Chapter III: Part 3

One day a bird sang out in the forest. Then the streams began to sing. The moss made a carpet all over the ground outside of the wigwam. Son-of-a-Brave felt like running and shouting. He left off his blanket and went out into the woods to play.

He had scarcely gone a rod from the wigwam when he saw a large gray Hare following him. This was strange for hares usually ran away. Son-of-a-Brave waited, and the Hare came close to him. Then he saw, because it limped, that it was the old Hare that he had befriended in the winter. He was now fat and well fed, and dressed in his summer coat.

The Hare flopped his ears to Son-of-a-Brave and hopped a little way ahead, so the boy followed. The Hare went on, without stopping, until he came to the very spot beside the stream where Son-of-a-Brave had dug away the snow to give the Hare food.

Oh, what did the boy see there!

Blossoming out of the bare earth were beautiful flowers, as white outside as a hare’s ears in the winter time, and pink inside, like their lining. They had a sweet perfume, different from anything that had grown in the woods before. The grateful Hare stood beside them. He seemed to say that these new flowers were his gift to the boy who had helped him.

The Indians say that those were the first Mayflowers. They say the Mayflowers have been blossoming in the woods ever since because the Hare brought them out of thankfulness to Son-of-a-Brave.

HOW THE RABBIT TRIED TO COAST.

Once upon a time, the Rabbit lived in the woods in a lodge with his old grandmother. Summer was a fat time for the two, but things went very badly with them in the winter. Then, ice and snow covered up the berries, and there were no juicy, green shoots to be had.

The Rabbit might have hunted, or gone to a field and dug down through the snow to find some buried ears of grain. But he was a lazy young fellow and disliked the cold. His grandmother had a hard time filling the dinner pot, and their cupboard shelves were more often empty than full.

The Rabbit wished very much that he might find some easy way of making a living in the winter. With this thought in mind he went one frosty day to the lodge of the Otter, just before dinner time.

The Otter lived in a lonely wigwam by the side of a river. It was quite a long distance from the regular camp of the animals. But the Otter seemed to be well fed and to have no trouble in getting his dinner. The Rabbit watched him.

The Otter put his dinner pot full of water over the fire. Then he took his fish line and hooks and went outside. He had built a long, smooth ice slide that went from his door down the bank of the river. He slid down this, diving into the water through a little hole in the ice. In a very short time the Otter was up again, and carried a long string of fat eels up to the bank to his lodge. He popped these into his dinner pot and invited the Rabbit to stay and share the feast with him.

It was the first hot meal that the Rabbit had eaten in a long while. Instead of saving some of the food for his grandmother, he ate of it greedily. He tried to think how he could imitate his friend’s way of getting a living. He was off as soon as dinner was over, for he had a plan in his head.

As soon as the Rabbit reached his lodge, he told his grandmother to put on her blanket and tie the kitchen pots together with a piece of deer thong. He said that they were going to move. She begged him to think it over. It was deep winter, she told him, and she, herself, was an old rabbit. But the Rabbit took down the lodge poles while she was talking, and they started away through the forest to the river beside which the Otter lived. He set up his lodge on the opposite bank from that of the Otter. As the weather was crisp and cold, the Rabbit had no trouble at all in making an ice slide from his door to the river, just like the Otter’s slide.

Then the Rabbit told his grandmother to build a fire, and hang the dinner pot, and make ready for a great feast. He had invited the Otter to take dinner with him. The Rabbit’s grandmother threw up her paws.

“What shall I cook?” she asked. “There is no food of any kind in the house.”

“I will attend to all that,” the Rabbit said. Then he started out with his fishing line to catch a mess of eels as the Otter had.

He stood a moment at the top of his ice slide, and then he started down it. But, oh, it was hard for the Rabbit, who was used to hopping, to keep a straight course on the ice. He went from one side to the other, and then turned head over heels, growing quite dizzy. Then he struck the ice cold water, and went under, numb with cold. He did not know how to swim a stroke. He was almost drowned before he rose to the surface and was able to cling to a cake of ice. From this he struggled over to the bank. He crawled up wet, his teeth chattering, and his fur freezing all over in tiny icicles.

The Otter had come across the river to the Rabbit’s dinner party and he stood laughing on the bank as he saw the Rabbit.

“What ails him?” the Otter asked of the Rabbit’s grandmother.

“He saw somebody fishing,” she explained, “and he tried to do the same. He never thinks for himself.”

The Otter laughed harder than before, as they helped the Rabbit into the lodge and warmed him beside the fire. Then the Otter caught a mess of eels. The Rabbit’s grandmother cooked them, and they had quite a merry dinner after all. But the Rabbit was very much ashamed of himself. He learned how to hunt in a rabbit’s way, after that, and took good care of his grandmother all the rest of the winter.

