grasshopper.

"Very well," they answered; and he soon found himself a large brant, all
the others standing gazing in astonishment at his great size.

"You must fly as leader," they said.

"No," answered Grasshopper; "I will fly behind."

"Very well," rejoined the brant; "one thing more we have to say to you,
brother Grasshopper" (for he had told them his name). "You must be
careful, in flying, not to look down, for something may happen to you."

"Well, it is so," said he; and soon the flock rose up into the air, for
they were bound north. They flew very fast--he behind. One day, while
going with a strong wind, and as swift as their wings could flap, as
they passed over a large village the Indians raised a great shout on
seeing them, particularly on Grasshopper's account, for his wings were
broader than two large mats. The village people made such a frightful
noise that he forgot what had been told him about looking down. They
were now scudding along as swift as arrows; and as soon as he brought
his neck in and stretched it down to look at the shouters, his huge tail
was caught by the wind, and over and over he was blown. He tried to
right himself, but without success, for he had no sooner got out of one
heavy air-current than he fell into another, which treated him even more
rudely than that he had escaped from. Down, down he went, making more
turns than he wished for, from a height of several miles.

The first moment he had to look about him, Grasshopper, in the shape of
a big brant, was aware that he was jammed into a large hollow tree. To
get backward or forward was out of the question, and there, in spite of
himself, was Grasshopper forced to tarry till his brant life was ended
by starvation, when, his spirit being at liberty, he was once more a
human being.

As he journeyed on in search of further adventures, Grasshopper came to
a lodge in which were two old men, with heads white from extreme age.
They were very fine old men to look at. There was such sweetness and
innocence in their features that Grasshopper would have enjoyed himself
very much at their lodge, if he had had no other entertainment than such
as the gazing upon the serene and happy faces of the two innocent old
men with heads white from extreme age afforded.

They treated him well, and he made known to them that he was going back
to his village, his friends and people, whereupon the two white-headed
old men very heartily wished him a good journey and abundance of
comfort in seeing his friends once more. They even arose, old and infirm
as they were, and tottering with exceeding difficulty to the door, were
at great pains to point out to him the exact course he should take; and
they called his attention to the circumstance that it was much shorter
and more direct than he would have taken himself. Ah! what merry
deceivers were these two old men with very white heads.

Grasshopper, with blessings showered on him until he was fairly out of
sight, set forth with good heart. He thought he heard loud laughter
resounding after him in the direction of the lodge of the two old men;
but it could not have been the two old men, for they were, certainly,
too old to laugh.

He walked briskly all day, and at night he had the satisfaction of
reaching a lodge in all respects like that which he had left in the
morning. There were two fine old men, and his treatment was in every
particular the same, even down to the parting blessing and the laughter
that followed him as he went his way.

After walking the third day, and coming to a lodge the same as before,
he was satisfied from the bearings of the course he had taken that he
had been journeying in a circle, and by a notch which he had cut in the
door-post that these were the same two old men, all along; and that,
despite their innocent faces and their very white heads, they had been
playing him a sorry trick.

"Who are you," said Grasshopper, "to treat me so? Come forth, I say."

They were compelled to obey his summons, lest, in his anger, he should
take their lives; and they appeared on the outside of the lodge.

"We must have a little trial of speed, now," said Grasshopper.

"A race?" they asked. "We are very old; we can not run."

"We will see," said Grasshopper; whereupon he set them out upon the
road, and then he gave them a gentle push, which put them in motion.
Then he pushed them again--harder--harder--until they got under fine
headway, when he gave each of them an astounding shock with his foot,
and off they flew at a great rate, round and round the course; and such
was the magic virtue of the foot of Grasshopper, that no object once set
agoing by it could by any possibility stop; so that, for aught we know
to the contrary, the two innocent, white-headed, merry old men, are
trotting with all their might and main around the circle in which they
beguiled Grasshopper, to this day.

Continuing his journey, Grasshopper, although his head was warm and
buzzing with all sorts of schemes, did not know exactly what to do until
he came to a big lake. He mounted a high hill to try and see to the
other side, but he could not. He then made a canoe, and sailed forth.
The water was very clear--a transparent blue--and he saw that it
abounded with fish of a rare and delicate complexion. This circumstance
inspired him with a wish to return to his village, and to bring his
people to live near this beautiful lake.

Toward evening, coming to a woody island, he encamped and ate the fish
he had speared, and they proved to be as comforting to the stomach as
they were pleasing to the eye. The next day Grasshopper returned to the
main land, and as he wandered along the shore he espied at a distance
the celebrated giant, Manabozho, who is a bitter enemy of Grasshopper,
and loses no opportunity to stop him on his journeyings and to thwart
his plans.

At first it occurred to Grasshopper to have a trial of wits with the
giant, but, on second thoughts, he said to himself, "I am in a hurry
now; I will see him another time."

With no further mischief than raising a great whirlwind of dust, which
caused Manabozho to rub his eyes severely, Grasshopper quietly slipped
out of the way; and he made good speed withal, for in much less time
than you could count half the stars in the sky of a winter night, he had
reached home.

His return was welcomed with a great hubbub of feasting and songs; and
he had scarcely set foot in the village before he had invitations to
take pot-luck at different lodges, which would have lasted him the rest
of his natural life. Pipe-bearer, who had some time before given up the
cares of a ruler, and fallen back upon his native place, fairly danced
with joy at the sight of Grasshopper, who, not to be outdone, dandled
him affectionately in his arms, by casting him up and down in the air
half a mile or so, till little Pipe-bearer had no breath left in his
body to say that he was happy to see Grasshopper home again.

Grasshopper gave the village folks a lively account of his adventures,
and when he came to the blue lake and the abundant fish, he dwelt upon
their charms with such effect that they agreed, with one voice, that it
must be a glorious place to live in, and if he would show them the way
they would shift camp and settle there at once.

He not only showed them the way, but bringing his wonderful strength and
speed of foot to bear, in less than half a day he had transported the
whole village, with its children, women, tents, and implements of war,
to the new water-side.

Here, for a time, Grasshopper appeared to be content, until one day a
message came for him in the shape of a bear, who said that their king
wished to see him immediately at his village. Grasshopper was ready in
an instant; and mounting upon the messenger's back, off he ran. Toward
evening they climbed a high mountain, and came to a cave where the
bear-king lived. He was a very large person; and puffing with fat and a
sense of his own importance, he made Grasshopper welcome by inviting him
in to his lodge.

As soon as it was proper, he spoke, and said that he had sent for him on
hearing that he was the chief who was moving a large party toward his
hunting-grounds.

"You must know," said the bear-king with a terrible growl, "that you
have no right there, and I wish you would leave the country with your
party, or else the strongest force will take possession. Take notice."

"Very well," replied Grasshopper, going toward the door, for he
suspected that the king of the bears was preparing to give him a hug.
"So be it."

He wished to gain time, and to consult his people; for he had seen as he
came along that the bears were gathering in great force on the side of
the mountain. He also made known to the bear-king that he would go back
that night that his people might be put in immediate possession of his
royal behest.

The bear-king replied that Grasshopper might do as he pleased, but that
one of his young men was at his command; and, jumping nimbly on his
back, Grasshopper rode home.

He assembled the people, and ordered the bear's head off, to be hung
outside of the village, that the bear-spies, who were lurking in the
neighborhood, might see it and carry the news to their chief.

The next morning, by break of day, Grasshopper had all of his young
warriors under arms and ready for a fight. About the middle of the
afternoon the bear war-party came in sight, led on by the pursy king,
and making a tremendous noise. They advanced on their hind-legs, and
made a very imposing display of their teeth and eyeballs.

The bear-chief himself came forward, and with a majestic wave of his
right hand, said that he did not wish to shed the blood of the young
warriors; but that if Grasshopper, who appeared to be the head of the
war-party, consented, they two would have a race, and the winner should
kill the losing chief, and all his young men should be servants to the
other.

Grasshopper agreed, of course--how little Pipe-bearer, who stood by,
grinned as they came to terms!--and they started to run before the whole
company of warriors who stood in a circle looking on.

At first there was a prospect that Grasshopper would be badly beaten;
for although he kept crowding the great fat bear-king till the sweat
trickled from his shaggy ears, he never seemed to be able to push past
him. By and by, Grasshopper, going through a number of the most
extraordinary maneuvers in the world, raised about the great fat
bear-king such eddies and whirlwinds with the sand, and so danced about,
before and after him, that he at last got fairly bewildered, and cried
out for them to come and take him off. Out of sight before him in
reaching the goal, Grasshopper only waited for the bear-king to come up,
when he drove an arrow straight through him, and ordered them to take
the body away and make it ready for supper; as he was getting hungry.

He then directed all of the other bears to fall to and help prepare the
feast; for in fulfillment of the agreement they had become servants.
With many wry faces the bears, although bound to act becomingly in their
new character, according to the forfeit, served up the body of their
late royal master; and in doing this they fell, either by accident or
design, into many curious mistakes.

[Illustration: THE BEAR SERVANTS. Page 59.]

When the feast came to be served up, and they were summoned to be in
attendance, one of them, a sprightly young fellow of an inquisitive turn
of mind, was found upon the roof of the lodge, with his head half way
down the smoke-hole, with a view to learn what they were to have for
dinner. Another, a middle-aged bear with very long arms, who was put in
charge of the children in the character of nurse, squeezed three or four
of the most promising young papooses to death, while the mothers were
outside to look after the preparations; and another, when he should
have been waiting at the back of his master, had climbed a shady tree
and was indulging in his afternoon nap. And when, at last, the dinner
was ready to be served, they came tumbling in with the dishes, heels
over head, one after the other, so that one half of the feast was spread
upon the ground, and the other half deposited out of doors, on the other
side of the lodge.

After a while, however, by strict discipline, and threatening to cut off
their provisions, the bear-servants were brought into tolerable control.

Yet Grasshopper, with his ever restless disposition, was uneasy; and,
having done so many wonderful things, he resolved upon a strict and
thorough reform in all the affairs of the village. To prevent future
difficulty, he determined to adopt new regulations between the bears and
their masters.

With this view, he issued an edict that henceforward the bears should
eat at the first table, and that the Indians were to wait upon them;
that in all public processions of an honorable character the bears
should go first; and that when any fighting was to be done, the Indians
should have the privilege reserved of receiving the first shots. A
special exemption was made in behalf of Grasshopper's favorite and
confidential adviser, the Pipe-bearer (who had been very busy in
private, recommending the new order of things), who was to be allowed to
sit at the head of the feast, and to stay at home with the old women in
the event of battle.

Having seen his orders strictly enforced, and the rights of the bears
over the Indians fairly established, Grasshopper fixed his mind upon
further adventures. He determined to go abroad for a time, and having an
old score to settle with Manabozho, he set out with a hope of soon
falling in with that famous giant. Grasshopper was a blood relation of
Dais Imid, or He of the Little Shell, and had heard of what had passed
between that giant and his kinsman.

After wandering a long time he came to the lodge of Manabozho, who was
absent. He thought he must play him a trick; and so he turned every
thing in the lodge upside down, and killed his birds, of which there was
an extraordinary attendance, for Manabozho is master of the fowls of the
air, and this was the appointed morning for them to call and pay their
court to him. Among the number was a raven, accounted the meanest of
birds, which Grasshopper killed and hung up by the neck, to insult him.

He then went on till he came to a very high point of rocks running out
into the lake, from the top of which he could see the country, back as
far as the eye could reach. While sitting there, Manabozho's mountain
chickens flew around and past him in great numbers. Out of mere spite to
their master, Grasshopper shot them by the score, for his arrows were
very sure and the birds very plenty, and he amused himself by throwing
the birds down the rocks. At length a wary bird cried out:

"Grasshopper is killing us; go and tell our father."

Away sped a delegation of the birds which were the quickest of wing, and
Manabozho soon made his appearance on the plain below. Grasshopper, who,
when he is in the wrong, is no match for Manabozho, made his escape on
the other side. Manabozho, who had in two or three strides reached the
top of the mountain, cried out:

"You are a rogue. The earth is not so large but I can get up to you."

Off ran Grasshopper and Manabozho after him. The race was sharp; and
such leaps and strides as they made! Over hills and prairies, with all
his speed, went Grasshopper, and Manabozho hard upon him. Grasshopper
had some mischievous notions still left in his head which he thought
might befriend him. He knew that Manabozho was under a spell to restore
whatever he, Grasshopper, destroyed. Forthwith he stopped and climbed a
large pine-tree, stripped off its beautiful green foliage, threw it to
the winds, and then went on.

When Manabozho reached the spot, the tree addressed him: "Great chief,"
said the tree, "will you give my life again? Grasshopper has killed
me."

"Yes," replied Manabozho, who, as quickly as he could, gathered the
scattered leaves and branches, renewed its beauty with his breath, and
set off. Although Grasshopper in the same way compelled Manabozho to
lose time in repairing the hemlock, the sycamore, cedar, and many other
trees, the giant did not falter, but pushing briskly forward, was fast
overtaking him, when Grasshopper happened to see an elk. And asking him,
for old acquaintance' sake, to take him on his back, the elk did so, and
for some time he made good headway, but still Manabozho was in sight.

He was fast gaining upon him, when Grasshopper threw himself off the
elk's back; and striking a great sandstone rock near the path, he broke
it into pieces, and scattered the grains in a thousand directions; for
this was nearly his last hope of escape. Manabozho was so close upon him
at this place that he had almost caught him; but the foundation of the
rock cried out,

"Haye! Ne-me-sho, Grasshopper has spoiled me. Will you not restore me to
life?"

"Yes," replied Manabozho. He re-established the rock in all its
strength.

He then pushed on in pursuit, and had got so near to Grasshopper as to
put out his arm to seize him; but Grasshopper dodged him, and, as his
last chance, he immediately raised such a dust and commotion by
whirlwinds, as made the trees break and the sand and leaves dance in the
air. Again and again Manabozho stretched his arm, but he escaped him at
every turn, and kept up such a tumult of dust that he dashed into a
hollow tree which had been blown down, changed himself into a snake, and
crept out at the roots just in time to save his life; for at that moment
Manabozho, who had the power of lightning, struck it, and it was strewn
about in little pieces.

Again Grasshopper was in human shape, and Manabozho was pressing him
hard. At a distance he saw a very high bluff of rocks jutting out into a
lake, and he ran for the foot of the precipice which was abrupt and
elevated. As he came near, to his surprise and great relief, the Manito
of the rock opened his door and told Grasshopper to come in. The door
was no sooner closed than Manabozho knocked.

