Chapter II: Part 2

“Nay, I was not alone,” said Garff. “Darach was with me and he let fly at one and shot it through the body--a rare long shot--and the rest, as their way is, fell upon it and pulled it down and tore it to pieces. We went round to see that the cattle be all safe within walls. I never knew the wolves so fierce save when there was snow on the ground. But the cattle be safe; that’s one good thing; the cattle be safe. Give me some of that porridge, I am hungry.”

So Gofa brought him some porridge and a bowl of milk, and he sat by the fire and ate his supper, and afterwards ate some parched corn, munching a few grains at a time, while Gofa set to work to strip the fur from the squirrel and the water-rats to make them ready for cooking the next day.

By this time Tig and the other children had gone to lie down to sleep in the part of the hut where they slept. Then Gofa told Garff about Tosgy and how he came to ask for meal.

“I fear there will be many hungry mouths among our folk,” said Garff, “before the fruits are ripe and the harvest fit to be gathered in; and with game getting so hard to kill too! I am glad thou couldst spare some meal.”

“But I shall give him back his fox-skin,” said Gofa, “for they are very poor. See now, I will tell his wife to send one of the children for it next time she is making a coat!”

_Chapter the Seventh_

_The Harvest of the Fields and of the Woods_

ALTHOUGH the people had learned how to grow corn, they could not raise large crops. They tilled the ground only in patches, and they had no ploughs or harrows, nor had they any horses to work the land with. All the work was done by hand, and mostly by the women, although sometimes the old men and the boys helped them. They cleared the ground beyond the edge of the forest, and turned up the soil with their hoes.

When a woman wanted to make a hoe, she chose a bough of a tree that had a bend in it. Then she cut and trimmed this to the shape of the letter L, and, last of all, bound a flint, which had been chipped to a broad point, to the shorter limb of the bough with strips of hide; and so she had a useful tool for tilling her plot of ground.

In the spring the people sowed their corn. They worked in parties, and as they moved across the field plying their hoes, they used to sing songs to keep in time with one another, one singing the verses and the rest all joining in the chorus. They were fond of singing, whether they were at work or at play; they had songs and choruses for the different occupations, marching songs and harvest songs and songs about hunting the deer; and at the feast-times they sang these songs and the choruses over and over again.

When the time came to gather in the corn, the people often found their crops very short, for pigeons and rooks and other birds came and ate the corn, and the wild deer sometimes broke through the fences and trampled down even more than they ate.

But for all that, the harvest was always a busy time. The women cut off the heads of the corn with their flint knives and carried it home in baskets. They stored it up in the store-houses in the winter village, and when the last of the crops had been gathered in, the people went back to the village for the winter. Then for many days they kept the feast of the harvest. There was plenty to eat and drink, and everybody ate and drank a great deal; and they sang and danced and offered sacrifices, and gave thanks to their gods for the crops that they had gathered in.

The pit-hut, which was Gofa’s store-house for her corn, was near the hut in which she and Garff lived. Like her neighbours she stored up the ears of the corn, and only rubbed out the grain when she wanted a supply for making cakes or porridge.

Besides the harvest of the fields there was the harvest of the woods to be gathered in. Tig used to enjoy more than anything else the days when they gathered the acorns. The women used to go in large parties, with some of the children and some of the young men, all singing and shouting. Then, if a savage old wild boar was routing about among the fern, and munching the fallen acorns, he would listen to the noise of the party coming up, and grunt angrily at being disturbed, and move away into the deep forest; for he feared men, and never attacked them unless they chased him and brought him to bay.

It was splendid for Tig and the other boys--climbing into the oak trees, and getting as far out as they could upon the branches to shake down the ripe acorns. Sometimes they gathered a handful of fine ones and threw them at one another or pelted the women who were gathering underneath; and then Gofa, or some one else’s mother, would look up and say: “Have done now, little badling! or surely we will leave thee in the forest here to-night, and Arthas the She-bear will catch thee and carry thee to her den to make a supper morsel for her little ones!”

And they gathered blackberries and nuts and wild strawberries, and sat down all together to eat the fruit with the corn-cakes that they had brought; and those who had not had enough to eat, nibbled at the acorns. But nobody ate many of these, because they were meant to be carried home for storing, and not to be eaten raw at any time. They were to be dried beside the fire in jars, and then pounded up and mixed with corn-meal to make it go further.

At sunset the people all joined into a company again to go home. Every one had a load. There were big baskets that took two to carry, and smaller baskets for one, and little baskets for the children: and some of the lads and women had wallets made of deer-hide slung over their shoulders.

And so they carried home the harvest of the woods, day by day until all the trees were bare--and you may be sure that the squirrels had to be astir very early in the morning to get a share of acorns and nuts for their own winter stores.

