Part 2

He began to collect knots and dry wood which he piled at the foot of the tree. After heaping them as high as he could reach, he gathered dry blades of grass which he put under the pile of wood. Then striking together two pieces of flint which he took from his pocket, he lighted the grass and this lighted the fagots. The flames ran higher and higher until they set fire to the nest. The wings of the birds were burned, and they fell to the ground. They tried to fly, but could not. The old man walked as fast as he could, and hid behind a tree. The birds walked off in another direction. They did not suffer as only their feathers were burned.

[Illustration: The birds walked off in another direction]

And this is the way it came about that great birds like the ostrich, the emu, and the auk, though having feathers and wings, cannot fly.

Thus were the birds punished for trying to prevent the old man from returning and feeding his hungry dogs, who had always served their master so faithfully.

NIONA AND THE MOON MAN

There once lived on the shores of the beautiful Lake Athabasca an Indian chief whose name was Wyani, and his two daughters, Wiona and Niona.

Wiona helped her father cure the moose and caribou skins, and put the fish to dry on racks in the sun, for food for the dogs during the winter.

Niona, the younger daughter, was very beautiful. She would sit by the lake where she could see her reflection, and arrange her hair, putting in her tresses large eagle feathers and wild flowers. She would make to adorn her feet beautiful moccasins of white deer-skin decorated with beads and many colored silks, and would say to herself: “Niona, you are so, so beautiful.”

[Illustration: “Niona, you are so, so beautiful”]

Then she would glance at her pretty feet, and her slippers beaded in wild roses and big leaves, and sigh, saying to herself: “How fortunate to be so beautiful.”

When her father would call to her to help him, she would say, “Oh, father! Do it yourself!” or call to Wiona to help her father. Sometimes she would say: “I must make myself beautiful like the sun.”

A young Cree brave would come to visit her. He was a great hunter and feared no man. One day while he was sitting near her when she was adorning herself, she leaned too far over the water to admire her reflection, and fell into the lake. He pulled her out, saying: “If you were not so vain this would not have happened.”

“Do not scold me,” Niona said, as she caught her breath and shook the water from her dress.

“You are very beautiful, but you are also very selfish,” said the young man.

“All who are very beautiful are selfish,” Niona replied.

“That is not so,” said the Indian.

“Old Father Bear and Mother Lynx and Brother Fox tell me I am beautiful; even the birds, more beautiful than I am, say I am beautiful. Are they not proud of their plumage? Why should I not be!” exclaimed the maiden.

“You are very beautiful,” the young Indian repeated, “but you are not kind to your father; and your sister is very tired. Why do you not consider them? They are both very good to you.”

“I have no time. I must make myself like the sun; the beauty of everything comes from the sun, and I must be like her. She paints the clouds and rainbow and flowers and water--everything. I am the child of the sun and gather the beautiful things of color that I may adorn myself. You also think me beautiful. That is pleasing to me. I know myself that I am beautiful.”

“Yes, but beauty is not everything,” he replied.

“Do not scold me. You would not like me if I were like the Old Man in the Moon.”

“I should like you better if you were helpful, and considerate of those who love and serve you; and mind, you better not let the Moon Man hear you speak slightingly of him or he may ‘make medicine.’”[1]

[1] The Shaman of the Indian and Eskimo of Greenland, North America and Siberia are supposed to have supernatural power. The exercise of this power is called “making medicine.”

“Shoot an arrow at the Moon Man,” said Niona. “Who’s afraid of him!”

Suddenly it became very dark, and the moon seemed to draw nearer to the earth.

“Save me! Save me!” cried Niona, but her companion had disappeared.

Niona thought, “How silly it was to be afraid of the old dead moon,” and cried out in defiance:

“Boil the moon; save your passion; Boil your lazy head, Hiding thus in idle fashion In your starry bed.”

The Old Man in the Moon seemed to frown and to come closer and closer. Niona felt herself being drawn up and up; faster and faster she seemed to fly until the light of the camp-fires could no longer be seen. The stars grew larger and brighter and Niona began to feel very cold. Up and up she went until she could see the earth but dimly, and only as a round ball. Suddenly she stopped, and a voice said: “This is the end of your journey. You must live here. You thought only of yourself, of your beauty. Your time you spent in idleness. You did no good for any one. This is your punishment.”

[Illustration: Niona felt herself being drawn up and up]

Niona looked around. There were no flowers, or lakes, no trees, no people. There were only mountains of dead rocks, craters of extinct volcanoes, and deep-sea beds, but no water.

“What a terrible place,” thought Niona, without speaking.

“Yes,” said the Old Man of the Moon, “it is so. We once had all, but age came upon us, as it has now come to you.”

“To me?” cried Niona.