"Open it!" he cried, with a loud voice. The Manito was afraid of him;
but he said to Grasshopper, "Since I have taken you as my guest, I would
sooner die with you than open the door."

"Open it!" Manabozho again cried, in a louder voice than before.

The Manito kept silent. Manabozho, however, made no attempt to open it
by force. He waited a few moments.

"Very well," he said; "I give you till morning to live."

Grasshopper trembled, for he thought his last hour had come; but the
Manito bade him to be of good cheer.

When the night came on the clouds were thick and black, and as they were
torn open by the lightning, such discharges of thunder were never heard
as bellowed forth. The clouds advanced slowly and wrapped the earth
about with their vast shadows as in a huge cloak. All night long the
clouds gathered, and the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared, and
above all could be heard Manabozho muttering vengeance upon poor little
Grasshopper.

"You have led a very foolish kind of life, Grasshopper," said his friend
the Manito.

"I know it--I know it!" Grasshopper answered.

"You had great gifts of strength awarded to you," said the Manito.

"I am aware of it," replied Grasshopper.

"Instead of employing it for useful purposes, and for the good of your
fellow-creatures, you have done nothing since you became a man but raise
whirlwinds on the highways, leap over trees, break whatever you met in
pieces, and perform a thousand idle pranks."

Grasshopper, with great penitence, confessed that his friend the Manito
spoke but too truly; and at last his entertainer, with a still more
serious manner, said:

"Grasshopper, you still have your gift of strength. Dedicate it to the
good of mankind. Lay all of these wanton and vain-glorious notions out
of your head. In a word, be as good as you are strong."

"I will," answered Grasshopper. "My heart is changed; I see the error of
my ways."

Black and stormy as it had been all night, when morning came the sun was
shining, the air was soft and sweet as the summer down and the blown
rose; and afar off upon the side of a mountain sat Manabozho, his head
upon his knees, languid and cast down in spirit. His power was gone, for
now Grasshopper was in the right, and he could touch him no more.

With many thanks, Grasshopper left the good Manito, taking the nearest
way home to his own people.

As he passed on, he fell in with an old man who was wandering about the
country in search of some place which he could not find. As soon as he
learned his difficulty, Grasshopper, placing the old man upon his back,
hurried away, and in a short hour's dispatch of foot set him down among
his own kindred, of whom he had been in quest.

Loosing no time, Grasshopper next came to an open plain, where a small
number of men stood at bay, and on the very point of being borne down
by great odds, in a force of armed warriors, fierce of aspect and of
prodigious strength. When Grasshopper saw this unequal struggle, rushing
forward he seized a long bare pole, and, wielding it with his whole
force, he drove the fierce warriors back; and, laying about him on every
hand, he soon sent them a thousand ways in great haste, and in a very
sore plight.

Without tarrying to receive the thanks of those to whom he had brought
this timely relief, he made his utmost speed, and by the close of the
afternoon he had come in sight of his own village. What were his
surprise and horror, as he approached nearer, to discover the bears in
excellent case and flesh, seated at lazy leisure in the trees, looking
idly on while his brother Indians, for their pastime, were dancing a
fantastic and wearisome dance, in the course of which they were
frequently compelled to go upon all fours and bow their heads in
profound obeisance to their bear-masters in the trees.

As he drew nearer, his heart sunk within him to see how starved, and
hollow-eyed, and woe-begone they were; and his horror was at its height
when, as he entered his own lodge, he beheld his favorite and friend,
the Pipe-bearer, also on all fours, smoothing the floor with the palms
of his hands to make it a comfortable sitting-place for the bears on
their return from the dance.

It did not take Grasshopper a long time to resolve what he should do. He
immediately resumed power in the village, bestowed a sound cudgeling
upon the bears, and sent them off to live in the mountains, among their
own people, as bears should; restored to the people all their rights;
gave them plenty to eat and drink; exerting his great strength in
hunting, in rebuilding their lodges, keeping in check their enemies, and
doing all the good he could to every body.

Peace and plenty soon shone and showered upon the spot; and, never once
thinking of all his wild and wanton frolics, the people blessed
Grasshopper for all his kindness, and sincerely prayed that his name
might be held in honor for a thousand years to come, as no doubt it
will.

Little Pipe-bearer stood by Grasshopper in all his course, and admired
his ways as much now that he had taken to being orderly and useful, as
in the old times, when he was walking a mile a minute, and in mere
wantonness bringing home whole forests in his arms for fire-wood, in
midsummer.

It was a great old age to which Grasshopper lived, and when at last he
came to die, there was not a dry eye in all that part of the world where
he spent his latter days.




V.

THE TWO JEEBI.


There lived a hunter in the North, who had a wife and one child. His
lodge stood far off in the forest, several days' journey from any other.
He spent his days in hunting, and his evenings in relating to his wife
the incidents that had befallen him. As game was very abundant, he found
no difficulty in killing as much as they wanted. Just in all his acts,
he lived a peaceful and happy life.

One evening during the winter season, it chanced that he remained out
longer than usual, and his wife began to fear that some accident had
befallen him. It was already dark. She listened attentively, and at last
heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Not doubting that it was her husband, she went to the door and beheld
two strange females. She bade them enter, and invited them to remain.
She observed that they were total strangers in the country. There was
something so peculiar in their looks, air and manner, that she was
disturbed by their presence. They would not come near to the fire. They
sat in a remote part of the lodge, shy and taciturn, and drew their
garments about them in such a manner as nearly to hide their faces. So
far as she could judge, they were pale, hollow-eyed, and long-visaged,
very thin and emaciated.

There was but little light in the lodge, as the fire was low, and its
fitful flashes, by disclosing their white faces and then dropping them
in sudden darkness, served rather to increase than to dispel her fears.

"Merciful Spirit!" cried a voice from the opposite part of the lodge;
"there are two corpses clothed with garments!"

The hunter's wife turned around, but seeing nobody save her little
child, staring across from under his blanket, she said to herself, "The
boy can not speak; the sounds were but the gusts of wind." She trembled,
and was ready to sink to the earth.

Her husband at this moment entered, and in some measure relieved her
alarm. He threw down the carcass of a large fat deer.

"Behold what a fine and fat animal!" cried the mysterious females; and
they immediately ran and pulled off pieces of the whitest fat, which
they greedily devoured.

The hunter and his wife looked on with astonishment, but remained
silent. They supposed that their guests might have been stricken with
famine.

The next day, however, the same unusual conduct was repeated. The
strange females again tore off the fat and devoured it with eagerness.
The third day, the hunter thought that he would anticipate their wants
by tying up a share of the hunt, and placing it apart for their express
use. They accepted it, but still appeared dissatisfied, and went to the
wife's portion and tore off more.

The hunter and his wife were surprised at such rude and unaccountable
conduct, but they remained silent, for they respected their guests, and
had observed that they had been attended with marked good luck during
the sojourn of these mysterious visitors in their lodge.

In other respects, the deportment of the females was strictly
unexceptionable. They were modest, distant, and silent. They never
uttered a word during the day. At night they would occupy themselves in
procuring wood, which they carried to the lodge, and then, restoring the
implements exactly where they had found them, resume their places
without speaking. They were never known to stay out until daylight. They
never laughed or jested.

The winter was nearly passed away, when, one evening, the hunter was
abroad later than usual. The moment he came in and laid down his day's
hunt, as was his custom, before his wife, the two females seized upon
the deer and began to tear off the fat in so unceremonious a way that
her anger was excited. She constrained herself, however, in a good
degree, but she could not conceal her feelings, though she said but
little.

The strange guests observed the state of her mind, and they became
uneasy, and withdrew further still into the remote gloom of the lodge.
The good hunter saw the eclipse that was darkening the quiet of his
lodge, and carefully inquired of its cause; but his wife denied having
used any words of complaining or reproach.

They retired to their couches, and the hunter tried to compose himself
to sleep, but could not, for the sighs and sobs of the two females were
incessant. He arose on his couch and addressed them as follows:

"Tell me," said he, "what is it that gives you pain of mind and causes
you to bemoan your presence here. Has my wife given you offense, or
trespassed upon the rights of hospitality?"

They replied in the negative. "We have been treated by you with kindness
and affection. It is not for any slight we have received that we weep.
Our mission is not to you only. We come from the other land to test
mankind, and to try the sincerity of the living. Often we have heard the
bereaved by death say that if the lost could be restored, they would
devote their lives to make them happy. We have been moved by the bitter
lamentations which have reached the place of the departed, and have
come to make proof of the sincerity of those who have lost friends. We
are your two dead sisters. Three moons were allotted us by the Master of
Life to make the trial. More than half the time had been successfully
passed, when the angry feelings of your wife indicated the irksomeness
you felt at our presence, and has made us resolve on our departure."

They continued to talk to the hunter and his wife, gave them
instructions as to a future life, and pronounced a blessing upon them.

"There is one point," they added, "of which we wish to speak. You have
thought our conduct very strange and rude in possessing ourselves of the
choicest parts of your hunt. _That_ was the point of trial selected to
put you to. It is the wife's peculiar privilege. You love your wife. For
another to usurp what belongs to her, we know to be the severest test of
her goodness of heart, and consequently of your temper and feelings. We
knew your manners and customs, but we came to prove you, not by
complying with but by violating them. Pardon us. We are the agents of
him who sent us. Peace to your dwelling. Farewell!"

When they ceased, total darkness filled the lodge. No object could be
seen. The inmates heard the lodge-door open and shut, but they never saw
more of the Two Spirits.

The hunter found the success which they had promised. He became
celebrated in the chase, and never wanted for any thing. He had many
children, all of whom grew up to manhood; and he who had lain in the
lodge, a little child, while the Jeebi dwelt there, led them in all good
deeds, and health, peace, and long life were the rewards of the hunter's
hospitality.




VI.

OSSEO, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR.


There once lived an Indian in the north who had ten daughters, all of
whom grew up to womanhood. They were noted for their beauty, especially
Oweenee, the youngest, who was very independent in her way of thinking.
She was a great admirer of romantic places, and spent much of her time
with the flowers and winds and clouds in the open air. Though the flower
were homely, if it was fragrant--though the wind were rough, if it was
healthful--and though the cloud were dark, if it embosomed the fruitful
rain, she knew how, in spite of appearances, to acknowledge the good
qualities concealed from the eye. She paid very little attention to the
many handsome young men who came to her father's lodge for the purpose
of seeing her.

Her elder sisters were all sought in marriage, and one after the other
they went off to dwell in the lodges of their husbands; but Oweenee was
deaf to all proposals of the kind. At last she married an old man
called Osseo, who was scarcely able to walk, and who was too poor to
have things like others. The only property he owned in the world was the
walking-staff which he carried in his hand. Though thus poor and homely,
Osseo was a devout and good man; faithful in all his duties, and
obedient in all things to the Good Spirit. Of course they jeered and
laughed at Oweenee on all sides, but she seemed to be quite happy, and
said to them, "It is my choice and you will see in the end who has acted
the wisest."

They made a special mock of the walking-staff, and scarcely an hour in
the day passed that they had not some disparaging reference to it. Among
themselves they spoke of Osseo of the walking-staff, in derision, as the
owner of the big woods, or the great timber-man.

"True," said Oweenee, "it is but a simple stick; but as it supports the
steps of my husband, it is more precious to me than all the forests of
the north."

A time came when the sisters, and their husbands, and their parents were
all invited to a feast. As the distance was considerable, they doubted
whether Osseo, so aged and feeble, would be able to undertake the
journey; but in spite of their friendly doubts, he joined them, and set
out with a good heart.

As they walked along the path they could not help pitying their young
and handsome sister who had such an unsuitable mate. She, however,
smiled upon Osseo, and kept with him by the way the same as if he had
been the comeliest bridegroom in all the company. Osseo often stopped
and gazed upward; but they could perceive nothing in the direction in
which he looked, unless it was the faint glimmering of the evening star.
They heard him muttering to himself as they went along, and one of the
elder sisters caught the words, "Pity me, my father!"

"Poor old man," said she; "he is talking to his father. What a pity it
is that he would not fall and break his neck, that our sister might have
a young husband."

Presently as they came to a great rock where Osseo had been used to
breathe his morning and his evening prayer, the star emitted a brighter
ray, which shone directly in his face. Osseo, with a sharp cry, fell
trembling to the earth, where the others would have left him, but his
good wife raised him up, and he sprang forward on the path, and with
steps light as the reindeer he led the party, no longer decrepid and
infirm, but a beautiful young man. On turning around to look for his
wife, behold she had become changed, at the same moment, into an aged
and feeble woman, bent almost double, and walking with the staff which
he had cast aside.

Osseo immediately joined her, and with looks of fondness and the
tenderest regard, bestowed on her every endearing attention, and
constantly addressed her by the term of ne-ne-moosh-a, or my sweetheart.

As they walked along, whenever they were not gazing fondly in each
other's face, they bent their looks on heaven, and a light, as if of
far-off stars, was in their eyes.

On arriving at the lodge of the hunter with whom they were to feast,
they found the banquet ready, and as soon as their entertainer had
finished his harangue--in which he told them his feasting was in honor
of the Evening or Woman's Star--they began to partake of the portion
dealt out, according to age and character, to each one of the guests.
The food was very delicious, and they were all happy but Osseo, who
looked at his wife, and then gazed upward, as if he was looking into the
substance of the sky. Sounds were soon heard, as if from far-off voices
in the air, and they became plainer and plainer, till he could clearly
distinguish some of the words.

"My son, my son," said the voice; "I have seen your afflictions, and
pity your wants. I come to call you away from a scene that is stained
with blood and tears. The earth is full of sorrows. Wicked spirits, the
enemies of mankind, walk abroad, and lie in wait to ensnare the children
of the sky. Every night they are lifting their voices to the Power of
Evil, and every day they make themselves busy in casting mischief in the
hunter's path. You have long been their victim, but you shall be their
victim no more. The spell you were under is broken. Your evil genius is
overcome. I have cast him down by my superior strength, and it is this
strength I now exert for your happiness. Ascend, my son; ascend into the
skies, and partake of the feast I have prepared for you in the stars,
and bring with you those you love.