WHY THE FIELD MOUSE IS LITTLE.

Once upon a time, before there were any big folks, or any real houses in the world, the little First Man, and the little First Woman lived in a tiny lodge on the banks of a big river. They were the only people in the whole world, and they were very, very small, not any larger than your finger.

They ate wild gooseberries, and twin berries, and black caps. One berry made a very fine meal for them.

The little First Woman took very good care of the little First Man. She made him a beautiful green bow and arrow from a blade of grass, with which he could hunt crickets and grasshoppers. From the skin of a humming bird she made him a most beautiful hunting coat, all embroidered and jeweled with bits of gay shells and shining particles of sand.

One day the little First Man was out hunting and he grew very weary, wading through the deep grass, so he laid him down beneath a clover leaf and fell fast asleep. A storm came up, and the thunder roared and the lightning flashed, but it did not waken the little First Man. Then the sun shone, warm, as it does in hot countries, and the little First Man awoke. Alas, where was his gay little hunting coat? The rain had soaked it, and the sun had scorched it, and it had fallen to pieces, and dropped quite off the little First Man.

Then he was very angry and he shook his fist at the great sun. “It is all your fault,” he cried. “I will pull you down from the sky.”

He went home and told the little First Woman, who cried many tears when she thought of all the stitches she had put into the coat. And the little First Woman stamped her little foot at the sun, and she, too, said it should stay up in the sky no longer. The sun should be pulled down.

The next thing was to arrange how to do it. They were such small people, and the sun was so great and so far away. But they began plaiting a long rope of grass that should be long enough to catch the sun, and after they had worked for many moons, the rope was quite long.

Then they could not carry it, because it made such a heavy coil; so the little First Man tried to think of one of the beasts who could help him, and he decided that the Field Mouse would be the most willing.

In those far away days, the Field Mouse was much larger than he is now, as large as a buffalo. The little First Man found the Field Mouse asleep under a tree, and he had great trouble awaking him, but the Field Mouse was very obliging. He took the coil of rope upon his back, allowed the two little people to sit, one on each ear, and they started away to find the woods where the sun first drops down in the evening.

It was a journey of many moons, and most tiresome. There were many rivers to be forded, and at each one the Field Mouse was obliged to take one end of the rope in his mouth, and swim over with it. Then he would coil it up, and go back for the little First Man, and the little First Woman.

But at last they came to some deep, dark woods where the beasts, the elk, the hedgehog, and the others, assured them the great sun dropped down every night, last of all.

Then the little First Man climbed to the tops of the trees, making slip knots of the rope, and fastening it to the branches until he had made a huge net, larger than any fish net you ever saw. When it was done, they all hid to wait for evening, and to see what would happen.

Such a terrible thing happened! Lower, and lower, fell the sun toward the woods that he always touched the last thing at night. And before he could stop himself—down into the little First Man’s net he dropped, and he could not get out.

No one had ever thought what would happen if the sun were caught. Of course everything was set on fire. The trees smoked, and the grasses blazed. The little First Man and the little First Woman started running toward home as fast as ever they could, because of all the mischief they had done. The elk had his antlers scorched. The hedgehog was obliged to dance to keep his feet from burning, and the other beasts crowded around the Field Mouse.

“Good, kind Field Mouse,” they cried, “will you not set the sun free? Your teeth are sharp. Gnaw the rope, and loose him, we pray of you.”

So the Field Mouse, who was always most good natured, climbed to the top of a tree and gnawed the rope with his sharp teeth, although it was very hot and uncomfortable for him. Gnaw, gnaw, and at last the sun was loose. With a bound it jumped to the sky, and there it has stayed ever since.

But what do you think happened to the Field Mouse? The heat melted him down to the size he is now, and that is the reason the Field Mouse is so very little.

HOW THE FIRST BEARS CAME.

Once upon a time, there were only Indians upon the earth, and the tribes had a Great Spirit who was their ruler. He had a little daughter, the Wind-Child.

It was thought that the Great Spirit and his daughter lived in the largest wigwam of the world. It was a mountain that stood, tall and pointed, on the edge of the sea. The winds raged about the sea coast, and no one seemed to have any power over them except the Wind-Child. They would sometimes obey her, if she came out of her father’s wigwam, the mountain, and begged them to be still.

No wonder the winds obeyed the Wind-Child. Her eyes were as bright as the stars when the west wind blew the clouds away from the sky at night. She was as fleet and strong as the north wind. She could sing as sweetly as did the south wind. And her hair was as long and soft as the mists that the east wind carried.