_Chapter the Eighth_

_How Crubach became a Sower of Corn_

IN Garff’s village there lived an old man named Crubach. The people called him Crubach, the Lame One, because when he was a young man he had had a dreadful fight with a bear, and had been nearly torn in pieces. The bear clawed his face all down one side and tore his arm, and would speedily have killed him, but that two or three brave men dashed in with blazing firebrands and thrust them in the bear’s face; and among them they killed the bear and saved poor Crubach. In time he recovered; but he was never able to hunt again, because he was lame and could not hold either a bow or a spear. But he was strong and clever, and he did not mean to have to beg his daily bread. So he became a grower of corn; and in time he was the greatest grower of corn in the village. He tilled his plot of land more carefully than the women, and always saved his best corn for seed; and his seed was so much better than other people’s that they used to go to him at the time of sowing, and take meat or skins or firewood to exchange for seed-corn.

Then the men began to see that after all Crubach had done well, even though he was not a hunter; and in course of time, some of them took to working among the crops and laying up more corn for the winter store.

Besides his crops of barley and wheat, Crubach grew flax, of which the fibres were dressed and spun into thread. He used to keep a supply of sticks trimmed and ready for making bows and arrow shafts and spear-shafts; he also made wooden cups and bowls and wooden tubs. And he used to gather wild plants of different sorts and use them for medicine; and it was said in the village that nobody except the Medicine Men knew more about plants than Crubach.

When Tig grew big enough to run about by himself, he became great friends with Crubach. The old man was generally to be found working on his piece of land, or sitting to scare away the birds from his crops. He used to teach Tig the names of the animals and birds, and tell him things about them--such as why Broc the badger never walks out except at night; why Graineag the hedgehog wears a prickly jacket; where Gobhlan the swallow goes in the cold-time; why Seabhac the kestrel hawk hangs in the air beating her wings; and who it is that haunts the reedy marshes, crying: “Boom-boom!” And when Crubach gathered in his harvest, he bound a little sheaf of corn for Tig, and gave it to him, and said: “This did I promise thee on the day when we were in the field together scaring the birds.”

_Chapter the Ninth_

_The Story of the Wolf that hunted alone_

THIS is one of the stories that Crubach told to Tig. No one now could tell it exactly as Crubach told it, but it was something like this:

Once upon a time there was a wolf that hunted alone. Why did he hunt alone? Now listen, and I will tell thee.

One night he went out with his brother wolves; and they found the trail of a stag and hunted him in the forest. And the stag stood at bay in a rocky place and thrust with his antlers and killed three wolves, and another he killed by leaping upon it suddenly, with his feet altogether, and breaking its neck. So this wolf, who was a coward, said: “I have no mind to be killed. I will not hunt stags.” So he went home to his den and got no supper that night.

On the next night he went out again with the pack, and they found the trail of a wild bull and hunted him in the forest. And the wild bull stood at bay in a thicket, and tossed four wolves and trampled them underfoot and gored them with his horns. So this wolf said: “I have no mind to be tossed by a wild bull. I will not hunt wild bulls.” And he went home to his den and got no supper that night.

So on the next night he went out to hunt alone. By and by he saw Sinnach, the old fox, trotting home with a wild duck that he had caught, slung across his shoulders. So he called out:

“Ho, there! Deliver up that duck!”

But Sinnach was not afraid when he saw that the wolf was alone, and he ran to his den, which was in the rocks close by, and he dropped the duck inside, and then he came to the door and called out to the wolf: “Ho, there, friend! Go and catch a duck for thyself!” And then he went back into his den.

And the wolf went on, and soon he came to the village of the Beavers. The village of the Beavers was in a pond; but the pond was frozen over, because it was the cold-time; and the wolf walked on the ice and came to the hut where the grandfather beaver lived. The grandfather beaver was at home with his family, all sitting snug in the house; and the wolf knew that all the beavers were at home because he could smell them. So he came up close outside, and he called out to the grandfather beaver and said:

“Let me in! Let me in!”

The grandfather beaver knew the wolf’s voice, and he answered:

“Where are thy manners, friend? Come to the door!”

Now the door of a beaver’s hut is under the water; and the water was frozen over with thick ice; and the grandfather beaver knew that the wolf could not dig through the ice, so he laughed, and the other beavers laughed too.

When the wolf heard the beavers laugh, he was very angry, and he snapped out and said:

“I am coming in through the roof!”

So he began to scratch and dig with his paws at the roof of the beavers’ hut. But the roof of the beavers’ hut was made of boughs well laid in and plastered with mud and gravel, and it was all frozen as hard as the ice on the pond. So when the wolf scratched, he only hurt his claws and made his pads very sore; so after a while he had to leave off and go home, limping on his sore pads. And when the beavers heard him leave off and go away, they laughed again, down in their snug house.