"The food set before you is enchanted and blessed. Fear not to partake
of it. It is endowed with magic power to give immortality to mortals,
and to change men to spirits. Your bowls and kettles shall no longer be
wood and earth. The one shall become silver, and the other pure gold.
They shall shine like fire, and glisten like the most beautiful scarlet.
Every female shall also change her state and looks, and no longer be
doomed to laborious tasks. She shall put on the beauty of the
star-light, and become a shining bird of the air. She shall dance, and
not work. She shall sing, and not cry.

"My beams," continued the voice, "shine faintly on your lodge, but they
have power to transform it into the lightness of the skies, and decorate
it with the colors of the clouds. Come, Osseo, my son, and dwell no
longer on earth. Think strongly on my words, and look steadfastly at my
beams. My power is now at its height. Doubt not, delay not. It is the
voice of the Spirit of the Stars that calls you away to happiness and
celestial rest."

The words were intelligible to Osseo, but his companions thought them
some far-off sounds of music, or birds singing in the woods. Very soon
the lodge began to shake and tremble, and they felt it rising into the
air. It was too late to run out, for they were already as high as the
tops of the trees. Osseo looked around him as the lodge passed through
the topmost boughs, and behold! their wooden dishes were changed into
shells of a scarlet color, the poles of the lodge to glittering rods of
silver, and the bark that covered them into the gorgeous wings of
insects.

A moment more and his brothers and sisters, and their parents and
friends, were transformed into birds of various plumage. Some were jays,
some partridges and pigeons, and others gay singing birds, who hopped
about, displaying their many-colored feathers, and singing songs of
cheerful note.

But his wife, Oweenee, still kept her earthly garb, and exhibited all
the indications of extreme old age. He again cast his eyes in the
direction of the clouds, and uttered the peculiar cry which had given
him the victory at the rock. In a moment the youth and beauty of his
wife returned; her dingy garments assumed the shining appearance of
green silk, and her staff was changed into a silver feather.

The lodge again shook and trembled, for they were now passing through
the uppermost clouds, and they immediately after found themselves in the
Evening Star, the residence of Osseo's father.

"My son," said the old man, "hang that cage of birds which you have
brought along in your hand at the door, and I will inform you why you
and your wife have been sent for."

Osseo obeyed, and then took his seat in the lodge.

"Pity was shown to you," resumed the King of the Star, "on account of
the contempt of your wife's sister, who laughed at her ill fortune, and
ridiculed you while you were under the power of that wicked spirit whom
you overcame at the rock. That spirit lives in the next lodge, being the
small star you see on the left of mine, and he has always felt envious
of my family because we had greater power, and especially that we had
committed to us the care of the female world. He failed in many attempts
to destroy your brothers and sisters-in-law, but succeeded at last in
transforming yourself and your wife into decrepid old persons. You must
be careful and not let the light of his beams fall on you, while you are
here, for therein lies the power of his enchantment. A ray of light is
the bow and arrow he uses."

Osseo lived happy and contented in the parental lodge, and in due time
his wife presented him with a son, who grew up rapidly, and in the very
likeness of Osseo himself. He was very quick and ready in learning
every thing that was done in his grandfather's dominions, but he wished
also to learn the art of hunting, for he had heard that this was a
favorite pursuit below. To gratify him, his father made him a bow and
arrows, and he then let the birds out of the cage that he might practice
in shooting. In this pastime he soon became expert, and the very first
day he brought down a bird; but when he went to pick it up, to his
amazement it was a beautiful young woman, with the arrow sticking in her
breast. It was one of his younger aunts.

The moment her blood fell upon the surface of that pure and spotless
planet, the charm was dissolved. The boy immediately found himself
sinking, although he was partly upheld by something like wings until he
passed through the lower clouds, and he then suddenly dropped upon a
high, breezy island in a large lake. He was pleased, on looking up, to
see all his aunts and uncles following him in the form of birds, and he
soon discovered the silver lodge, with his father and mother,
descending, with its waving tassels fluttering like so many insects'
gilded wings. It rested on the loftiest cliffs of the island, and there
they fixed their residence. They all resumed their natural shapes, but
they were diminished to the size of fairies; and as a mark of homage to
the King of the Evening Star, they never failed on every pleasant
evening during the summer season to join hands and dance upon the top of
the rocks. These rocks were quickly observed by the Indians to be
covered, in moonlight evenings, with a larger sort of Ininees, or little
men, and were called Mish-in-e-mok-in-ok-ong, or Little Spirits, and the
island is named from them to this day.

Their shining lodge can be seen in the summer evenings, when the moon
beams strongly on the pinnacles of the rocks; and the fishermen who go
near those high cliffs at night, have even heard the voices of the happy
little dancers. And Osseo and his wife, as fondly attached to each other
as ever, always lead the dance.




VII.

GRAY EAGLE AND HIS FIVE BROTHERS.


There were six falcons living in a nest, five of whom were still too
young to fly, when it so happened that both the parent birds were shot
in one day. The young brood waited anxiously for their return; but night
came, and they were left without parents and without food.

Gray Eagle, the eldest, and the only one whose feathers had become stout
enough to enable him to leave the nest, took his place at the head of
the family, and assumed the duty of stifling their cries and providing
the little household with food, in which he was very successful. But,
after a short time had passed, by an unlucky mischance, while out on a
foraging excursion, he got one of his wings broken. This was the more to
be regretted, as the season had arrived when they were soon to go to a
southern country to pass the winter, and the children were only waiting
to become a little stronger and more expert on the wing to set out on
the journey.

Finding that their elder brother did not return, they resolved to go in
search of him. After beating up and down the country for the better part
of a whole day, they at last found him, sorely wounded and unable to
fly, lodged in the upper branches of a sycamore-tree.

"Brothers," said Gray Eagle, as soon as they were gathered around, and
questioned him as to the extent of his injuries, "an accident has
befallen me, but let not this prevent your going to a warmer climate.
Winter is rapidly approaching, and you can not remain here. It is better
that I alone should die, than for you all to suffer on my account."

"No, no," they replied, with one voice. "We will not forsake you. We
will share your sufferings; we will abandon our journey, and take care
of you as you did of us before we were able to take care of ourselves.
If the chill climate kills you, it shall kill us. Do you think we can so
soon forget your brotherly care, which has equaled a father's, and even
a mother's kindness? Whether you live or die, we will live or die with
you."

They sought out a hollow tree to winter in, and contrived to carry their
wounded nest-mate thither; and before the rigor of the season had set
in, they had, by diligence and economy, stored up food enough to carry
them through the winter months.

To make the provisions they had laid in last the better, it was agreed
among them that two of their number should go south; leaving the other
three to watch over, feed, and protect their wounded brother. The
travelers set forth, sorry to leave home, but resolved that the first
promise of spring should bring them back again. At the close of day, the
three brothers who remained, mounting to the very peak of the tree, and
bearing Gray Eagle in their arms, watched them, as they vanished away
southward, till their forms blended with the air and were wholly lost to
sight.

Their next business was to set the household in order, and this, with
the judicious direction of Gray Eagle, who was propped up in a snug
fork, with soft cushions of dry moss, they speedily accomplished. One of
the sisters, for there were two of these, took upon herself the charge
of nursing Gray Eagle, preparing his food, bringing him water, and
changing his pillows when he grew tired of one position. She also looked
to it that the house itself was kept in a tidy condition, and that the
pantry was supplied with food. The second brother was assigned the duty
of physician, and he was to prescribe such herbs and other medicines as
the state of the health of Gray Eagle seemed to require. As the second
brother had no other invalid on his visiting-list, he devoted the time
not given to the cure of his patient, to the killing of game wherewith
to stock the house-keeper's larder; so that, whatever he did, he was
always busy in the line of professional duty--killing or curing. On his
hunting excursions, Doctor Falcon carried with him his youngest brother,
who, being a foolish young fellow, and inexperienced in the ways of the
world, it was not thought safe to trust alone.

In due time, what with good nursing, and good feeding, and good air,
Gray Eagle recovered from his wound, and he repaid the kindness of his
brothers by giving them such advice and instruction in the art of
hunting as his age and experience qualified him to impart. As spring
advanced, they began to look about for the means of replenishing their
store-house, whose supplies were running low; and they were all quite
successful in their quest except the youngest, whose name was Peepi, or
the Pigeon-Hawk, and who had of late begun to set up for himself. Being
small and foolish, and feather-headed, flying hither and yonder without
any set purpose, it so happened that Peepi always came home, so to
phrase it, with an empty game-bag, and his pinions terribly rumpled.

At last Gray Eagle spoke to him, and demanded the cause of his ill-luck.

"It is not my smallness nor weakness of body," Peepi answered, "that
prevents my bringing home provender as well as my brothers. I am all the
time on the wing, hither and thither. I kill ducks and other birds every
time I go out; but just as I get to the woods, on my way home, I am met
by a large ko-ko-ho, who robs me of my prey; and," added Peepi, with
great energy, "it's my settled opinion that the villain lies in wait for
the very purpose of doing so."

"I have no doubt you are right, Brother Peepi," rejoined Gray Eagle. "I
know this pirate--his name is White Owl; and now that I feel my strength
fully recovered, I will go out with you to-morrow and help you look
after this greedy bush-ranger."

The next day they went forth in company, and arrived at a fine
fresh-water lake. Gray Eagle seated himself hard by, while Peepi started
out, and soon pounced upon a duck.

"Well done!" thought his brother, who saw his success; but just as
little Peepi was getting to land with his prize, up sailed a large white
owl from a tree where he, too, had been watching, and laid claim to it.
He was on the point of wresting it from Peepi, when Gray Eagle, calling
out to the intruder to desist, rushed up, and, fixing his talons in both
sides of the owl, without further introduction or ceremony, flew away
with him.

The little Pigeon-Hawk followed closely, with the duck under his wing,
rejoiced and happy to think that he had something to carry home at last.
He was naturally much vexed with the owl, and had no sooner delivered
over the duck to his sister, the housekeeper, than he flew in the owl's
face, and, venting an abundance of reproachful terms, would, in his
passion, have torn the very eyes out of the White Owl's head.

"Softly, Peepi," said the Gray Eagle, stepping in between them. "Don't
be in such a huff, my little brother, nor exhibit so revengeful a
temper. Do you not know that we are to forgive our enemies? White Owl,
you may go; but let this be a lesson to you, not to play the tyrant over
those who may chance to be weaker than yourself."

So, after adding to this much more good advice, and telling him what
kind of herbs would cure his wounds, Gray Eagle dismissed White Owl, and
the four brothers and sisters sat down to supper.

The next day, betimes, in the morning, before the household had fairly
rubbed the cobwebs out of the corners of their eyes, there came a knock
at the front door--which was a dry branch that lay down before the
hollow of the tree in which they lodged--and being called to come in,
who should make their appearance but the two nest-mates, who had just
returned from the South, where they had been wintering. There was great
rejoicing over their return, and now that they were all happily
re-united, each one soon chose a mate and began to keep house in the
woods for himself.

Spring had now revisited the North. The cold winds had all blown
themselves away, the ice had melted, the streams were open, and smiled
as they looked at the blue sky once more; and the forests, far and wide,
in their green mantle, echoed every cheerful sound.

But it is in vain that spring returns, and that the heart of Nature is
opened in bounty, if we are not thankful to the Master of Life, who has
preserved us through the winter. Nor does that man answer the end for
which he was made who does not show a kind and charitable feeling to all
who are in want or sickness, especially to his blood relations.

The love and harmony of Gray Eagle and his brothers continued. They
never forgot each other. Every week, on the fourth afternoon of the week
(for that was the time when they had found their wounded elder brother),
they had a meeting in the hollow of the old sycamore-tree, when they
talked over family matters, and advised with each other, as brothers
should, about their affairs.




VIII.

THE TOAD-WOMAN.


Great good luck once happened to a young woman who was living all alone
in the woods with nobody near her but her little dog; for, to her
surprise, she found fresh meat every morning at her door. She was very
curious to know who it was that supplied her, and watching one morning,
just as the sun had risen, she saw a handsome young man gliding away
into the forest. Having seen her, he became her husband, and she had a
son by him.

One day, not long after this, he did not return at evening, as usual,
from hunting. She waited till late at night, but he came no more.

The next day, she swung her child to sleep in its cradle, and then said
to her dog, "Take care of your brother while I am gone, and when he
cries, halloo for me."

The cradle was made of the finest wampum, and all its bandages and
ornaments were of the same precious stuff.

After a short time, the woman heard the cry of the dog, and running home
as fast as she could, she found her child gone, and the dog too. On
looking around, she saw scattered upon the ground pieces of the wampum
of her child's cradle, and she knew that the dog had been faithful, and
had striven his best to save her child from being carried off, as he had
been, by an old woman, from a distant country, called Mukakee Mindemoea,
or the Toad-Woman.

The mother hurried off at full speed in pursuit, and as she flew along,
she came, from time to time, to lodges inhabited by old women, who told
her at what time the child-thief had passed; they also gave her shoes
that she might follow on. There was a number of these old women who
seemed as if they were prophetesses, and knew what was to come long
beforehand. Each of them would say to her that when she had arrived at
the next lodge, she must set the toes of the moccasins they had given
her pointing homeward, and that they would return of themselves. The
young woman was very careful to send back in this manner all the shoes
she borrowed.

She thus followed in the pursuit, from valley to valley, and stream to
stream, for many months and years; when she came at length to the lodge
of the last of the friendly old grandmothers, as they were called, who
gave her the last instructions how to proceed. She told her that she
was near the place where her son was to be found; and she directed her
to build a lodge of cedar-boughs, hard by the old Toad-Woman's lodge,
and to make a little bark dish, and to fill it with the juice of the
wild grape.

"Then," she said, "your first child (meaning the dog) will come and find
you out."

These directions the young woman followed just as they had been given to
her, and in a short time she heard her son, now grown up, going out to
hunt, with his dog, calling out to him, "Peewaubik--Spirit-Iron--Twee!
Twee!"

The dog soon came into the lodge, and she set before him the dish of
grape-juice.

"See, my child," she said, addressing him, "the pretty drink your mother
gives you."

Spirit-Iron took a long draught, and immediately left the lodge with his
eyes wide open; for it was the drink which teaches one to see the truth
of things as they are. He rose up when he got into the open air, stood
upon his hind legs, and looked about. "I see how it is," he said; and
marching off, erect like a man, he sought out his young master.

