Part 5

Son-of-a-Brave felt very proud, because his father was one of the big chiefs of the tribe. He was proud, too, that he, twelve years old, could shoot an arrow as straight as the young braves. So he found it hard to understand the medicine man.

“What does the clumsy Bear teach us?” Son-of-a-Brave asked.

“The value of sleep,” replied the medicine man. “You like to sit up late at night, listening to the talk of your parents around the camp fire. In the morning you have dull eyes and heavy limbs. The Bear comes out from her winter sleep ready to rule the den and fight the whole forest.”

“Well, what does the silly Salmon that hurls himself down the rapids teach us?” asked Son-of-a-Brave.

“The greatest lesson of all—that home is the best place,” replied the medicine man. “The Salmon swims far away from home, but always comes back to the hatching ground through the rapids.”

As Son-of-a-Brave went out through the lodge he was thinking very hard. There had been one question that he had wanted to ask the medicine man, but he had not dared, Of what use was the great stupid Woodpecker that flew from tree to tree? It ran up and down the trunks like a senseless bird, and pounded like a drum with its huge bill.

There was a Woodpecker now. Son-of-a-Brave could see it, head down, on the trunk of a tree, making a hole. It wore a bright red cap, and its black eyes were as bright as those of an Indian. Its big black claws looked like hands. The boy stopped to watch the odd bird. The Woodpecker bored awhile, standing on its head. Then it righted itself and made the hole larger. Last, it put its bill in the hole and pulling it out, tipped its head back as if it were drinking. This was very strange.

When the Woodpecker flew away, Son-of-a-Brave went up to the tree, for he was curious about it. It was still too early in the spring for the tree to have leaves. There was a little snow left on the ground. But the boy knew what kind of tree it was by its bark. He could find others like it all through the woods. He had a very sharp arrow head stuck in his belt. He took it out and began chipping the hole in the tree trunk which the Woodpecker had started, until it was larger. To the Indian boy’s surprise thin sap began to run out of the tree. He put his lips to the hole.

It was sweet sap—as sweet as wild honey!

Son-of-a-Brave stripped some bark from the tree and made a little cup. He filled this with the sweet sap and ran from one lodge to another in the village, asking the braves to taste it. They all said that the sweet sap was good. All the village followed Son-of-a-Brave back to the forest, while he pointed out trees like the one which the Woodpecker had tapped. They bored holes in them, and from each there flowed the first maple syrup. It proved that the medicine man had been right. Even the Woodpecker, who worked upside down, could teach the Indians something.

So the Indians tell us how maple sugar came. But the story tells us also the great wisdom of our little wild brothers in feathers and fur.

THE RABBIT WHO WANTED RED WINGS.

Once upon a time there was a little white Rabbit with two beautiful long pink ears, and two bright red eyes, and four soft little feet—_such_ a pretty little white Rabbit, but he was not happy.

Just think, this little white Rabbit wanted to be somebody else instead of a rabbit!

When Mr. Bushy Tail, the gray squirrel, went by, the little white Rabbit would say to his Mammy:

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a long gray tail like Mr. Bushy Tail’s.”

And when Mr. Porcupine went by, the little white Rabbit would say to his Mammy:

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a back full of bristles like Mr. Porcupine’s.”

And when Miss Puddle-Duck went by in her two little red rubbers, the little white Rabbit would say:

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a pair of red rubbers like Miss Puddle-Duck’s.”

So he went on and on wishing until his Mammy was all tired out with his wishing and Old Mr. Ground Hog heard him one day.

Old Mr. Ground Hog is very wise indeed, so he said to the little white Rabbit:

“Why don’t you go down to the Wishing Pond? If you look in the water at yourself and turn around three times in a circle you will get your wish.”

So the little white Rabbit went off, all alone by himself, through the woods until he came to a little pool of green water lying in a low tree stump. That was the Wishing Pond. There was a little, little bird, all red, sitting on the edge of the Wishing Pond to get a drink, and as soon as the little white Rabbit saw him he began to wish again.

“Oh, I wish I had a pair of little red wings!” he said. Just then he looked in the Wishing Pond and he saw his little white face. Then he turned around three times and something happened. He began to have a queer feeling in his shoulders, like the feeling in his mouth when he was cutting his teeth. It was his wings coming through. So he sat all day in the woods by the Wishing Pond waiting for them to grow, and by and by, when it was almost sundown, he started home to see his Mammy and show her. He had a beautiful pair of long, trailing red wings.

But by the time he reached home it was getting dark. When he went in the hole at the foot of the big tree where he lived, his Mammy didn’t know him. No, she really and truly did not know him, because she had never seen a rabbit with red wings in all her life. And so the little white Rabbit had to go out again, because his Mammy wouldn’t let him get into his own bed. He had to go out and look for some place to sleep all night.