So the wolf went home to his den, and he got no supper that night.

The next night he went out again and hunted by himself. And he was so hungry that he sat on his tail and howled at the moon.

Gearrag, the young hare, heard him, and she peeped at him from behind a tuft of grass; but she was not afraid of a wolf that hunted alone, and she ran off to feed.

And Mulcha the owl heard him; she perched in the fir tree overhead and cried out: “_Whoo-whoo-whoo!_ Who heeds a wolf that runs by himself? _Whoo-whoo-oo!_”

And Broc the badger heard him. He came up out of his burrow at the roots of a big oak tree to go on his midnight prowl; he went on his way, grunting to himself: “I always go out without a mate, for that is the way of us badger-folk, but it is not the way for him; it is not the way of his folk. No, no!”

By and by the wolf went on again; and he hunted all the night and found no trail. But towards morning he smelt the scent of dead game. And he nosed about and presently he found in a thicket the body of a hind that had been caught in a trap by its foot. A man had set the trap, but he was at home lame with frost-bite in his feet, and he could not go to his trap. The hind was dead, and Bran the raven had found it; Bran was sitting aloft on a bare branch, calling out “_Kroagh, kroagh, kroagh!_”

When the wolf found the dead hind in the trap, he was very glad. He said to himself: “Now I will have a feast all to myself. It is a good thing to hunt alone!”

But Arthas the she-bear was near. She too had smelled out the dead hind, and she meant to make a meal of it. She saw the wolf, but she was not afraid of a wolf that hunted alone. So she came up very quietly behind him and said:

“_Humpff!_”

The wolf jumped, for he was very frightened. But he snarled and showed his teeth. Then he said:

“Go away! This is mine.”

But Arthas said, “Nay, friend, it is mine!”

And the wolf said, “It is mine, for I killed it!”

But Arthas answered: “If thou didst kill it, what is this thing upon its foot, and what meaneth Bran yonder, crying carrion? Thou art a liar and I shall cuff thee!”

So Arthas lifted her great paw and cuffed the wolf over the head, and he fell down dead. And Arthas took the body of the hind and dragged it home to her den for breakfast for her little ones. But as for the carcase of the wolf, she saw that it was nothing but skin and bone; so she left it there in the thicket for Bran the raven, who sat in the tree crying carrion, and for Feannog the crow, who will eat anything. And that is the end of the story of the wolf that hunted alone.

_Chapter the Tenth_

_DICK AND HIS FRIENDS: A Talk about Cattle and Crops_

WHEN the chapter was finished, the boys talked about the plan for making a dug-out hut, if they could all be together in the next winter holidays. Uncle John said he would not stop them, but he thought they would find it too hard a task when they came to dig down into the ground, unless they could find a place where the soil was deep and sandy.

Dick wanted to know what tools the people of the old time used when they dug out their winter huts.

Uncle John took down another book, and showed them a picture of an old pick-axe made out of a deer’s antler. But, he said, he did not know what the men used to do for shovels; perhaps they scooped up the soil in their hands, and carried it up to the top of the pit in baskets.

Anyway the boys thought that with their spades they would be able to dig down fairly deep; and then, if they were to lay the soil around the top as they dug it out, they would make the walls higher.

Joe said it would be great fun to have a real fire and collect acorns and roast them to see how they tasted. But Uncle John said they would not find many acorns in the Christmas holidays: the rooks and the squirrels would have taken care of that. But David said they could have some chestnuts from home and pretend they were acorns. He said he thought they would be nicer to eat than acorns, anyway. “Acorns are so bitter,” said he, “I wonder anyone could eat them at all.”

“Yes,” said Uncle John. “But if they were pounded up and put into a vessel with water, the water would take out much of the bitter taste; and then the water could be poured off and the acorn meal dried and mixed with corn meal, as we read, for either corn-cakes or porridge.”

Then David asked why the people didn’t keep larger herds of cattle, so that in the long winter, when there was no other food, they could be sure of having beef in plenty.

“Well,” said Uncle John, “now that’s a question--who can think of an answer?”

Dick said that wolves would come and kill the cattle; and Joe said that enemies would come and steal them.

“Those are both likely answers,” said Uncle John, “for, of course, it is harder to guard a large herd than a small one--but, can’t some one think of a better?”

David said he expected it was hard to keep cattle in the winter, if the people had no byres for them, and no hay to feed them with.

“That is a good notion,” said Uncle John, “the people couldn’t take a cow down the passage into a pit-hut, though no doubt they built cowsheds of some sort inside the wall of the village. But cows can’t live on nothing but fresh air, any more than human beings can; and it must have been a difficult matter to collect winter forage for even a small herd in days when nobody made hay. And then, I daresay, it was not easy to rear large herds, for the cattle which the people had were only partly tamed; and some would be apt to stray away into the forests; and the more a man had, the more he would lose, both in this way and from the attacks of wild animals, as Dick says.