Approaching him in great confidence, he bent down and whispered in his
ear (having first looked cautiously around to see that no one was
listening), "This old woman here in the lodge is no mother of yours. I
have found your real mother, and she is worth looking at. When we come
back from our day's sport, I'll prove it to you."

They went out into the woods, and at the close of the afternoon they
brought back a great spoil of meat of all kinds. The young man, as soon
as he had laid aside his weapons, said to the old Toad-Woman, "Send some
of the best of this meat to the stranger who has arrived lately."

The Toad-Woman answered, "No! Why should I send to her, the poor widow!"

The young man would not be refused; and at last the old Toad-Woman
consented to take something and throw it down at the door. She called
out, "My son gives you this." But, being bewitched by Mukakee Mindemoea,
it was so bitter and distasteful, that the young woman immediately cast
it out of the lodge after her.

In the evening the young man paid the stranger a visit at her lodge of
cedar-boughs. She then told him that she was his real mother, and that
he had been stolen away from her by the old Toad-Woman, who was a
child-thief and a witch. As the young man appeared to doubt, she added,
"Feign yourself sick when you go home to her lodge; and when the
Toad-Woman asks what ails you, say that you wish to see your cradle; for
your cradle was of wampum, and your faithful brother the dog, in
striving to save you, tore off these pieces which I show you."

They were real wampum, white and blue, shining and beautiful; and the
young man, placing them in his bosom, set off; but as he did not seem
quite steady in his belief of the strange woman's story, the dog
Spirit-Iron, taking his arm, kept close by his side, and gave him many
words of encouragement as they went along. They entered the lodge
together; and the old Toad-Woman saw, from something in the dog's eye,
that trouble was coming.

"Mother," said the young man, placing his hand to his head, and leaning
heavily upon Spirit-Iron, as if a sudden faintness had come upon him,
"why am I so different in looks from the rest of your children?"

"Oh," she answered, "it was a very bright, clear blue sky when you were
born; that is the reason."

He seemed to be so very ill that the Toad-Woman at length asked what she
could do for him. He said nothing could do him good but the sight of his
cradle. She ran immediately and brought a cedar cradle; but he said:

"That is not my cradle."

She went and got another of her own children's cradles, of which there
were four; but he turned his head, and said:

"That is not mine; I am as sick as ever."

When she had shown the four, and they had been all rejected, she at last
produced the real cradle. The young man saw that it was of the same
stuff as the wampum which he had in his bosom. He could even see the
marks of the teeth of Spirit-Iron left upon the edges, where he had
taken hold, striving to hold it back. He had no doubt, now, which was
his mother.

To get free of the old Toad-Woman, it was necessary that the young man
should kill a fat bear; and, being directed by Spirit-Iron, who was very
wise in such a matter, he secured the fattest in all that country; and
having stripped a tall pine of all its bark and branches, he perched the
carcass in the top, with its head to the east and its tail due west.
Returning to the lodge, he informed the old Toad-Woman that the fat bear
was ready for her, but that she would have to go very far, even to the
end of the earth, to get it. She answered:

"It is not so far but that I can get it;" for of all things in the
world, a fat bear was the delight of the old Toad-Woman.

She at once set forth; and she was no sooner out of sight than the young
man and his dog, Spirit-Iron, blowing a strong breath in the face of the
Toad-Woman's four children (who were all bad spirits, or bear-fiends),
they put out their life. They then set them up by the side of the door,
having first thrust a piece of the white fat in each of their mouths.

The Toad-Woman spent a long time in finding the bear which she had been
sent after, and she made at least five and twenty attempts before she
was able to climb to the carcass. She slipped down three times where she
went up once. When she returned with the great bear on her back, as she
drew near her lodge she was astonished to see the four children standing
up by the door-posts with the fat in their mouths. She was angry with
them, and called out:

"Why do you thus insult the pomatum of your brother?"

She was still more angry when they made no answer to her complaint; but
when she found that they were stark dead, and placed in this way to mock
her, her fury was very great indeed. She ran after the tracks of the
young man and his mother as fast as she could; so fast, indeed, that she
was on the very point of overtaking them, when the dog, Spirit-Iron,
coming close up to his master, whispered to him--"Snakeberry!"

"Let the snakeberry spring up to detain her!" cried out the young man;
and immediately the berries spread like scarlet all over the path, for a
long distance; and the old Toad-Woman, who was almost as fond of these
berries as she was of fat bears, could not avoid stooping down to pick
and eat.

The old Toad-Woman was very anxious to get forward, but the
snakeberry-vines kept spreading out on every side; and they still grow
and grow, and spread and spread; and to this day the wicked old
Toad-Woman is busy picking the berries, and she will never be able to
get beyond to the other side, to disturb the happiness of the young
hunter and his mother, who still live, with their faithful dog, in the
shadow of the beautiful wood-side where they were born.




IX.

THE ORIGIN OF THE ROBIN.


An old man had an only son, named Iadilla, who had come to that age
which is thought to be most proper to make the long and final fast which
is to secure through life a guardian genius or spirit. The father was
ambitious that his son should surpass all others in whatever was deemed
wisest and greatest among his people. To accomplish his wish, he thought
it necessary that the young Iadilla should fast a much longer time than
any of those renowned for their power or wisdom, whose fame he coveted.

He therefore directed his son to prepare with great ceremony for the
important event. After he had been several times in the sweating-lodge
and bath, which were to prepare and purify him for communion with his
good spirit, he ordered him to lie down upon a clean mat in a little
lodge expressly provided for him. He enjoined upon him at the same time
to endure his fast like a man, and promised that at the expiration of
twelve days he should receive food and the blessing of his father.

The lad carefully observed the command, and lay with his face covered,
calmly awaiting the approach of the spirit which was to decide his good
or evil fortune for all the days of his life.

Every morning his father came to the door of the little lodge and
encouraged him to persevere, dwelling at length on the vast honor and
renown that must ever attend him, should he accomplish the full term of
trial allotted to him.

To these glowing words of promise and glory the boy never replied, but
he lay without the least sign of discontent or murmuring until the ninth
day, when he addressed his father as follows:

"My father, my dreams forbode evil. May I break my fast now, and at a
more favorable time make a new fast?"

The father answered:

"My son, you know not what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory
will depart. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but three days
more, and your term will be completed. You know it is for your own good,
and I encourage you to persevere. Shall not your aged father live to see
you a star among the chieftains and the beloved of battle?"

The son assented; and covering himself more closely, that he might shut
out the light which prompted him to complain, he lay till the eleventh
day, when he repeated his request.

The father addressed Iadilla as he had the day before, and promised that
he would himself prepare his first meal, and bring it to him by the dawn
of the morning.

The son moaned, and the father added:

"Will you bring shame upon your father when his sun is falling in the
west?"

"I will not shame you, my father," replied Iadilla; and he lay so still
and motionless that you could only know that he was living by the gentle
heaving of his breast.

At the spring of day, the next morning, the father, delighted at having
gained his end, prepared a repast for his son, and hastened to set it
before him. On coming to the door of the little lodge, he was surprised
to hear his son talking to himself. He stooped his ear to listen, and,
looking through a small opening, he was yet more astonished when he
beheld his son painted with vermilion over all his breast, and in the
act of finishing his work by laying on the paint as far back on his
shoulders as he could reach with his hands, saying at the same time, to
himself:

"My father has destroyed my fortune as a man. He would not listen to my
requests. He has urged me beyond my tender strength. He will be the
loser. I shall be forever happy in my new state, for I have been
obedient to my parent. He alone will be the sufferer, for my guardian
spirit is a just one. Though not propitious to me in the manner I
desired, he has shown me pity in another way--he has given me another
shape; and now I must go."

At this moment the old man broke in, exclaiming:

"My son! my son! I pray you leave me not!"

But the young man, with the quickness of a bird, had flown to the top of
the lodge and perched himself on the highest pole, having been changed
into a beautiful robin red-breast. He looked down upon his father with
pity beaming in his eyes, and addressed him as follows:

"Regret not, my father, the change you behold. I shall be happier in my
present state than I could have been as a man. I shall always be the
friend of men, and keep near their dwellings. I shall ever be happy and
contented; and although I could not gratify your wishes as a warrior, it
will be my daily aim to make you amends for it as a harbinger of peace
and joy. I will cheer you by my songs, and strive to inspire in others
the joy and lightsomeness of heart I feel in my present state. This will
be some compensation to you for the loss of glory you expected. I am now
free from the cares and pains of human life. My food is spontaneously
furnished by the mountains and fields, and my pathway of life is in the
bright air."

Then stretching himself on his toes, as if delighted with the gift of
wings, Iadilla caroled one of his sweetest songs, and flew away into a
neighboring wood.




X.

WHITE FEATHER AND THE SIX GIANTS.


There was an old man living in the depth of a forest, with his grandson,
whom he had taken in charge when quite an infant. The child had no
parents, brothers, or sisters; they had all been destroyed by six large
giants, and he had been informed that he had no other relative living
beside his grandfather. The band to whom he had belonged had put up
their children on a wager in a race against those of the giants, and had
thus lost them. There was an old tradition in the tribe, that, one day,
it would produce a great man, who would wear a white feather, and who
would astonish every one by his feats of skill and bravery.

The grandfather, as soon as the child could play about, gave him a bow
and arrows to amuse himself with. He went into the edge of the woods one
day, and saw a rabbit; but not knowing what it was, he ran home and
described it to his grandfather. He told him what it was, that its flesh
was good to eat, and that if he would shoot one of his arrows into its
body he would kill it. The boy went out again and brought home the
little animal, which he asked his grandfather to boil, that they might
feast on it. He humored the boy in this, and he encouraged him to go on
in acquiring the knowledge of hunting, until he could kill deer and the
larger kinds of game; and he became, as he grew up, an expert hunter.

As they lived alone, and away from other Indians, the curiosity of the
stripling was excited to know what was passing in the world. One day he
came to the edge of a prairie, where he saw ashes like those at his
grandfather's lodge, and lodge-poles left standing.

He returned, and inquired whether his grandfather had put up the poles
and made the fire. He was answered, No. Nor did he believe that he had
seen any thing of the kind. He must have lost his senses to be talking
of such things.

Another day the young man went out to see what there was, within a day's
hunt, that was curious; and on entering the woods he heard a voice
calling out to him, "Come here, you destined wearer of the White
Feather. You do not wear it, yet, but you are worthy of it. Return home
and take a short nap. You will dream of hearing a voice, which will tell
you to rise and smoke. You will see in your dream a pipe, a
smoking-sack, and a large white feather. When you awake you will find
these articles. Put the feather on your head, and you will become a
great hunter, a great warrior, and a great man, able to do any thing. As
a proof that these things shall come to pass, when you smoke, the smoke
will turn into pigeons."

The voice then informed the young man who he was, and made known the
character of his grandfather, who was imposing upon him to serve his own
ends.

The voice-spirit then caused a vine to be laid at his side, and told him
that he was now of an age to avenge the wrongs of his kindred. "When you
meet your enemy," the spirit added, "you will run a race with him. He
will not see the vine, because it is enchanted. While you are running,
you will throw it over his head and entangle him, so that you will win
the race."

Long before this speech was ended the young man had turned to the
quarter from which the voice proceeded, and he was astonished to behold
a man; for as yet he had never seen any human being beside his
grandfather.

As he looked more keenly, he saw that this man, who had the looks of
great age, was wood from the breast downward, and that he appeared to be
fixed in the earth. As his eye dwelt upon this strange being, the
countenance by degrees faded away, and when he advanced to the spot
whence it had addressed him, it was gone.

He returned home; slept; in the midst of his slumbers, as from the
hollow of the air, heard the voice; wakened and found the promised
gifts. His grandfather, when his attention was called to his awakening,
was greatly surprised to find the youth with a white feather on his
forehead, and to see flocks of pigeons flying out of his lodge. He then
remembered the old tradition, and knowing that now the day when he
should lose control of his charge had begun, he bitterly bewailed the
hour.

Possessed of his three magic gifts, the young man departed the next
morning, to seek his enemies, and to demand revenge.

The six giants lived in a very high lodge in the middle of a wood. He
traveled on, in good heart, till he reached this lodge, where he found
that his coming had been made known by the little spirits who carry the
news. The giants hastened out, and gave a cry of joy as they saw him
drawing near. When he approached within hail, they began to make sport
of him, saying, "Here comes the little man with the white feather, who
is to achieve such wonderful wonders."

When, however, he had arrived among them, they spoke him fair, saying he
was a brave man and would do brave things. Their object was to encourage
him, so that he would be bold to engage in some fool-hardy trial of
strength.

Without paying much heed to their fine speeches, White Feather went
fearlessly into their lodge; and without waiting for invitation, he
challenged them to a foot-match. They agreed; and, as they said, by way
of being easy with him, they told him to begin the race with the
smallest of their number.

The point to which they were to run was a peeled tree toward the rising
sun, and then back to the starting-place, which was a war-club of iron.
Whoever won this stake, was empowered to use it in dispatching the
defeated champion. If White Feather should overcome the first giant, he
was to try the second, and so on, until they had all measured speed with
him. By a dexterous use of the vine, he gained the first race, struck
down his competitor, and cut off his head.

The next morning he ran with the second giant, whom he also outran,
killed and beheaded.

He went on in this way for the five mornings, always conquering by the
aid of his vine, and lopping off the heads of the vanquished giants.

The last of the giants who was yet to run with him acknowledged his
power, but prepared secretly to deceive him. By way of parley, he
proposed that White Feather should leave the heads with him, and that he
would give him a handsome start for odds. This White Feather declined,
as he preferred to keep the heads as trophies of his victory.

Before going to the giant's lodge, on the sixth morning, he met his old
counselor in the woods, standing rooted in the earth, as before. He told
White Feather that he was about to be deceived; that he had never known
any other sex but his own, but that as he went on his way to the lodge
he would meet the most beautiful woman in the world. He must pay no
attention to her, but as soon as he caught her eye he must wish himself
changed into an elk. The change would take place immediately, and he
must go to feeding and not look at her again.

White Feather thanked his kind adviser, and when he turned to take his
leave he was gone as before.

He proceeded toward the lodge, met the female as had been foretold to
him, and became an elk. She reproached him that he had cast aside the
form of a man that he might avoid her.

"I have traveled a great distance," she added, "to see you and to become
your wife; for I have heard of your great achievements, and admire you
very much."

Now this woman was the sixth giant, who had assumed this disguise to
entrap White Feather.