He went and went until he came to Mr. Bushy Tail’s house, and he rapped on the door and said:

“Please, kind Mr. Bushy Tail, may I sleep in your house all night?”

But Mr. Bushy Tail opened his door a crack and then he slammed it tight shut again. You see he had never seen a rabbit with red wings in all his life.

So the little white Rabbit went and went until he came to Miss Puddle-Duck’s nest down by the marsh, and he said:

“Please, kind Miss Puddle-Duck, may I sleep in your nest all night?”

Miss Puddle-Duck poked her head up out of her nest just a little way. Then she shut her eyes and stretched her wings out so far that she covered her whole nest.

You see she had never seen a white rabbit with red wings in all her life.

So the little white Rabbit went and went until he came to Old Mr. Ground Hog’s hole and Old Mr. Ground Hog let him sleep with him all night, but the hole had beech nuts spread all over it. Old Mr. Ground Hog liked to sleep on them, but they hurt the little white Rabbit’s feet and made him very uncomfortable before morning.

When it came morning, the little white Rabbit decided to try his wings and fly a little. He climbed up on a hill, and spread his wings, and sailed off, but he landed in a low bush all full of prickles. There his four feet got mixed up with the twigs so he couldn’t get down.

“Mammy, Mammy, Mammy, come and help me!” he called.

His Mammy didn’t hear him, but old Mr. Ground Hog did. He came and helped the little white Rabbit out of the prickly bush.

“Don’t you want your red wings?” Mr. Ground Hog asked.

“No, _no_!” said the little white Rabbit.

“Well,” said the Old Ground Hog, “why don’t you go down to the Wishing Pond and wish them _off_ again?”

So the little white Rabbit went down to the Wishing Pond and he saw his face in it. Then he turned around three times, and, sure enough, his red wings were gone. Then he went home to his Mammy, who knew him right away and was so glad to see him. And he never, _never_ wished again to be something different from what he really was.

HOW THE FIRST MAYFLOWERS CAME.

Once upon a time everything in the woods was covered deep with snow, the berries, the juicy young bushes, and the roots. The animals had stowed themselves away for the winter to sleep; the bear in a deep cave, the chipmunk in a hollow log, and the wild mouse in a cozy hole beneath the roots of a tree. The wind sang a high, shrill song in the tops of the pine trees, and the doors of the wigwams were shut tight.

But the door of Son-of-a-Brave’s wigwam suddenly opened a little way and the Indian boy, himself, looked out. He had his bow and a newly tipped arrow in his hands.

While the snow and the ice had been piling up outside in the Indian village, Son-of-a-Brave had been very busy. He had been working beside the home fire making his new arrow head. First, he had gone to the wigwam of the village arrow maker to ask him for a good piece of stone. The arrow maker had been good enough to give Son-of-a-Brave a piece of beautiful white quartz. Then Son-of-a-Brave had set to work on it. He had shaped it with a big horn knife and chipped it with a hammer. He had polished it in a dish of sand until it shone like one of the icicles outside. Then he had fitted it to a strong arrow and wished that he had a chance to shoot. That was why Son-of-a-Brave stood at the door of the wigwam, looking out across the snow. Not even a deer had tracked it because the winter was so cold.

All at once Son-of-a-Brave saw something. An old Hare came out of a snow bank and limped down the path that led by the wigwam. In the summer the Hare was gray, the color of the trees among which he lived. But in the winter he turned white so as not to be seen by hunters when he went along through the snow. He did not care now whether any one saw him or not. He was a very old Hare, and the winter was too hard for him. He was lame and hungry and half frozen. He stopped right in front of Son-of-a-Brave and sat up on his haunches, his ears drooping.

“Don’t shoot me,” he was trying to say. “I am at your mercy, too starved to run away from you.”

Son-of-a-Brave slipped his newly tipped arrow in his bow and aimed at the old Hare. It would be very easy indeed to shoot him, for the Hare did not move. The boy thought what a warm pair of moccasin tops his skin would make. Then Son-of-a-Brave took his arrow out again, for another thought had come to him. He knew that he would be a coward to shoot a Hare that was too weak to run away.

The boy stooped down and picked up the old Hare. He wrapped him close up to his own warm body in his blanket. Then he went with him through the snow of the woods until they came to a place where a stream ran. There were young willow trees growing along the edge. Here he set down the Hare. He began to dig away the ice and frozen earth with his new arrow tip, until the roots of the trees and the soft bark could be seen. How the Hare did eat these! Son-of-a-Brave left him, still eating, and went home.

The Indian boy did not see the Hare again that winter. He knew that he had dug a large enough hole so that the Hare could find shelter and have enough food. His bow and arrow were hung on the wall, and Son-of-a-Brave sat by the fire with his mother and father until spring came.

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.

[Illustration: Oh, what did the boy see there!]

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.