“It is more likely that most men had only a few cattle at first. Then they naturally tried to keep for use and for breeding those that were the tamest and the best; and you may be sure that a man would not kill a cow that was gentle and gave good milk, unless he were driven by starvation.

“But, of course, as time went on, men became more skilful in rearing cattle and sheep, just as they became more skilful in growing corn. And so it came to pass that people had always food at home, without needing to hunt the wild deer, except for amusement; but that was not for a very long while after the time we have been reading about.”

Then Dick wanted to know about the corn that Crubach sowed. Where did it come from? Was it wild corn? Uncle John said that was a hard question, and one that even learned men had never been able to answer completely. There is no wild corn in this country, he said, and the original stock of the corn that Crubach and his neighbours had must have been brought from some other country a great many years before Crubach lived.

“What are pig-nuts like?” Dick asked.

“You dig them up in fields, with an old knife,” said Joe, “a white flower grows up from them, earlier in the summer than this. They don’t have a shell; they are like little potatoes, and taste like a nut but are rather tough.”

“Yes,” said Uncle John, “I don’t suppose the people thought much of pig-nuts, which probably were not very plentiful in times when there were fewer meadows; and not easy to get, besides being rather poor things when you get them, as Joe says. But the wild fruit that they gathered in the autumn--we have read of acorns, nuts and blackberries--what other kinds can you think of?”

“Wild strawberries,” said Dick.

“And raspberries,” said Joe.

“Cranberries,” said David, “and blaeberries.”

“What are they?” Dick asked.

“You say bilberries, or perhaps ‘whorts’--go on.”

“Hips and haws.”

“Very likely.”

“Rowanberries?” David asked.

“Yes, very likely: but think of something else--not berries at all.”

“Not crab apples?” said Joe, “they didn’t eat crabs surely?”

“I expect they did. Not that we need guess about it, for to a certain extent we know. A good many years ago, the remains of several villages of about the period of this story were found beside the shores of some of the lakes in Switzerland. There was hardly anything of the huts to be seen, because they had been burned down. But the fire which had destroyed the huts had preserved some of the things inside. For instance, jars were dug out of the silt containing what had once been food, all charred by the fire but whole and perfect in shape. There were nuts and acorns and corn of different kinds, but also crabs or wild apples that had evidently been split and dried. Some of these things are in the British Museum now; and if we could go and see them, I daresay you would think them very interesting.”

_Chapter the Eleventh_

_THE STORY OF TIG: How Tig got his First Bow and Arrows_

WHEN first Tig and his friends played at hunting, they mostly had bows and arrows of their own making. Tig had made his own bow, but it was not a good one. He made it of a hazel sapling which was not a very tough piece of wood, and not well balanced, as one end was thicker than the other. His bowstring was one that his father had thrown away, and it was old and frayed.

But one day Garff was sitting outside the hut shaping a shaft for a spear with his flint knife, and he saw Tig trying to shoot with his weak little bow. So he called him, and said: “Bring it hither to me, little son. It is a poor thing, this bow of thine. One of these days we must make thee a better.”

And Tig said: “Make it now, Dad.”

So Garff laid aside his spear, and he went into the hut and brought out several lengths of wood from his store, and he looked them over carefully. He chose one--a piece of a tough ash sapling, about four feet long. Then he set to work to whittle this with his knife until he had shaped it to the right form--thickest in the middle and tapering towards the ends, rounded in front and flattened at the back; and he scraped it smooth all over. Then he worked some notches at each end, using for this a little saw made of flint; and he fitted a new bowstring to it, and gave Tig his first real bow. Of course this was not done all in a day, but Garff worked at it between whiles when he had time.

And he made the arrows, too, taking from his stock of arrow-sticks six of the shorter ones. These he trimmed and scraped, and made a deep notch at the top of each, to take the bow-string. Then at the tip he made a deep cut, lengthwise, with the saw, and fitted in a bit of the leg bone of a deer, shaped and pointed. Then he cut a very fine strip of fresh hide and bound it around the base of the bone point; and afterwards laid the arrows one by one in the sun, so that the hide might dry and shrink, and hold the arrow-head tight in its place.

And Garff took some wing-feathers of a wild goose and split them; and to each of the arrows he bound three strips of the feathers a little below the notch, to make them fly straight. And he made a quiver of birch bark, bound with bands of hide, for Tig to carry his arrows in. And he cut a mark upon the quiver, and the same mark on each of the arrows, so that Tig might always know his own; and he told him to be very careful about his arrows, not to waste them on chance shots, and always to recover them after shooting, if possible.