Without a suspicion of her real character, her reproaches and her beauty
affected him so deeply that he wished himself a man again, and he at
once resumed his natural shape. They sat down together, and he began to
caress and to make love to her.

Soothed by her smiles and her gracious manners, he ventured to lay his
head on her lap, and in a little while he fell into a deep slumber.

Even then, such was her fear of White Feather, she doubted whether his
sleep might not be feigned. To assure herself she pushed his head aside,
and seeing that he remained unconscious, she quickly assumed her own
form as the sixth giant, took the plume from the brow of White Feather
and placed it upon his own head, and with a sudden blow of his war-club
changed him into a dog, in which degraded form he followed his enemy to
the lodge.

While these things were passing, there were living in an Indian village
at some distance, two sisters, the daughters of a chief, who were
rivals, and they were at that very time fasting to acquire power, for
the purpose of enticing the wearer of the white feather to visit their
lodge. They each secretly hoped to engage his affections, and each had
built a lodge in the border of the village encampment.

The giant knowing this, and having become possessed of the magic plume,
went immediately to visit them. As he approached, the sisters, who were
on the look-out at their lodge-doors, espied and recognized the feather.

The eldest sister had prepared her lodge with great show, and all the
finery she could command, so as to attract the eye. The youngest
touched nothing in her lodge, but left it in its ordinary state.

The eldest went out to meet the giant, and invited him in. He accepted
her invitation, and made her his wife. The youngest sister invited the
enchanted dog into her lodge, prepared him a good supper and a neat bed,
and treated him with much attention.

The giant, supposing that whoever possessed the white feather possessed
also all its virtues, went out upon the prairie to hunt, hallooing aloud
to the game to come and be killed; but the great hubbub he kept up
scared them away, and he returned at night with nothing but himself; for
he had shouted so lustily all day long that he had been even obliged to
leave the mighty halloo, with which he had set out, behind.

The dog went out the same day hunting upon the banks of a river. He
stole quietly along to the spot, and stepping into the water he drew out
a stone, which instantly became a beaver.

The next day the giant followed the dog, and hiding behind a tree, he
watched the manner in which the dog hunted in the river when he drew out
a stone, which at once turned into a beaver.

"Ah, ha!" said the giant to himself, "I will catch some beaver for
myself."

And as soon as the dog had left the place, the giant went to the river,
and, imitating the dog, he drew out a stone, and was delighted to see
it, as soon as it touched the land, change into a fine fat beaver.

Tying it to his belt he hastened home, shouting a good deal, and
brandishing the white feather about, as if he were prepared now to show
them what he could do when he once tried. When he reached home he threw
it down, as is the custom, at the door of the lodge before he entered.

After being seated a short time, he gave a dry cough, and bade his wife
bring in his hunting girdle. She made dispatch to obey him, and
presently returned with the girdle, with nothing tied to it but a stone.

The next day, the dog finding that his method of catching beavers had
been discovered, went to a wood at some distance, and broke off a
charred limb from a burned tree, which instantly became a bear. The
giant, who appeared to have lost faith in his hulla-balooing, had again
watched him, did exactly as the dog had done, and carried a bear home;
but his wife, when she came to go out for it, found nothing but a black
stick tied to his belt.

And so it happened with every thing. Whatever the dog undertook,
prospered; whatever the giant attempted, failed. Every day the youngest
sister had reason to be more proud of the poor dog she had asked into
her lodge, and every day the eldest sister was made more aware, that
though she had married the white feather, the virtues of the magic
plume were not the personal property of the noisy giant.

At last the giant's wife determined that she would go to her father and
make known to him what a valuable husband she had, and how he furnished
her lodge with a great abundance of sticks and stones, which he would
pass upon her for bear and beaver. So, when her husband, whose brave
halloo had now died away to a feeble chirp, had started for the hunt,
she set out.

As soon as these two had gone away from the neighborhood, the dog made
signs to his mistress to sweat him after the manner of the Indians. He
had always been a good dog, and she was willing to oblige him. She
accordingly made a lodge just large enough for him to creep in. She then
put in heated stones, and poured water upon them, which raised a vapor
that filled the lodge and searched with its warmth to the very heart's
core of the enchanted dog.

When this had been kept up for the customary time, the enchanted dog was
completely sweated away, and in his stead, as might have been expected,
out came a very handsome young man, but, unhappily, without the power of
speech. In taking away the dog, it appears that the sweating-lodge had
also carried off the voice with it.

Meantime the elder sister had reached her father's, and, with much
circumstance and a very long face, had told him how that her sister was
supporting an idle dog, and entertaining him as her husband. In her
anxiety to make known her sister's affairs and the great scandal she was
bringing upon the family, the eldest forgot to say any thing of the
sticks and stones which her own husband brought home for bears and
beavers. The old man suspecting that there was magic about her house,
sent a deputation of young men and women to ask his youngest daughter to
come to him, and to bring her dog along with her. When the deputation
reached the lodge, they were surprised to find, in the place of the dog,
a fine young man; and on announcing their message, they all returned to
the old chief, who was no less surprised at the change.

He immediately assembled all the old and wise heads of the nation to
come and be witnesses to the exploits which it was reported that the
young man could perform. The sixth giant, although neither very old nor
very wise, thrust himself in among the relations of the old chief.

When they were all assembled and seated in a circle, the old chief took
his pipe and filled it, and passed it to the Indians around, to see if
any thing would happen when they smoked. They passed it on until it came
around to the Dog, who made a sign that it should be handed first to the
giant, which was done. And the giant puffed with all his might, and
shook the white feather upon his head, and swelled his chest; but
nothing came of it, except a great deal of smoke. The Dog then took it
himself. He made a sign to them to put the white feather upon his head.
This was no sooner done, than he recovered his speech, and, beginning to
draw upon the pipe at the same moment, behold, immense flocks of white
and blue pigeons rushed from the smoke.

From that moment the sixth giant was looked upon as an impostor, and as
soon as White Feather had, at the request of the company, faithfully
recounted his history, the old chief, who was one of the best-hearted
magicians that ever lived, ordered that the giant should be transformed
into a dog, and turned into the middle of the village, where the boys
should pelt him to death with clubs; which being done, the whole six
giants were at an end, and never troubled that neighborhood again,
forever after.

The chief then gave out a command, at the request of White Feather, that
all the young men should employ themselves four days in making arrows.
White Feather also asked for a buffalo robe. This he cut into thin
shreds, and in the night, when no one knew of it, he went and sowed them
about the prairie in every direction.

At the end of the four days, he invited them to gather together all of
their arrows, and to accompany him to a buffalo hunt. When they got out
upon the prairie, they found it covered with a great herd of buffaloes.
Of these they killed as many as they pleased, and, afterward, they had a
grand festival in honor of White Feather's triumph over the giants.

All this being pleasantly over, White Feather got his wife to ask her
father's permission to go with him on a visit to his grandfather. The
old chief replied to this application, that a woman must follow her
husband into whatever quarter of the world he may choose to go.

Bidding farewell to all his friends, White Feather placed the plume in
his frontlet, and taking his war-club in his hand, he led the way into
the forest, followed by his faithful wife.




XI.

SHEEM, THE FORSAKEN BOY.


On a certain afternoon the sun was falling in the West, and in the midst
of the ruddy silence a solitary lodge stood on the banks of a remote
lake. One sound only broke, in the least degree, the forest
stillness--the low breathing of the dying inmate, who was the head of a
poor family. His wife and children surrounded the buffalo robe on which
he lay. Of the children, two were almost grown up--a daughter and a son;
the other was a boy, and a mere child in years.

All the skill of the household in their simple medicines was exhausted,
and they stood looking on or moved about the lodge with whispered steps,
awaiting the departure of the spirit. As one of the last acts of
kindness, the skin door of the lodge had been thrown back to admit the
fresh air of the evening. The poor man felt a momentary return of
strength, and raising himself a little, he addressed his family.

"I leave you," he said, "in a world of care, in which it has required
all my strength and skill to supply you food, and to protect you from
the storms and cold of a harsh climate."

He cast his eyes upon his wife, and continued:

"For you, my partner in life, I have less sorrow, because I am persuaded
you will not remain long behind me; but you, my children! my poor and
forsaken children, who have just begun the career of life, who will
shelter you from calamity? Listen to my words. Unkindness, ingratitude,
and every wickedness, are in the scene before you. It was for this that
years ago I withdrew from my kindred and my tribe to spend my days in
this lonely spot. I have contented myself with the company of your
mother and yourselves, during seasons of very frequent scarcity and
want, while your kindred, feasting in plenty, have caused the forests to
echo with the shouts of successful war. I gave up these things for the
enjoyment of peace. I wished to hide you away from the bad examples
which would have spoiled your innocence. I have seen you, thus far, grow
up in purity of heart. If we have sometimes suffered bodily want, we
have escaped pain of mind. We have not been compelled to look on or to
take a part with the red hand in scenes of rioting and bloodshed. My
path now stops. I have arrived at the brink of the world. I will shut my
eyes in peace if you, my children, will promise me to cherish each
other. Let not your mother suffer during the few days that are left to
her; and I charge you, on no account, to forsake your younger brother.
Of him I give you both my dying command to have a tender care."

He spoke no more, and as the sun fell out of view the light had gone
from his face. The family stood still, as if they expected to hear
something further; but when they came to his side and called him by
name, his spirit did not answer. It was in another world.

The mother and daughter lamented aloud, but the elder son clothed
himself in silence, as though it had been a mantle, and took his course
as though nothing had occurred. He exerted himself to supply, with his
bow and net, the wants of the little household, but he never made
mention of his father.

Five moons had filled and waned, and the sixth was near its full, when
the mother also died. In her last moments she pressed the fulfillment of
their father's wish.

The winter passed, and the spring, sparkling in the clear northern air,
cheered the spirits of the lonely little people in the lodge.

The girl, being the eldest, directed her brothers, and she seemed to
feel a tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, who was slight in
frame and of a delicate temper. The other boy soon began to break forth
with restless speeches, which showed that his spirit was not at ease.
One day he addressed his sister as follows:

"My sister, are we always to live as if there were no other human beings
in the world? Must I deprive myself of the pleasure of mingling with my
own kind? I have determined this question for myself. I shall seek the
villages of men, and you can not prevent me."

The sister replied:

"I do not say no, my brother, to what you desire; we are not forbidden
the society of our fellow-mortals, but we are told to cherish each
other, and to do nothing that shall not be agreeable to all our little
household. Neither pleasure nor pain ought, therefore, to separate us,
especially from our younger brother, who, being but a child, and weakly
withal, is entitled to a double share of our affection. If we follow our
separate fancies, it will surely make us neglect him, whom we are bound
by vows, both to our father and mother, to support."

The young man received this address in silence, and still took his
course as though nothing out of the ordinary way had occurred. After
awhile he seemed to recover his spirits; and as they lived in a large
country, where there were open fields, the two brothers, at his
invitation, often amused themselves in playing ball. One afternoon he
chose the ground near to a beautiful lake, and they played and laughed
with great spirit, and the ball was seldom allowed to touch the ground.

Now in this lake there happened to harbor a wicked old Manito, Mishosha
by name, who looked at the brothers as they played, and he was vastly
pleased with their nimbleness and beauty. He thought to himself, what
shall I do to get these lads to accompany me? One of them shall hit the
ball sideways, and it shall fall into my canoe.

It so happened, and it somehow seemed as if Owasso, the elder brother,
had purposely given it that direction. When Owasso saw the old man, he
professed to be greatly surprised, as was the other, Sheem by name, in
truth, for he had not noticed the old Manito before.

"Bring the ball to us," they both cried out. "Come to the shore."

"No," answered the old magician. He, however, came near enough for
either of them to wade out to him. "Come, come," he said. "Come and get
your ball."

They insisted that he should come ashore, but he sturdily declined to
oblige them.

"Very well," said Owasso, "I will go and get it." And he ran into the
water. "Hand it to me," he said, when he had approached near enough to
receive it.

"Ha!" answered the Manito, "reach over and get it yourself."

Owasso was about to grasp the ball, when the old magician suddenly
seized him and pushed him into the boat.

"My grandfather," said Owasso, "pray take my little brother also. Alone
I can not go with you; he will starve if I leave him."

Mishosha only laughed at him; then uttering the charmed words, "Chemaun
Poll!" and giving his canoe a slap, it glided through the water, without
further help, with the swiftness of an arrow.

In a short time they reached the magician's lodge, which stood upon the
further shore, a little distance back from the lake. The two daughters
of Mishosha were seated within. "My daughter," he said to his eldest, as
they entered the lodge, "I have brought you a husband."

The young woman smiled; for Owasso was a comely youth to look upon. The
magician told him to take his seat near her, and by this act the
marriage ceremony was completed, and Owasso and the magician's daughter
were man and wife, and in the course of time they had born to them a
son.

But no sooner was Owasso in the family than the old Manito wished him
out of the way, and he went about in his own wicked fashion to compass
it.

One day he asked his son-in-law to go out a-fishing with him. They
started without delay; for the magician had only to speak, and off went
the canoe. They reached a solitary bay in an island, a very dark,
lonely, and out-of-the-way place. The Manito advised Owasso to spear a
large sturgeon which came alongside, and with its great glassy eye
turned up, seemed to recognize the magician. Owasso rose in the boat to
dart his spear, and by speaking that moment to his canoe, Mishosha shot
forward and hurled his son-in-law headlong into the water; where,
leaving him to struggle for himself, he was soon out of sight.

Owasso, being himself gifted with limited magical powers, spoke to the
fish, and bade him swim toward the lodge, while he carried him along,
which he did at great speed. Once he directed the sturgeon to rise near
the surface of the water, so that he might, if possible, get a view of
the magician. The fish obeyed, and Owasso saw the wicked old Manito busy
in another direction, fishing, as unconcerned as though he had not just
lost a member of his family.

On went the fish, and on went Owasso, till they reached the shore, near
the magician's lodge, in advance of him. He then spoke kindly to the
sturgeon, and told him he should not be angry with him for having
speared him, as he was created to be meat for man. The sturgeon made no
reply, or if he did, it has not been reported; and Owasso, drawing him
on shore, went up and told his wife to dress and cook it immediately. By
the time it was prepared the magician had come in sight.

"Your grandfather has arrived," said the woman to her son; "go and see
what he brings, and eat this as you go"--handing a piece of the fish.