The Wind-Child had only one fault. She was very curious about matters which did not concern her.

One day, when the winter was almost over, there was a gale at sea. The surf rolled up and beat against the Great Spirit’s mountain. The wind was so strong that the mountain shook. It seemed as if it would topple over. The Great Spirit spoke to his daughter.

“Go out to the lodge of the cave, at the base of the mountain,” he said, “and reach out your arm and ask the wind to cease. But do not go beyond the cave, for the storm rages and it is not safe for you to go any farther.”

So the Wind-Child did as her father had asked her. She stood at the edge of the cave. She stretched out her arm and the wind quieted. Then the Wind-Child forgot to obey her father. The sun came out, and she saw many bright shells lying on the sand. The waves had washed them up during the storm. She left the mountain, and ran along the beach gathering shells.

As soon as the Wind-Child had picked up one shell, she dropped it to go on farther in search of one that was larger. On and on she went, always looking for a shell that was brighter. She suddenly found that she had gone a long way from home. She could not see the wigwam. She found herself, where the magic trail of the shells had led her, in a deep, dark forest. It was a frightful place, and the trees shut the Wind-Child in on all sides.

The forest was settled by a strange race of grizzly people. They were dark, rough in their ways, and wore shaggy fur clothing. Their wigwams were made of the trunks of trees. They had great fires in the open places of the woods about which they sat. They seemed glad to see the Wind-Child. The mothers crowded around her, and the children brought her nuts. They gave her a fur cloak and one of the best wigwams in which to live. When the Wind-Child begged to go home to her father, these grizzly people of the forest gave her sweets to eat. They let her taste of the thick, sweet maple syrup that they cooked in their kettles. They gave her wild honey that the bees had left the season before in the hollow trees. After eating these, the Wind-Child forgot all about her home, and lived with and learned the ways of these forest people. Years and years passed and she was still among them, grown as wild and savage as they themselves were.

The Great Spirit looked for his daughter season after season all over the earth, and still he could not find her. His mountain was deserted. His voice could be heard calling her in every wind that blew. Great drought and famine came upon the land because he neglected the earth. It was a time of great suffering. But one day he came upon the grizzly people. They were moving their camp from one part of the forest to another. In their midst was the Wind-Child, looking almost like one of them. She knew her father, though, and ran to him, begging to go home with him. He took her in his arms, but he turned in anger toward her captors.

As the Great Spirit gazed in anger upon the grizzly people they drew their fur cloaks over their heads. They dropped down to the ground at his feet to beg for mercy. The Great Spirit left the forest. As he did so these wild people of the woods found that they could not rise to their feet again. They were not able to draw their fur cloaks from their heads. They went about on all fours, covered from head to foot with shaggy fur. They could not speak, but could only growl.

They were the first bears, and there have been bears ever since in place of the strange savages who captured the Wind-Child.

The Great Spirit took the Wind-Child to the top of the mountain and they lived there always. On her return the rain fell and the sun shone, and there was plenty in the earth again. But the bear tribe prowled the earth, hunted by the Indians, because of the Wind-Child’s curiosity.

WHY THE BEAR HAS A STUMPY TAIL.

Once upon a time, in the far away days, when the beasts walked the land, and talked like real people, the bear had a long, beautiful, bushy tail, as fine as the tail of any other creature, and you may be sure he was very proud of it.

One winter day the bear was out traveling, and whom should he meet but Brother Fox, hastening along with a string of fish dangling down his back.

“Ah,” said Bruin, “stop a bit, friend; where did you find such fat fish?”

Now, very likely Brother Fox had helped himself to the fish from some one’s larder, but he never told the bear; not he.

“It is a secret, about these fish,” he said to Bruin; “come close, and I will tell you.”

So Bruin went close to Brother Fox, and Brother Fox said:

“You must go to the river where the ice is thick, make a hole in the ice, sit down with your tail in the hole, and wait for the fish to bite. When your tail smarts, pull it out, quickly. That is the way to fish.”

“Oh, is it?” said Bruin. “Well, if you say it is so, it must be true, Brother Fox,” and he walked toward the river swinging his tail as he went, and Brother Fox hid behind a tree to laugh up his sleeve, and watch.

Well, poor old Bruin got a stick, and made a hole in the ice. Then he sat down with his long, beautiful, bushy tail in the water and waited, and, oh, it was very cold indeed.

He waited, and waited, and then his tail began to smart. He gave a quick pull to bring up the fish, and, alas, the ice had frozen fast again.

Off came the bear’s beautiful, long, bushy tail, and he never was able to put it on again.