None of the boys had a better outfit than Tig’s. Among them they made a target out of an old skin, stuffed with dry grass, and practised shooting at it. The men taught them how to aim, standing sideways, on to the target, with feet well apart, firmly set, and to draw the bow by hooking the first two fingers of the right hand into the bowstring, not by pinching the arrow between thumb and finger. Every boy in the village wanted to practise and become a good marksman. The boys who could shoot well and run well were always thought much of; and sometimes they were allowed to go hunting with the men.

_Chapter the Twelfth_

_How Tig visited Goba the Spear-maker_

ONE day, not long after this, Tig was bringing in a faggot of sticks for his mother, when he saw his father getting ready for a journey. He had a wallet, with food packed into it, slung over his shoulders; also his bow and a quiver full of arrows. He carried a spear in his hand and had his stone axe slung at his side.

Tig had never been away with his father, and he wished very much to go. He asked his father where he was going, and Garff said:

“I am going away over yonder, to get some arrow-heads from Goba, the spear-maker; but it is too far for thee to travel. We shall be three days or more about our journey, and we shall sleep out at night. Thou art better at home.”

But Tig begged hard; so Garff said he might go, if his mother would let him; and though his mother said she feared it would be too far for him, yet he might go, for he was getting a big boy and must learn to march like a man.

Four or five men of the village were going with Garff, and at last they set out. They left the open ground where the cattle were feeding, and made their way into the forest, going downward until they came to the river. They marched along the river-bank, going up the stream, and then crossed the water and mounted upward by a track through the thick forest until they reached the high ground on the other side of the valley. Here they were on the open moor; and the men began to practise shooting for a match. One man shot an arrow ahead, and then the others, each in turn, aimed at the first man’s arrow. Then they walked on, and as soon as they were near enough to see how the arrows lay, they sent Tig to pick them up. But Tig did not have to ask whose arrow each one was, because every man had his own mark on his arrows, and Tig knew the marks just as well as one of us nowadays knows his own initials on a pocket-knife.

After sunset they came to a sheltered spot near a clump of oak trees, and here they camped for the night. Garff and another man then gathered up dry grass and dead leaves and twigs, and set to work with their fire-stick to make a fire. This they did by setting the fire-stick upright, with its end sunk into a hole in a little slab of wood that they had brought with them. Then one pressed his hand lightly on the top of the upright stick, while the other brought out a kind of bow with a loose bow-string, and looped the string around the middle of the upright stick. Then he worked the bow backward and forward and so made the fire-stick spin in its socket, which after a while became so hot that it set fire to the dry leaves and twigs that had been laid around it.

Meantime the other men had collected dry brushwood and had cut logs, so that they soon had a good fire. They sat round the fire and ate of the dried meat and corn-cake that they had with them, and then lay down to sleep. The men watched by turns to keep the fire up; for so long as there was a good blaze they need not fear the attack of wild beasts. Tig lay close beside his father; and when one of the men wakened Garff to take his turn of the watch, Tig wakened too, and saw the darkness all about them and the sparks flying upward towards the stars, and he heard the wind rushing in the tops of the trees around them, and far away the howling of the wolves hunting through the night.

After three days of such marching and camping, they came to Goba’s village. Goba’s village was in the hill country and at the top of a low, rounded hill. There was a wall set with stakes all round the village, and the huts were mostly larger and better built than any Tig had seen before. Goba and his sons never went away from their village. When the people moved off in the summer and went camping with their cattle, Goba and his sons stayed at home, working at their trade. They were all busily working when Garff and his party arrived.

All about Goba’s hut there were great heaps of flint stones, and the floor of the sheds where they worked was covered with broken pieces and waste chips. Goba and the other men all had different pieces of work on hand. Goba was making a spear-head; he had laid it on a large stone between his knees and kept striking it sharply and delicately with a small stone which he held in his right hand, to finish chipping the edge and make it sharp. Tig stood by and watched; and when Goba saw that Tig was watching him, he let him take the spear-head in his hands and look at it and feel the sharp point. It was made of beautiful yellow flint stone.

“Did you make it out of one of those stones?” Tig asked.

“Yes,” said Goba, “out of such a one as they have there, see,” and he pointed to where two men were fixing a large grey flint stone into a groove between two great logs. Then one of the men took a large stone and struck the flint at the top and knocked off a long flake. This they did six or seven times; and then they gathered up the flakes and took them into the shed.

And Goba showed Tig some of the things the other men were making. Two of them were at work upon arrow-heads, chipping them very slowly and carefully; and while Tig was watching, one man made an unlucky stroke and broke his arrow-head in two. So he spoiled all his day’s work at one blow, and there was nothing for it but to take another flake and begin all over again. But the other man took a bone tool like a chisel, and pressed it along the edge of his arrow-head all the way along, flaking off tiny chips and making the arrow-head very sharp.