The boy went, and the magician no sooner saw him with the fish in his
hand, than he asked him, "What are you eating? and who brought it?"

He replied, "My father brought it."

The magician began to feel uneasy, for he found that he had been
outwitted; he, however, put on a grave face, and entering the lodge,
acted as if nothing unusual had happened.

Some days after this, Mishosha again requested his son-in-law to
accompany him; and Owasso, without hesitation, said "Yes!"

They went out, and, in a rapid passage, they arrived at a solitary
island, which was no more than a heap of high and craggy rocks.

The magician said to Owasso, "Go on shore, my son, and pick up all the
gulls' eggs you can find."

The rocks were strewn with eggs, and the air resounded with the cry of
the birds as they saw them gathered up by Owasso.

The old magician took the opportunity to speak to the gulls. "I have
long wished," he said, "to offer you something. I now give you this
young man for food."

He then uttered the charm to his canoe, and it shot out of sight,
leaving Owasso to make his peace the best way he could.

The gulls flew in immense numbers around him, and were ready to devour
him. Owasso did not lose his presence of mind, but he addressed them and
said:

"Gulls, you know you were not formed to eat human flesh, nor was man
made to be the prey of birds. Obey my words. Fly close together, a
sufficient number of you, and carry me on your backs to the magician's
lodge."

They listened attentively to what he said, and seeing nothing
unreasonable in his request, they obeyed him, and Owasso soon found
himself sailing through the air swiftly homeward.

Meanwhile, it appears that the old magician had fallen asleep and
allowed his canoe to come to a stand-still; for Owasso, in his flight
over the lake, saw him lying on his back in the boat, taking a nap,
which was quite natural, as the day was very soft and balmy.

As Owasso, with his convoy of birds, passed over, he let fall, directly
in the face of the old magician, a capful of gulls' eggs, which broke
and so besmeared his eyes that he could barely see. He jumped up and
exclaimed:

"It is always so with these thoughtless birds. They never consider where
they drop their eggs."

Owasso had flown on and reached the lodge in safety, and, excusing
himself for the liberty, he killed two or three of the gulls for the
sake of their feathers to ornament his son's head.

When the magician arrived, soon after, his grandson came out to meet
him, tossing his head about as the feathers danced and struggled with
the wind.

"Where did you get these?" asked the Manito, "and who brought them?"

"My father brought them," the boy replied.

The old magician was quite distressed in his mind that he had not
destroyed his son-in-law. He entered his lodge in silence, and set his
wits busily at work again to contrive some plan for easing his feelings
in that respect.

He could not help saying to himself:

"What manner of boy is this who is ever escaping from my power? But his
guardian spirit shall not save him. I will entrap him to-morrow. Ha, ha,
ha!"

He was painfully aware that he had tried two of his charms without
effect, and that he had but two more left. He now professed to be more
friendly with his son-in-law than ever, and the very next day he said to
Owasso:

"Come, my son, you must go with me to procure some young eagles. We
will tame them, and have them for pets about the lodge. I have
discovered an island where they are in great abundance."

They started on the trip, and when, after traversing an immense waste of
water, they had reached the island, Mishosha led him inland until they
came to the foot of a tall pine-tree, upon which the nests were to be
found.

"Now, my son," said Mishosha, "climb up this tree and bring down the
birds. I think you will get some fine ones up there."

Owasso obeyed. When he had with great difficulty got near the nest,
Mishosha cried out, addressing himself to the tree, and without much
regard to the wishes of Owasso:

"Now stretch yourself up and be very tall."

The tree, at this bidding, rose up so far that Owasso would have
imperiled his neck by any attempt to get to the ground.

"Listen, ye eagles!" continued Mishosha. "You have long expected a gift
from me. I now present you this boy, who has had the presumption to
climb up where you are to molest your young. Stretch forth your claws
and seize him."

So saying, the old magician, according to his custom in such cases,
turned his back upon Owasso, and going off in his canoe at a word, he
left his son-in-law to shift for himself.

But the birds did not seem to be so badly-minded as the old magician had
supposed; for a very old bald eagle, quite corpulent and large of limb,
alighting on a branch just opposite, opened conversation with him by
asking what had brought him there.

Owasso replied that he had not mounted the tree of himself, or out of
any disposition to harm his people; that his father-in-law, the old
magician who had just left them, had sent him up; that he was constantly
sending him on mischievous errands. In a word, the young man was
enlarging at great length upon the character of the wicked Manito, when
he was interrupted by being darted upon by a hungry-eyed bird, with long
claws.

Owasso, not in the least disconcerted, boldly seized this fierce eagle
by the neck and dashed it against the rocks, crying out:

"Thus will I deal with all who come near me."

The old eagle, who appeared to be the head of the tribe, was so pleased
with this show of spirit that he immediately appointed two tall birds,
uncommonly strong in the wings, to transport Owasso to his lodge. They
were to take turns in conducting him through the air.

Owasso expressed many obligations to the old eagle for his kindness, and
they forthwith set out. It was a high point from which they started, for
the pine-tree had shot far, far up toward the clouds, and they could
even descry the enchanted island where the old magician lived; though it
was miles and miles away. For this point they steered their flight; and
in a short time they landed Owasso at the door of the lodge.

With many compliments for their dispatch, Owasso dismissed the birds,
and stood ready to greet his wicked father-in-law who now arrived; and
when he espied his son-in-law still unharmed, Mishosha grew very black
in the face. He had but a single charm left.

He thought he would ponder deeply how he could employ that to the best
advantage; and it happened that while he was doing so, one evening, as
Owasso and his wife were sitting on the banks of the lake, and the soft
breeze swept over it, they heard a song, as if sung by some one at a
great distance. The sound continued for some time, and then died away in
perfect stillness. "Oh, it is the voice of Sheem," cried Owasso. "It is
the voice of my brother! If I could but only see him!" And he hung down
his head in deep anguish.

His wife witnessed his distress, and to comfort him she proposed that
they should attempt to make their escape, and carry him succor on the
morrow.

When the morning came, and the sun shone warmly into the lodge, the wife
of Owasso offered to comb her father's hair, with the hope that it
would soothe him to sleep. It had that effect; and they no sooner saw
him in deep slumber than they seized the magic canoe, Owasso uttered the
charmed words, "Chemaun Poll!" and they glided away upon the water
without need of oar or sail.

They had nearly reached the land on the opposite side of the lake, and
could distinctly hear the voice of the younger brother singing his
lament as before, when the old magician wakened. Missing his daughter
and her husband, he suspected deception of some kind; he looked for his
magic boat and found it gone. He spoke the magic words, which were more
powerful from him than from any other person in the world, and the canoe
immediately returned; to the sore disappointment of Owasso and his wife.

When they came back to the shore, Mishosha stood upon the beach and drew
up his canoe. He did not utter a word. The son-in-law and daughter
entered the lodge in silence.

The time, walking along in its broad open path, brought the autumn
months to a close, and the winter had set in. Soon after the first fall
of snow, Owasso said:

"Father, I wish to try my skill in hunting. It is said there is plenty
of game not far off, and it can now be easily tracked. Let us go."

The magician consented; they set out, and arriving at a good ground for
their sport, they spent the day in hunting. Night coming on, they built
themselves a lodge of pine-branches to sleep in. Although it was
bitterly cold, the young man took off his leggings and moccasins, and
hung them up to dry. The old magician did the same, carefully hanging
his own in a separate place, and they lay down to sleep.

Owasso, from a glance he had given, suspected that the magician had a
mind to play him a trick, and to be beforehand with him, he watched an
opportunity to get up and change the moccasins and leggings, putting his
own in the place of Mishosha's, and depending on the darkness of the
lodge to help him through.

Near daylight, the old magician bestirred himself, as if to rekindle the
fire; but he slyly reached down a pair of moccasins and leggings with a
stick, and thinking they were no other than those of Owasso's, he
dropped them into the flames; while he cast himself down, and affected
to be lost in a heavy sleep. The leather leggings and moccasins soon
drew up and were burned.

Instantly jumping up and rubbing his eyes, Mishosha cried out:

"Son-in-law, your moccasins are burning; I know it by the smell."

Owasso rose up, deliberately and unconcerned.

"No, my friend," said he, "here are mine," at the same time taking them
down and drawing them on. "It is your moccasins that are burning."

Mishosha dropped his head upon his breast. All his tricks were played
out--there was not so much as half a one left to help him out of the
sorry plight he was in.

"I believe, my grandfather," added Owasso, "that this is the moon in
which fire attracts, and I fear you must have set your foot and leg
garments too near the fire, and they have been drawn in. Now let us go
forth to the hunt."

The old magician was compelled to follow him, and they pushed out into a
great storm of snow, and hail, and wind, which had come on over night;
and neither the wind, the hail, nor the snow, had the slightest respect
for the bare limbs of the old magician, for there was not the least
virtue of magic in those parts of old Mishosha's body. After a while
they quite stiffened under him, his body became hard, and the hair
bristled in the cold wind, so that he looked to Owasso--who turned away
from him, leaving the wicked old magician alone to ponder upon his past
life--to Owasso he looked like a tough old sycamore-tree more than a
highly-gifted old magician.

Owasso himself reached home in safety, proof against all kinds of
weather, and the magic canoe became the exclusive property of the young
man and his wife.

During all this part of Owasso's stay at the lodge of Mishosha, his
sister, whom he had left on the main land with Sheem, their younger
brother, had labored with good-will to supply the lodge. She knew enough
of the arts of the forest to provide their daily food, and she watched
her little brother, and tended his wants, with all of a good sister's
care. By times she began to be weary of solitude and of her charge. No
one came to be a witness of her constancy, or to let fall a single word
in her mother-tongue. She could not converse with the birds and beasts
about her, and she felt, to the bottom of her heart, that she was alone.
In these thoughts she forgot her younger brother; she almost wished him
dead; for it was he alone that kept her from seeking the companionship
of others.

One day, after collecting all the provisions she had been able to
reserve from their daily use, and bringing a supply of wood to the door,
she said to her little brother:

"My brother, you must not stray from the lodge. I am going to seek our
elder brother. I shall be back soon."

She then set the lodge in perfect order, and, taking her bundle, she set
off in search of habitations. These she soon found, and in the enjoyment
of the pleasures and pastimes of her new acquaintance, she began to
think less and less of her little brother, Sheem. She accepted proposals
of marriage, and from that time she utterly forgot the abandoned boy.

As for poor little Sheem, he was soon brought to the pinching turn of
his fate. As soon as he had eaten all of the food left in the lodge, he
was obliged to pick berries, and live off of such roots as he could dig
with his slender hands. As he wandered about in search of wherewithal to
stay his hunger, he often looked up to heaven, and saw the gray clouds
going up and down. And then he looked about upon the wide earth, but he
never saw sister nor brother returning from their long delay.

At last, even the roots and berries gave out. They were blighted by the
frost or hidden out of reach by the snow, for the mid-winter had come
on, and poor little Sheem was obliged to leave the lodge and wander away
in search of food.

Sometimes he was enforced to pass the night in the clefts of old trees
or caverns, and to break his fast with the refuse meals of the savage
wolves.

These at last became his only resource, and he grew to be so little
fearful of these animals that he would sit by them while they devoured
their meat, and patiently await his share.

After a while, the wolves took to little Sheem very kindly, and seeming
to understand his outcast condition, they would always leave something
for him to eat. By and by they began to talk with him, and to inquire
into his history. When he told them that he had been forsaken by his
brother and his sister, the wolves turned about to each other, lifted up
their eyes to heaven, and wondered among themselves, with raised paws,
that such a thing should have been.

In this way, Sheem lived on till the spring, and as soon as the lake was
free from ice, he followed his new friends to the shore.

It happened on the same day, that his elder brother, Owasso, was fishing
in his magic canoe, a considerable distance out upon the lake; when he
thought he heard the cries of a child upon the shore. He wondered how
any human creature could exist on so bleak and barren a coast.

He listened again with all attention, and he heard the cry distinctly
repeated; and this time it was the well-known cry of his younger brother
that reached his ear. He knew too well the secret of his song, as he
heard him chaunting mournfully:

"My brother! My brother! Since you left me going in the canoe, a-hee-ee,
I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee. I am half changed into a wolf,
E-wee."

Owasso made for the shore, and as he approached the lament was repeated.
The sounds were very distinct, and the voice of wailing was very
sorrowful for Owasso to listen to, and it touched him the more that it
died away at the close, into a long-drawn howl, like that of the wolf.

In the sand, as he drew closer to the land, he saw the tracks as of that
animal fleeing away; and besides these the prints of human hands. But
what were the pity and astonishment that smote Owasso to the heart when
he espied his poor little brother--poor little forsaken Sheem--half boy
and half wolf, flying along the shore.

Owasso immediately leaped upon the ground and strove to catch him in his
arms, saying soothingly, "My brother! my brother! Come to me."

But the poor wolf-boy avoided his grasp, crying, as he fled, "Neesia,
neesia. Since you left me going in the canoe, a-he-ee, I am half changed
into a wolf, E-wee. I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee!" and howling
between these words of lament.

The elder brother, sore at heart, and feeling all of his brotherly
affection strongly returning, with renewed anguish, cried out, "My
brother! my brother! my brother!"

But the nearer he approached to poor Sheem, the faster he fled, and the
more rapidly the change went on; the boy-wolf by turns singing and
howling, and calling out the name, first of his brother and then of his
sister, till the change was complete. He leaped upon a bank, and looking
back, and casting upon Owasso a glance of deep reproach and grief, he
exclaimed, "I am a wolf!" and disappeared in the woods.




XII.

THE MAGIC BUNDLE.


A poor man, called Iena, or the Wanderer, was in the habit of roaming
about from place to place, forlorn, without relations, and almost
helpless. He had often wished for a companion to share his solitude; but
who would think of joining their fortunes with those of a poor wanderer,
who had no shelter but such as his leather hunting-shirt provided, and
no other household in the world than the bundle which he carried in his
hand, and in which his hunting-shirt was laid away?

One day as he went on a hunting excursion, to relieve himself of the
burden of carrying it, Iena hung up his bundle on the branch of a tree,
and then set out in quest of game.

On returning to the spot in the evening, he was surprised to find a
small but neat lodge built in the place where he had left his bundle;
and on looking in he beheld a beautiful female, sitting on the further
side of the lodge, with his bundle lying beside her.

During the day Iena had so far prospered in his sport as to kill a deer,
which he now cast down at the lodge door.