And that is why the bear has a short, stumpy tail, because he tried to fish, as Brother Fox told him to, through the ice.

WHY THE BEAR SLEEPS ALL WINTER.

Once upon a time, little Brother Rabbit lived, quite sober and industrious, in the woods, and just close by lived a big, brown Bear.

Now little Brother Rabbit never troubled his neighbors in those days, nor meddled with their housekeeping, nor played any tricks the way he does now. In the fall, he gathered his acorns, and his pig nuts, and his rabbit tobacco. On a frosty morning, he would set out with Brother Fox for the farmer’s; and while Brother Fox looked after the chicken yards, little Brother Rabbit picked cabbage, and pulled turnips, and gathered carrots and parsnips for his cellar. When the winter came, he never failed to share his store with a wandering field mouse, or a traveling chipmunk.

Now, in those days, old Bear was not content to do his own housekeeping, and doze in the sun, and gather wild honey in the summer, and dig for field mice in the winter. He was full of mischief, and was always playing tricks. Of all the beasts of the wood, the one he loved best to trouble was sober little Brother Rabbit.

Just as soon as Brother Rabbit moved to a new tree stump, and filled his bins with vegetables, and his pantry with salad, along came old Bear and carried off all his stores.

Just as soon as Brother Rabbit filled his house with dry, warm leaves for a bed, creepy, creepy, crawly, along came old Bear, and tried to squeeze himself into the bed, too, and of course he was too big.

At last, Brother Rabbit could stand it no longer, and he went to all his friends in the wood to ask their advice.

The first one he met was Brother Frog, sitting on the edge of the pond, and sticking his feet in the nice, cool mud.

“What shall I do, Brother Frog?” asked Brother Rabbit; “Brother Bear will not leave me alone.”

“Let us ask Brother Squirrel,” said Brother Frog.

So the two went to Brother Squirrel, cracking nuts in the hickory tree.

“What shall we do, Brother Squirrel?” asked Brother Frog; “Brother Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit alone.”

“Let us ask Brother Mole,” said Brother Squirrel, dropping his nuts.

So the three went to where Brother Mole was digging the cellar for a new house, and they said:

“What shall we do, Brother Mole? Brother Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit alone.”

“Let us ask Brother Fox,” said Brother Mole.

So Brother Mole, and Brother Squirrel, and Brother Frog, and Brother Rabbit went to where Brother Fox was combing his brush behind a bush, and they said to him:

“What shall we do, Brother Fox? Brother Bear will not leave Brother Rabbit alone.”

“Let us go to Brother Bear,” said Brother Fox.

So they all went along with little Brother Rabbit, and they hunted and hunted for old Bear, but they could not find him. They hunted and hunted some more, and they peeped in a hollow tree. There lay old Bear, fast asleep.

“Hush,” said Brother Fox.

Then he whispered to Brother Frog, “Bring a little mud.”

And he whispered to Brother Squirrel, “Bring some leaves.”

And he whispered to Brother Mole, “Bring some dirt, little brother.”

And to Brother Rabbit he said, “Stand ready to do what I tell you.”

So Brother Frog brought mud, Brother Squirrel brought leaves, Brother Mole brought dirt, and Brother Rabbit stood ready.

Then Brother Fox said to Brother Rabbit, “Stop up the ends of Brother Bear’s log.”

So Brother Rabbit took the mud and the leaves and the dirt, and he stopped up the ends of the log. Then he hammered hard with his two back feet, which are good for hammering. And they all went home, for they thought that old Bear would never, never get out of the log.

Well, old Bear slept and slept, but after a while he awoke, and he opened one eye. He saw no sunshine, so he thought it was still night, and he went to sleep again.

After another while, he awoke again, but he heard the rain and sleet beating outside, and it was very warm and dry inside.

“What a very long night,” said old Bear, and he curled up his paws, and he went to sleep again.

This time, he just slept, and slept, until it began to be very warm inside the log, and he heard in his dreams the footsteps of birds outside.

Then he awoke, and he stretched himself, and he shook himself. He rubbed his eyes with his paws, and he poked away the mud, and the leaves, and the dirt, and he went outside.

But was he not surprised?

It had been a frosty night when he had gone to sleep, and now the woods were green. Old Bear had slept all winter.

“That was a fine, long sleep,” said old Bear, as he set out for little Brother Rabbit’s house to see if he had anything good for breakfast; “I shall sleep again, next fall.”

So every summer, old Bear plays tricks on little Brother Rabbit, but when the fall comes, he creeps away to a warm, dark place to sleep until spring.

And so have his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren ever since.

Transcriber’s Notes

pg 25 Changed: “The rice is too salt,”
to: “The rice is too salty,”