Another man was making a stone axe. He had shaped it out by hammering it with stones of different shapes and sizes, and was then busily grinding the cutting edge by rubbing the axe-head backward and forward, backward and forward all the time, upon a large grooved slab of hard sandstone.

“With such as this we can cut,” said Goba; “we can fell trees and hew them in pieces. There is nothing like my axes for cutting. Now see, I will show thee how the men of the old time made their axes--they that were in the land before our fathers came hither;” and Goba picked up a heavy lump of flint stone that had been roughly chipped into the shape of an axe-head. “Even such as this were the axes of those rude folk! Ho! ho! right enough to brain a wolf withal, but good for naught when it comes to felling of trees or hewing of timber. We must have our axes well ground to an edge for felling timber, little son.”

“Why doesn’t my father make spears for himself?” Tig asked.

“Thy father is a hunter, boy,” said Goba. “Look at me! Can I chase the deer? Nay! Too heavy and slow am I for hunting. Set thy father’s leg against my leg and his arm against my arm: then thou wilt see.

“But set thy father’s hand against my hand, his eye against my eye! He can spy the deer when they are many paces distant among the fern, where I should see naught. But can he see, as I can see, into the heart of the stone, and can he handle it aright to shape an arrow or an axe? Nay, he cannot. Now I was born to love the good stones, and these my sons follow after me. It is not born in thee to handle stones: thou wilt grow up to be a hunter, like thy father.”

“I should like to be a spearmaker, and make spears and arrows like these of yours,” said Tig.

“Then thou must come and learn our craft,” said the old man, “and that is a long matter. Start young, that’s the only way. The hand must learn, and the eye must learn, and many a likely piece of stuff be spoiled before a craftsman is made. But thou wilt not come. Thy father likes better for thee to learn how to hunt deer and slay wolves, with the good stones that I and my sons will make for thee. It is not born in thee to follow our craft, little son.”

Inside his hut Goba had his store of all kinds of weapons made of stone--axes and spears and arrow-heads and daggers; he also had knives and chisels, and scrapers to scrape hides with, and little saws, and many other such things all of flint stone.

Then Garff and his men unpacked the goods they had brought with them--fine skins, and pickaxes made of deer’s antlers (of which Goba was always in want, for digging out the flint), and a fine buck that they had killed in the forest that morning, and as much of the crushed corn out of their stock as they could spare. And these things they exchanged with Goba for flint arrows and spears and two or three axes. And Goba gave Tig a javelin or little spear for his own; because he said that the party had a long way to travel before they could get home, and Tig must have his weapon like the rest, in case they should fall in with wild beasts and be attacked.

_Chapter the Thirteenth_

_Arsan’s Story about Grim the Hunter_

ARSAN was the oldest man in Garff’s village; he was so old that no one knew how old he was. He could remember things that happened before anyone else in the village was born; and he was very fond of telling stories about the old times. The people liked to listen to Arsan’s stories, when they were gathered round the fire in winter, or when sitting out of doors on a summer evening.

One day in winter, when the snow was thick outside and the people were keeping at home out of the storm, many of them gathered together in Garff’s hut. Old Arsan was there, and the people asked for a story, and Tig crept near so that he could hear it. And Arsan said:

“Once, when I was a child, about the bigness of this youngling here, or less, I beheld Grim the Hunter. Well do I remember the day when I beheld Grim the mighty hunter.”

Then the people said: “Tell us a story of Grim the mighty hunter.”

So Arsan began his story, and he said: “In the days long ago men were great hunters. There be none now that are hunters like them of the old time. For in the old time there were beasts more and mightier than there be nowadays, and the men who hunted them were mightier likewise. There was Laidir who once tracked out the great wild ox and slew him in the swamp. And there was Curad who wore about his neck a necklace of three rows of the fang-teeth of wolves that he had slain with his own hand. But greater than Laidir and greater than Curad was Grim, the mighty hunter.

“When Grim was but a little more than a babe, he took a spear and killed a wolf-cub that his father had brought into the hut alive. And it was said of him, by them that were wise among the folk, that he would live to be a slayer of beasts.

“Now when he was grown a tall youth, it befell one day that he went forth into the woods to kill meat. He carried his bow and arrows at his back, and in his hand a spear. By his side hung his trusty axe, a stone of the best. So he went, armed like a man, but without the wit of a man, and heeding naught.