Without pausing to take the least notice, or to give a word of welcome
to the hunter, the woman ran out and began to see whether it was a large
deer that he had brought. In her haste she stumbled and fell at the
threshold.

Iena looked at her with astonishment, and thought to himself, "I
supposed I was blessed, but I find my mistake. Night-Hawk," said he,
speaking aloud, "I will leave my game with you that you may feast on
it."

He then took up his bundle and departed. After walking some time he came
to another tree, on which he suspended his bundle as before, and went in
search of game.

Success again attended him, and he returned, bringing with him a deer,
and he found that a lodge had sprung up as before, where he had hung his
bundle. He looked in and saw a beautiful female sitting alone, with his
bundle by her side.

She arose and came out toward the deer which he had deposited at the
door, and he immediately went into the lodge and sat by the fire, as he
was weary with the day's hunt, which had carried him far away.

The woman did not return, and wondering at her delay, Iena at last
arose, and peeping through the door of the lodge, beheld her greedily
eating all the fat of the deer. He exclaimed, "I thought I was blessed,
but I find I was mistaken." Then addressing the woman: "Poor Marten,"
said he, "feast on the game I have brought."

He again took up his bundle and departed; and, as usual, hung it upon
the branch of a tree, and wandered off in quest of game.

In the evening he returned, with his customary good luck, bringing in a
fine deer. He again found that a lodge had taken the place of his
bundle. He gazed through an opening in the side of the lodge, and there
was another beautiful woman sitting alone, with a bundle by her side.

As soon as he entered the lodge, she rose cheerfully, welcomed him home,
and without delay or complaining, she brought in the deer, cut it up as
it should be, and hung up the meat to dry. She then prepared a portion
of it for the supper of the weary hunter. The man thought to himself,
"Now I am certainly blessed."

He continued his practice of hunting every day, and the woman, on his
return, always welcomed him, readily took charge of the meat, and
promptly prepared his evening meal; and he ever after lived a contented
and happy man.




XIII.

THE RED SWAN.


Three brothers were left destitute, by the death of their parents, at an
early age. The eldest was not yet able to provide fully for their
support, but he did all that he could in hunting; and with this aid, and
the stock of provisions already laid by in the lodge, they managed to
keep along. They had no neighbors to lend them a helping hand, for the
father had withdrawn many years before from the body of the tribe, and
had lived ever since in a solitary place. The lads had no idea that
there was a human being near them. They did not even know who their
parents had been; for, at the time of their death, the eldest was too
young to remember it.

Forlorn as they were, they however kept a good heart, and making use of
every chance, in course of time they all acquired a knowledge of hunting
and the pursuit of game. The eldest became expert in the craft of the
forest, and he was very successful in procuring food. He was noted for
his skill in killing buffalo, elk, and moose; and he instructed his
brothers, so that each should become a master over a particular animal
which was assigned to him.

After they had become able to hunt and to take care of themselves, the
elder proposed to leave them and to go in search of the world, promising
to return as soon as he could procure them wives. In this intention he
was overruled by his brothers, who said that they could not part with
him.

Jeekewis, the second, was loud in disapproval of the scheme, saying:
"What will you do with those you propose to get? We have lived so long
by ourselves, we can still do without them." This counsel prevailed, and
for a time the three brothers continued together.

One day they agreed to kill each a male of that kind of animal, which
each was most expert in hunting, for the purpose of making quivers from
their skins. When these quivers were prepared, they were straightway
filled, with arrows; for they all had a presentiment that something was
about to happen which called upon them to be ready.

Soon after they hunted on a wager to see who should come in first with
game, and have the privilege of acting as entertainer to the others.
They were to shoot no other beast or bird than such as each was in the
habit of killing.

They set out on different paths. Maidwa, the youngest, had not gone far
before he saw a bear, an animal he was not to kill, by the agreement.
He, however, followed him closely, and driving an arrow through and
through him, he brought him to the ground.

Although contrary to the engagement with his brothers, Maidwa commenced
skinning him, when suddenly something red tinged the air all around him.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was perhaps deceived; but rub as hard as
he would, the red hue still crimsoned the air, and tinged every object
that he looked on--the tree-tops, the river that flowed, and the deer
that glided away along the edge of the forest--with its delicate
splendor.

As he stood musing on this fairy spectacle, a strange noise came to his
ear from a distance. At first it seemed like a human voice. After
following the sound he reached the shore of a lake. Floating at a
distance upon its waters sat a most beautiful Red Swan, whose plumage
glittered in the sun, and when it lifted up its neck, it uttered the
peculiar tone he had heard. He was within long bow-shot, and, drawing
the arrow to his ear, he took a careful aim and discharged the shaft. It
took no effect. The beautiful bird sat proudly on the water, still
pouring forth its peculiar chant, and still spreading the radiance of
its plumage far and wide, and lighting up the whole world, beneath the
eye of Maidwa, with its ruby splendors.

He shot again and again, till his quiver was empty, for he longed to
possess so glorious a creature. Still the swan did not spread its wings
to fly, but, circling round and round, stretched its long neck and
dipped its bill into the water, as if indifferent to mortal shafts.

Maidwa ran home, and bringing all the arrows in the lodge, shot them
away. He then stood with his bow dropped at his side, lost in wonder,
gazing at the beautiful bird.

While standing thus, with a heart beating more and more eagerly every
moment for the possession of this fair swan, Maidwa remembered the
saying of his elder brother, that in their deceased father's
medicine-sack were three magic arrows; but his brother had not told
Maidwa that their father, on his death-bed, which he alone had attended,
had especially bequeathed the arrows to his youngest son, Maidwa, from
whom they had been wrongfully kept. The thought of the magic arrows put
heart in Maidwa, and he hastened with all speed to secure them.

At any other time he would have shrunk from opening his father's
medicine-sack, but something prompted him to believe that there was no
wrong now, and snatching them forth he ran back, not staying to restore
the other contents to the sack, but leaving them scattered, here and
there, about the lodge.

He feared, as he returned, that the swan must by this time have taken
wing; but, as he emerged from the wood, to his great delight the air was
as rosy as ever, and there, in her own serene and beautiful way, still
sat the glorious Red Swan.

With trembling hand he shot the first of his magic shafts: it grazed a
wing. The second came closer, and cut away a few of the bright red
feathers, which fluttered and fell like flakes of fire in the water. The
third, which he carefully aimed and drew home upon the string with all
his force, made the lucky hit, and passed through the neck of the bird a
little above the breast.

"The bird is mine," said Maidwa, to himself; but to his great surprise,
instead of seeing it droop its neck and drift to the shore, the Red Swan
flapped its wings, rose slowly, and flew off with a majestic motion
toward the falling sun.

Maidwa, that he might meet his brothers, rescued two of the magic arrows
from the water; and although the third was borne off, he had a hope yet
to recover that too, and to be master of the swan. He was noted for his
speed; for he would shoot an arrow and then run so fast that the arrow
always fell behind him; and he now set off at his best speed of foot. "I
can run fast," he thought, "and I can get up with the swan some time or
other."

He sped on, over hills and prairies, toward the west, and was only
going to take one more run, and then seek a place to sleep for the
night, when, suddenly, he heard noises at a distance, like the murmur of
waters against the shore; as he went on, he heard voices, and presently
he saw people, some of whom were busy felling trees, and the strokes of
their labor echoed through the woods. He passed on, and when he emerged
from the forest, the sun was just falling below the edge of the sky.

He was bent on success in pursuit of the swan, whose red track he marked
well far westward till she was lost to sight. Meanwhile he would tarry
for the night and procure something to eat, as he had fasted since he
had left home.

At a distance, on a rising ground, he could see the lodges of a large
village. He went toward it, and soon heard the watchman, who was set on
a height to overlook the place, and give notice of the approach of
friends or foes, crying out, "We are visited;" and a loud halloo
indicated that they had all heard it.

When Maidwa advanced, the watchman pointed to the lodge of the chief.
"It is there you must go in," he said, and left him.

"Come in, come in," said the chief; "take a seat there;" pointing to the
side of the lodge where his daughter sat. "It is there you must sit."

They gave him something to eat, and, being a stranger, very few
questions were put to him; it was only when he spoke that the others
answered him.

"Daughter," said the chief, as soon as the night had set in, "take our
son-in-law's moccasins and see if they be torn; if so, mend them for
him, and bring in his bundle."

Maidwa thought it strange that he should be so warmly received, and
married instantly against his own wishes, although he could not help
noticing that the chief's daughter was pretty.

It was some time before she would take the moccasins which he had laid
off. It displeased him to see her loth to do so; and when at last she
did reach them, he snatched them from her hand and hung them up himself.
He lay down and thought of the swan, and made up his mind to be off with
the dawn. He wakened early, and finding the chief's daughter looking
forth at the door, he spoke to her, but she gave no answer. He touched
her lightly.

"What do you want?" she said, and turned her face away from him.

"Tell me," said Maidwa, "what time the swan passed. I am following it;
come out, and point the way."

"Do you think you can overtake it?" she said.

"Yes," he answered.

"Naubesah--fool!" retorted the chief's pretty daughter.

She, however, went out, and pointed in the direction he should go. The
young man paced slowly along till the sun arose, when he commenced
traveling at his accustomed speed. He passed the day in running, and
although he could not see anywhere on the horizon the Red Swan, he
thought that he discerned a faint red light far over in the west.

When night came, he was pleased to find himself near another village;
and when at a distance he heard the watchman crying out, "We are
visited;" and soon the men of the village stood out to see the stranger.

He was again told to enter the lodge of the chief, and his reception was
in every respect the same as on the previous night; except that the
young woman was more beautiful, and that she entertained him very
kindly. Although urged to stay with them, the mind of Maidwa was fixed
on the object of his journey.

Before daybreak he asked the young woman at what time the Red Swan
passed, and to point out the way. She marked against the sky with her
finger the course it had taken, and told him that it had passed
yesterday when the sun was between mid-day and its falling-place.

Maidwa again set out rather slowly, but when the sun had risen, he tried
his speed by shooting an arrow ahead, and running after it; but it fell
behind him, and he knew that he had lost nothing of his quickness of
foot.

Nothing remarkable happened through the day, and he went on leisurely.
Some time after dark, as he was peering around the country for a
shelter, he saw a light emitted from a small low lodge. He went up to it
very slyly, and, peeping through the door, he discovered an old man
alone, with his head down upon his breast, warming his back before the
fire.

Maidwa thought that the old man did not know that he was standing near
the door; but in this he was mistaken; for, without turning his eyes to
look at him, the old man said, "Walk in, my grandchild; take a seat
opposite to me, and take off your things and dry them, for you must be
fatigued; and I will prepare you something to eat; you shall have
something very delicate."

Maidwa accepted this kind invitation, and entered the lodge. The old man
then remarked, as if in mere course of conversation: "My kettle with
water stands near the fire;" and immediately a small earthen pot with
legs appeared by the fire. He then took one grain of corn, also one of
whortleberry, and put them in the pot.

Maidwa was very hungry, and seeing the limited scale of the old man's
housekeeping, he thought his chance for a supper was very slight. The
old man had promised him something very delicate, and he seemed likely
to keep his word. Maidwa looked on silently, and did not change his face
any more than if the greatest banquet that was ever spread had been
going forward.

The pot soon boiled, when the old man said in a very quiet way:

"The pot will stand at a distance from the fire."

It removed itself, and the old man added to Maidwa:

"My grandchild, feed yourself;" handing him at the same time a dish and
ladle of the same ware as the pot itself.

The young man, whose hunger was very great, helped himself to all that
was in the pot. He felt ashamed to think that he had done so, but before
he could speak the old man said:

"Eat, nay grandchild; eat, eat!" and soon after he again said--"Help
yourself from the pot."

Maidwa was surprised, on dipping in his ladle, to see that it was full;
and although he emptied it a second time, it was still again filled and
refilled till his hunger was entirely satisfied. The old man then
observed, without raising his voice:

"The pot will return to its corner;" and the pot took itself off to its
accustomed place in an out-of-the-way corner of the lodge.

Maidwa observed that the old man was about to address him, and took an
attitude which showed that he was prepared to listen.

"Keep on, my grandchild," said the old man; "you will surely gain that
you seek. To tell you more I am not permitted; but go on as you have
begun and you will not be disappointed. To-morrow you will again reach
one of my fellow old men, but the one you will see after him will tell
you all, and the manner in which you must proceed to accomplish your
journey. Often has this Red Swan passed, and those who have followed it
have never returned; but you must be firm in your resolution, and be
prepared for all that may happen."

"So will it be," answered Maidwa; and they both laid down to sleep.

Early in the morning the old man ordered his magic kettle to prepare
breakfast, so that his guest might eat before leaving. As Maidwa passed
out, the old man gave him a blessing with his parting advice.

Maidwa set forth in better spirits than at any time since he had
started. Night again found him in company with an old man who
entertained him kindly, with a frisky little kettle which hurried up to
the fire before it was spoken to, bustled about and set his supper
briskly before Maidwa, and frisked away again, without waiting for
orders. The old man also carefully directed him on his way in the
morning.

He traveled with a light heart, as he now expected to meet the one who
was to give him directions how to proceed to get the Red Swan.

Toward night-fall Maidwa reached the lodge of the third old man. Before
coming to the door he heard him saying:

"Grandchild, come in;" and going in promptly he felt quite at home.

The old man prepared him something to eat, acting as the other magicians
had done, and his kettle was of the same size, and looked as if it were
an own brother of the two others which had feasted him, except that this
kettle, in coming and going about its household duties, would make a
passing remark, or sing a little tune for itself.

The old man waited until Maidwa had fully satisfied his hunger, when he
addressed him:

"Young man, the errand you are bound on is beset with trials and
difficulties. Numbers have passed with the same purpose as that which
now prompts you, but they never returned. Be careful, and if your
guardian spirits are powerful you may succeed. This Red Swan you are
following is the daughter of a magician who has abundance of every
thing, but only this one child, whom he values more than the sacred
arrows. In former times he wore a cap of wampum, which was attached to
his scalp; but powerful Indians, warriors of a distant chief, came and
told him that their chief's daughter was on the brink of the grave, and
that she herself requested his wampum-cap, which she was confident would
save her life. 'If I can only see it,' she said, 'I will recover.' It
was for this cap they had come, and after long solicitation the magician
at length consented to part with it, in the hope that it would restore
to health the dying maiden, although when he took it off to hand it to
the messengers it left the crown of his head bare and bloody. Years have
passed since, and it has not healed. The coming of the warriors to
procure it for the sick maiden was a cheat, and they are now constantly
making sport of the unhappy scalp--dancing it about from village to
village--and on every insult it receives the poor old chief to whom it
belongs groans with pain. Those who hold it are too powerful for the
magician, and many have sacrificed themselves to recover it for him, but
without success. The Red Swan has enticed many a young man, as she has
you, to enlist them to procure the scalp, and whoever is so fortunate as
to succeed, it is understood, will receive the Red Swan as his reward.
In the morning you will proceed on your way, and toward evening you will
come to this magician's lodge. You will know it by the groans which you
will hear far over the prairie as you approach. He will ask you in. You
will see no one but himself. He will question you much as to your dreams
and the strength of your guardian spirits. If he is satisfied with your
answers, he will urge you to attempt the recovery of his scalp. He will
show you the course to take, and if you feel inclined, as I see that
you do, go forward, my son, with a strong heart; persevere, and I have a
presentiment that you will succeed."

Maidwa answered, "I will try."

Betimes in the morning, after having eaten from the magic kettle, which
sung a sort of farewell chant on its way from the fire-place to its
station in the corner, he set off on his journey.

Toward evening, Maidwa, as he crossed a prairie, heard, as had been
predicted, groans from a distant lodge, which were only interrupted by a
voice from a person whom he could not see, calling to him aloud:

"Come in! come in!"

On entering the lodge, the magician heaved a great groan from the very
bottom of his chest, and Maidwa saw that the crown of his head was all
bare and bloody.

"Sit down, sit down," he said, "while I prepare you something to eat.
You see how poor I am. I have to attend to all my own wants, with no
other servant than that poor little kettle in the corner. Kettle, we
will have something to eat, if you please."

"In a moment," the kettle spoke up from the corner.

"You will oblige me by making all the dispatch you can," said the
magician, in a very humble tone, still addressing the kettle.

"Have patience," replied the kettle, "and I will be with you presently."

After a considerable delay, there came forward out of the corner from
which it had spoken, a great heavy-browed and pot-bodied kettle, which
advanced with much stateliness and solemnity of manner till it had come
directly in front of the magician, whom it addressed with the question:

"What shall we have, sir?"

"Corn, if you please," the magician answered.

"No, we will have whortleberries," rejoined the kettle, in a firm voice.

"Very well; just as you choose."

When he supposed it was time, the magician invited Maidwa to help
himself.

"Hold a minute," interposed the kettle, as Maidwa was about to dip in
his ladle. He paused, and after a delay, the kettle, shaking itself up
and simmering very loudly, said, "Now we are ready."

Maidwa fell to and satisfied his hunger.

"Will the kettle now withdraw?" asked the magician, with am air of much
deference.

"No," said the kettle, "we will stay and hear what the young man has to
say for himself."

"Very well," said the magician. "You see," he added to Maidwa, "how poor
I am. I have to take counsel with the kettle, or I should be all alone,
without a day's food, and with no one to advise me."

All this time the Red Swan was carefully concealed in the lodge, behind
a curtain, from which Maidwa heard now and then a rustling noise, that
fluttered his spirits and set his heart to beating at a wonderful rate.

As soon as Maidwa had partaken of food and laid aside his leggings and
moccasins, the old magician commenced telling him how he had lost his
scalp, the insults it was receiving, the pain he suffered thereby, his
wishes to regain it, the many unsuccessful attempts that had already
been made, and the numbers and power of those who retained it. He would
interrupt his discourse, at times, with sudden groans, and say:

"Oh, how shamefully they are treating it."

Maidwa listened to all the old magician had to say with solemn
attention.

The magician renewed his discourse, and inquired of Maidwa as to his
dreams, or what he saw in his sleep, at such times as he had fasted and
darkened his face to procure guardian spirits.

Maidwa then told him one dream. The magician groaned.

"No, that is not it," he said.

Maidwa told him of two or three others.

The magician groaned again and again, and said, rather peevishly, "No,
these are not the dreams."

"Keep cool," said the kettle, which had left the fire, and was standing
in the middle of the floor, where a pleasant breeze was blowing through
the lodge, and added, "Have you no more dreams of another kind?"

"Yes," said Maidwa; and he told him one.

"That will do," said the kettle. "We are much pleased with that."

"Yes, that is it--that is it!" the magician added. "You will cause me to
live. That was what I was wishing you to say. Will you then go and see
if you can not recover my poor scalp?"

"Yes," said Maidwa, "I will go; and the day after to-morrow, when you
hear the ka-kak cries of the hawk, you will know that I am successful.
You must prepare your head, and lean it out through the door, so that
the moment I arrive I may place your scalp on."

"Yes, yes," said the magician. "As you say it will be done."

Early the next morning Maidwa set out to fulfill his promise; and in the
afternoon, when the sun hangs toward home, he heard the shouts of a
great many people. He was in a wood at the time, and saw, as he thought,
only a few men, but as he went on they increased in numbers. On emerging
upon the plain, their heads appeared like the hanging leaves, they were
so many.

In the middle of the plain he perceived a post, and something waving at
its top. It was the wampum scalp; and every now and then the air was
rent with the war-song, for they were dancing the war-dance in high
spirit around it.

Before he could be observed, Maidwa changed himself into a humming-bird,
and flew toward the scalp. As he passed some of those who were standing
by, he came close to their ears, and as they heard the rapid whirr or
murmur which this bird makes when it flies, they jumped aside, and asked
each other what it could be. Maidwa had nearly reached the scalp, but
fearing that he should be perceived while untying it, he again changed
himself into the down that floats lightly on the air, and sailed slowly
on to the scalp. He loosened it, and moved off heavily, as the weight
was almost too great for him to bear up. The Indians around would have
snatched it away had not a lucky current of air just then buoyed him up.
As they saw that it was moving away they cried out, "It is taken from
us! it is taken from us!"

Maidwa was borne gently along but a little way above their heads; and as
they followed him, the rush and hum of the people was like the dead
beating of the surges upon a lake shore after a storm. But the good wind
gaining strength, soon carried him beyond their pursuit. A little
further on he changed himself into a hawk, and flew swiftly off with
his trophy, crying, "Ka-kak! ka-kak!" till it resounded with its shrill
tone through the whole country, far and wide.

Meanwhile the magician had remembered the instructions of Maidwa,
placing his head outside of the lodge as soon as he heard the ka-kak cry
of the hawk.

In a moment Maidwa came past with rustling wings, and as he flew by,
giving the magician a severe blow on the head with the wampum scalp, his
limbs extended and quivered in an agony, the scalp adhered, and Maidwa,
in his own person, walked into the lodge and sat down, feeling perfectly
at home.

The magician was so long in recovering from the stunning blow which had
been dealt him, that Maidwa feared that in restoring the crown of his
head he had destroyed his life. Presently, however, he was pleased to
see him show, by the motion of his hands and limbs, that his strength
was returning; and in a little while he rose and stood upon his feet.
What was the delight of Maidwa to behold, instead of a withered old man,
far advanced in years and stricken in sorrow, a bright and cheerful
youth, who glittered with life as he stood up before him.

"Thank you, my friend," he said. "Your kindness and bravery of heart
have restored me to my former shape. It was so ordained, and you have
now accomplished the victory."

They embraced; and the young magician urged the stay of his deliverer
for a few days, and they formed a strong attachment to each other. The
magician, to the deep regret of Maidwa, never once alluded to the Red
Swan in all their conferences.

At last the day arrived when Maidwa prepared to return to his home. The
young magician bestowed on him ample presents of wampum, fur, robes, and
other costly things. Although Maidwa's heart was burning within him to
see the Red Swan, to hear her spoken of, and to learn what his fortune
was to be in regard to that fond object of his pursuit, he constrained
his feelings, and so checked his countenance as to never look where he
supposed she might be. His friend the young magician observed the same
silence and caution.

Maidwa's pack for traveling was now ready, and he was taking his
farewell smoke, when the young magician thus addressed him: "My friend
Maidwa, you know for what cause you came thus far, and why you have
risked so much and waited so long. You have proved my friend indeed. You
have accomplished your object, and your noble perseverance shall not go
unrewarded. If you undertake other things with the same spirit, you will
always succeed. My destiny compels me to remain where I am, although I
should feel happy to be allowed to go with you. I have given you, of
ordinary gifts, all you will need as long as you live; but I see you
are backward to speak of the Red Swan. I vowed that whoever procured me
my lost wampum-scalp should be rewarded by possessing the Red Swan."

He then spoke in a language which Maidwa did not understand, the curtain
of the lodge parted, and the Red Swan met his gaze. It was a beautiful
female that he beheld, so majestical and airy in her look, that he
seemed to see a creature whose home should rather be in the free heaven,
and among the rosy clouds, than in this dusky lodge.

"Take her," the young magician said; "she is my sister; treat her well.
She is worthy of you, and what you have done for me merits more. She is
ready to go with you to your kindred and friends, and has been so ever
since your arrival; and my good wishes shall go with you both."

The Red Swan smiled kindly on Maidwa, who advanced and greeted her. Hand
in hand they took their way forth from the lodge, and, watched by the
young magician, advanced across the prairie on their homeward course.

They traveled slowly, and looked with double joy on the beautiful
country over which they had both so lately passed with hearts ill at
ease.

After two or three days they reached the lodge of the third old man who
had entertained him with the singing kettle; but the kettle was not
there. The old man, nevertheless, received them very kindly, and said
to Maidwa, "You see what your perseverance has secured you; do so
always, and you will succeed in whatever you undertake."

On the following morning, when they were about to start, he pulled from
the side of the lodge a bag, which he presented to Maidwa, saying,
"Grandchild, I give you this; it contains a present for you; and I hope
you will live happily till old age."

Bidding him farewell, they again set forward; and they soon came to the
second old man's lodge; he also gave them a present and bestowed his
blessing. Nor did Maidwa see any thing here of the frisky little kettle
which had been so lively on his former visit.

As they went on and came to the lodge of the first old man, their
reception and farewell were the same; and when Maidwa glanced to the
corner, the silent kettle, which had been the first acquaintance he had
made in that family on his travels, was not there. The old man smiled
when he discovered the direction of Maidwa's glance, but he said
nothing.

When, on continuing their journey, they at last approached the first
town which Maidwa had passed in his pursuit, the watchman gave notice as
before, and he was shown into the chief's lodge.

"Sit down there, son-in-law," said the chief, pointing to a place near
his daughter. "And you also," he said to the Red Swan.

The chief's daughter was engaged in coloring a girdle, and, as if
indifferent to these visitors, she did not even raise her head.
Presently the chief said, "Let some one bring in the bundle of our
son-in-law."

When the bundle was laid before him, Maidwa opened one of the bags which
had been given to him. It was filled with various costly
articles--wampum, robes, and trinkets, of much richness and value;
these, in token of his kindness, he presented to the chief. The chief's
daughter stole a glance at the costly gifts, then at Maidwa and his
beautiful wife. She stopped working, and was silent and thoughtful all
the evening. The chief himself talked with Maidwa of his adventures,
congratulated him on his good fortune, and concluded by telling him that
he should take his daughter along with him in the morning.

Maidwa said "Yes."

The chief then spoke up, saying, "Daughter, be ready to go with him in
the morning."

Now it happened when the chief was thus speaking that there was a
foolish fellow in the lodge, who had thought to have got this chief's
daughter for a wife; and he jumped up, saying:

"Who is he," looking grimly at Maidwa, "that he should take her for a
few presents? I will kill him."

And he raised a knife which he had in his hand, and gave it a mighty
flourish in the air. He kept up this terrible flourish till some one
came and pulled him back to his seat, which he had been waiting for,
and then he sat quiet enough.

Amid the greetings of their new friends, Maidwa and the Red Swan, with
the chief's daughter, took their leave by peep of day, and toward
evening they reached the other town. The watchman gave the signal, and
numbers of men, women and children stood out to see them. They were
again shown into the chief's lodge, who welcomed him, saying:

"Son-in-law, you are welcome."

And he requested Maidwa to take a seat by his daughter, and the two
women did the same.

After suitable refreshment for all, and while Maidwa smoked a pipe, the
chief asked him to relate his adventures in the hearing of all the
inmates of the lodge, and of the strangers who had gathered in at report
of his singular fortunes.

Maidwa gave them his whole story. When he came to those parts which
related to the Red Swan, they turned and looked upon her in wonder and
admiration, for she was very beautiful.

The chief then informed Maidwa that his brothers had been to their town
in search of him, but that they had gone back some time before, having
given up all hopes of ever seeing him again. He added, that since he had
shown himself a man of spirit, whom fortune was pleased to befriend, he
should take his daughter with him.

"For although your brothers," he said, "were here, they were too bashful
to enter any of our lodges. They merely inquired for you and returned.
You will take my daughter, treat her well, and that will bind us more
closely together."

It is always the case in an assembly or gathering that some one of the
number is foolish, and disposed to play the clown. It happened to be so
here. One of this very sort was in the lodge, and, after Maidwa had
given the old chief presents, as he had to the other, this pretender
jumped up in a passion, and cried out:

"Who is this stranger, that he should have her? I want her myself."

The chief bade him be quiet, and not to disturb or quarrel with one who
was enjoying their hospitality.

"No, no," he exclaimed, rushing forward as in act to strike.

Maidwa sat unmoved, and paid no heed to his threats.

He cried the louder--"I will have her, I will have her!" whereupon the
old chief, being now vexed past patience, took his great war-club and
tapped this clownish fellow upon the head, which so far subdued him that
he sat for some time quite still; when, after a while, he came to
himself, the chief upbraided him for his folly, and told him to go out
and tell stories to the old women.

When at last Maidwa was about to leave, he invited a number of the
families of the chief to go with him and visit their hunting-grounds,
where he promised them that they would find game in abundance. They
consented, and in the morning a large company assembled and joined
Maidwa; and the chief, with a party of warriors, escorted them a long
distance. When ready to return, the chief made a speech and besought the
blessing of the Good Spirit on Maidwa and his friends.

They parted, each on its course, making music with their war-drums,
which could be heard from afar as they glittered with waving feathers in
the morning sun, in their march over the prairie, which was lost in the
distant sky.

After several days' travel, Maidwa and his friends came in sight of his
home. The others rested within the woods while he went 

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