“For by and by he spied a bear-cub moving among the fern in an open space of the woods. Now Grim greatly desired to have the skin of a bear-cub, so, without more ado, he shot at the bear-cub thrice with his arrows and wounded it; and then ran after it and smote it as it ran, and slew it. And then, since it was too heavy a beast for him to carry off, he fell to skinning it there and then, so as to load himself with the hide and come again for the meat. But suddenly he heard a terrible roar behind him, and turning round he saw a great big she-bear, that was the mother of the cub, coming upon him out of the forest.”

Then some of the people cried out: “Nay, tell us now--surely she slew him not!”

And Arsan said: “Nay, she slew him not. For Grim was but a youth then, and as ye know he was thereafter an old man dwelling among the people. Nay, she slew him not. But the she-bear came upon him with a terrible roaring. She was dreadful to look upon, of a vast bigness, her eyes like hot fire and her jaws dripping foam. And Grim turned and ran for his life; but she ran faster than he, and would surely have caught him, but that he won to a tree, and climbed up instantly out of her reach.

“Then the she-bear climbed up into the tree after Grim. So he crept out upon a long branch, and the bear made ready to follow him. Then Grim fitted an arrow to his bow and took steady aim and shot, and shot again, and wounded her in the body. But she came on, nevertheless, growling, and mowing with her great jaws. Then Grim worked himself along to the end of the branch and held by his hands, and swung and so dropped to a branch below. And the she-bear turned herself about and climbed down to that branch and came along towards him as before. And, again, Grim drew two arrows on her and wounded her twice again, and the blood came streaming from the wounds. Then Grim saw that he had only three arrows left. So again he swung from the branch and dropped, and thence to the ground; and he stood up and shot all three arrows into the bear from beneath, with all his might and main. And she turned to climb downwards, and ripped the tree with her great claws, and fell to the ground; and though she was stricken to the death, she reared herself on her hind legs and made as though to set upon him. Then, being eager to kill, he picked up his spear and hurled it, so that it pierced the bear’s breast, and she fell forward, tearing and biting at the spear. Then Grim ran in upon her with his axe, and clove her skull and made an end of her. And he cut out his arrows from her carcase and struck off her four paws and took them; and he took the skin of the bear-cub. And then, because it was near to nightfall, he hastened home.

“And he and some of the people came on the next day to the place, and, lo! the wolves had devoured the carcases of the she-bear and of the bear-cub in the night, and there remained not even the bones of them.

“And Grim made him a necklace of the claws of the she-bear that he slew on that day; and it was ever about his neck. This have I seen. And it was meet that he should wear her claws for bravery and strength; for he slew her with his own hands.

“Thus was Grim great and famous among the people; and far be it from me to name his name to his hurt. Howbeit, he was a mighty hunter!”

And the people all said: “Aye, surely that was he--he was a mighty hunter!”

_Chapter the Fourteenth_

_DICK AND HIS FRIENDS: A Talk about Stone Weapons_

AS soon as he had finished reading the chapter, Uncle John went to a cabinet and took out a box in which were a number of flint arrow-heads of different shapes and sizes. Some were not longer than one’s finger-nail, and some were two or three inches in length, long enough to be used as heads for a javelin, such as Goba gave to Tig. Some were oval in shape like the leaf of a privet bush, others were shaped like the ace of diamonds; some had barbs at each side, and some a tang between the barbs for fixing the head to the shaft of the arrow.

Uncle John asked David if he could tell why some of the arrows were barbed and some not. Joe said that perhaps only the cleverest men could make the barbed arrows; the others were easier to make.

“No doubt that was so,” said Uncle John, “but all the same, they made a great many of both kinds.”

Dick said perhaps the plain arrows were for shooting at a target, but the barbed ones for killing things.

“I expect,” said Uncle John, “that the barbed arrows were used in battle. A barbed arrow cannot be plucked out of a wound, and so it is more deadly than the other. The plain arrows were generally used in hunting. When a man had shot a deer or a hare, he wanted to be able to pull out his arrow at once and use it again, but a barbed arrow sticks in the wound and cannot be pulled out.”

Dick wanted to know if one of these little arrow-heads would really kill a big animal like a deer. David said, “Yes, of course it would. It is as big as a rifle bullet.”

“But it wasn’t shot as hard as a rifle bullet is,” Dick said.

“However, these arrows were shot quite hard enough,” said Uncle John. “Some years ago the skeleton of a man was found in a cave in France. The man had evidently been killed in battle in the old times that we have been reading about, for sticking in his backbone was the head of a flint arrow, which had been shot at the man with such force that it had pierced his clothing and his body, and had half buried itself in his spine.”

Then Uncle John opened another drawer in his cabinet, and took out a stone axe-head, beautifully ground and polished, shaped to a cutting edge both back and front, and with a hole drilled through for the shaft. The boys all looked at it and handled it, and Joe said:

“How could men cut down trees with an axe like that? It would never be sharp enough to cut wood with, surely.”

“I think this one was a battle-axe,” Uncle John answered, “because it is small and very carefully finished, as you see, and ornamented with these lines at the top. Axes for cutting wood were larger and plainer, I daresay. But even then, of course, they weren’t such useful tools as our steel axes that we use nowadays. Has anyone of you ever heard what else the men of those old times used, when they wanted to fell a big tree?--Why, fire! They lighted a fire at the foot of the tree, and when it was burnt out, they hacked away the charred wood and lighted the fire again--and so on, until they got the tree down. Then they had to chop and chop with their axes to trim the trunk; so it was a long business. But they managed it all the same; for they needed hewn wood for many purposes, of which, no doubt, the book will tell us later on.”

The next day, out on the heath, the boys gathered flint stones and tried to make some arrow-heads. They found it very hard work. It was easy to knock off pieces that had a cutting edge or a sharp point; but it was very hard to chip these flakes into anything like the proper shape. They all tried for a long while, and banged and cut their fingers, without producing a single good specimen; and this they found a little disappointing. But, as Uncle John reminded them, Goba and his men were old hands at the business, and no doubt they had had to spend a long time learning and practising it before they could do it well. “And even then,” said Uncle John, “how long do you think it would take a skilled man to make a single arrow-head?” The boys all guessed about an hour or two. “Well, of course, we don’t know,” said Uncle John. “But I can tell you this. Some years ago two Englishmen, who were travelling in the wild parts of North America, came across a tribe of Red Indians who had nothing but stone weapons. And the Indians told them that even the cleverest workman of the tribe could not make more than one arrow-head in a whole day’s work. So a dagger, or a long spear or a stone axe, especially of the sort that was ground to an edge at both ends and polished all over, must have taken weeks or even months to make.

“In the British Museum,” Uncle John went on, “there is a large collection of very wonderful flint weapons. Some day we will all go to London, and Dick shall take us to the Museum to see them; and besides these we shall see the hammer-stones that were used for chipping flints with, and the grinding stones on which the stone axes were rubbed and ground to an edge.”

_Chapter the Fifteenth_

_THE STORY OF TIG: The Village Pond_

THE pond from which the women of the village used to get water for drinking and washing and cooking was outside the village on the top of the hill. It was always full of good water, even in dry weather. The women dipped their jars there, and the cattle drank from it, but there was always plenty of water. No one had ever known the pond to run dry.

However, one day when the men had all gone hunting, some of the women went to the pond to fetch water. But soon they came back and ran about among the huts, crying out, “Oho, oho! The pond is dry! The pond is dry, oho! oho!”

Then the other women came out of the huts, and some of the old men and boys with them, and they all made haste to go to the pond. When they got to it, they found that what the first woman had said was true. There was not a pond at all, but only a puddle where the pond had been. And the women tossed up their arms and wailed, “Oho-ho-ho! the pond is dry!”

Then during many days the people were sadly troubled for want of water close at hand. The women had to go in parties down to the river in the valley and carry the heavy jars of water all the way up the hill to the huts. And the men had to beat a track through the woods and take the cattle down to drink at the stream, and guard them carefully going and coming for fear of wolves, every man carrying his weapons: and this kept the men at home and hindered them from hunting.

So they sent for a wise man, called a Medicine Man, to come to tell them what they might do to bring back the water. And the Medicine Man said, “Make a feast and dance and sing and call upon the gods, praying them to send rain; and the rain will come and fill up the pond.”

So the people made a feast, and they danced for many hours and sang all their songs over and over again, and yet no rain came. However, after three days there was a thunderstorm, and much rain fell; but it did not fill up the pond.

Then they asked the Medicine Man again, and he said: “Let the people dance and sing and call upon the gods again. And afterwards let the women take jars and go and fill them at the river and bring them up and pour out the water upon the pond. Then the spirits of the water will return, and the pond will be filled.” So the people did all this; and the women carried up jars and jars full of water from the river and poured it into the pond. But the water sank away faster than they could pour it in, and there was nothing left but a puddle.

Then they asked the Medicine Man again. And he went and brought two other Medicine Men, and they walked round and round the pond with their wands in their hands. Then they said: “The gods are angry and have taken away the water. They will not send it again unless the people offer sacrifices. Let an ox be sacrificed.”

So the people took an ox and led it out of the fold and brought it on to the hill-side and killed it for a sacrifice. And they made fires and cooked the meat, and feasted and danced, singing their songs and calling on their gods. They kept up the dancing all night long; and every hour during the night they sent men with torches to see if the pond was filling up. But every time the men returned and said, “Nay, there is no water!” And in the morning they went again, but there was no water and nothing but a puddle. And all the people were very sad.

_Chapter the Sixteenth_

_What Arsan said about the Old Pond_