“Yes, to you,” he replied. “Look into the Grotto of Shadows yonder.”

Niona walked to a deep cave and looked down. There she saw reflected the face of an old woman, older than any she had ever seen on earth.

“Horrors!” she cried, “How can I escape this awful fate?”

“There is but one way,” said the Moon Man. “Come with me.”

They ascended a high mountain and looked afar to the “City of Good Works.” One end of a rainbow rested in a great square of the city, and people, bejewelled and wearing beautiful costumes, were dancing around it. There was music, such as Niona had never heard in the woods, and great gardens with flowers bursting into bloom, and birds of wondrous plumage, too numerous to imagine.

“This,” said the Moon Man, “is the abode of contentment.”

“Oh! How can I get there?” cried Niona.

“There is but one way,” he answered as she looked in wonderment. “You must go back to earth and there seek out those who need help and comfort; be kind to the aged, and share your blessings with those who most need them. If you promise to do this, you may return.”

“I promise, I promise!” cried Niona, “When may I go?”

“At once,” answered the Moon Man, taking a great bow and an arrow that was so long its head rested on a mountain miles away. On the other end was a little compartment, lighted with many colored lights, and containing chairs and a table which was set with the most dainty fruits and cakes.

“Get in, hold tight, and keep your promise.” As he spoke he touched her lightly on the shoulder, and she began at once to regain her youth and beauty.

She stepped into the fairy car.

“Remember your promise,” said the Moon Man sternly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” replied Niona.

Before she could say more, she found herself flying toward earth; nearer and nearer she flew. Soon a light appeared, then another and another. Soon she could see the great lake, then her old father who was sitting outside his lodge. He was crying, “Niona, Niona, come back!”

“I’m coming!” she called, as the great arrow plunged into the earth, stopping just in time so Niona could step out and be welcomed by her father.

[Illustration: “I’m coming!”]

“I’ve come to help you gather wood, and to fish, and to sew caribou-skins, and make snares, and cure the moose-skins, and to hunt, and to draw water.”

He looked up and smiled, he had grown very old.

“Where are your fine clothes?” he asked.

Niona looked down at her feet, and behold! she was in rags!

“I shall not need them now, good father. I have come to serve you.”

For many moons she had been faithful to her promise made to the Man in the Moon, when, one day, there came from the forest, a handsome brave, with a deer slung over his shoulder--not the Indian she had admired before her strange journey, but one nobler and taller. Walking toward the old man he said: “You have a beautiful daughter. May I wed her when the moon is full?”

“She is a good daughter, and may do as she thinks best,” replied the chief.

Niona grew to love the young Indian, and they were married and devoted their lives to her father as long as he lived. They lived to be very old, beloved by their tribe for their good works. When they died they were mourned by all who knew them. It is said they are now living in the beautiful City of the Rainbow.

WHY DOGS DO NOT TALK

At the foot of a mountain, with his daughter Neti and his dog, lived Nudi, an Indian whose wife had left him. He was fond of both, but of the two he loved his dog more dearly as she gave to him affection and obedience.

At the time the incidents of this story happened all dogs could talk. Then language was very primitive, but as the dog has for nearly all time been a friend of man and his companion, each learned the language of the other, as does man when associating with a people speaking another language.

The dog, being also the most sociable of all animals, learned that man could hunt with more skill when in quest of food, and before he became his companion, would follow on his trail and devour the meat discarded by him. When the dog found man a kindly being, he would join in the hunt, each finding the other helpful. Man found the dog had more highly developed the instinct for location, and that his sense of smell and his hearing were more acute, combining also the pleasure he enjoyed in associating with man rather than with his own kind. So man and dog became fast and enduring friends, and as some one has said of the latter, “the most intimate and companionable comrade for man of all the kingdom of animals.”

So Nudi and his dog, Happy, would wander off to the mountains in search of game, and fish the waters for trout so plentiful in the dark, winding streams that came down with such a rush from the upper reaches of the mighty mountain that Nudi called “The Giant.”

[Illustration: So Nudi and his dog, Happy, would wander off to the mountains]

Sometimes they would have much to say, sometimes little. Happy would always consider the moods of Nudi--if he was not disposed to talk, she would run along beside him if the path was wide, and if not, follow at his heels in silence.

There was something Happy had for a long time wanted to tell Nudi, about his daughter, but she would always hesitate, for she felt that perhaps it would not be right as it was natural for all creatures to love some one. Neti was very beautiful; she had many young braves who admired her, and she was very fond of their wooing, as she was also fond of the pretty trinkets they would bestow upon her. But the youth Neti liked the most, her father did not favor, so, unknown to him, she would go for long walks with her lover, and Happy knew, as she had followed them, that he had kissed her and said to her words of affection which Neti liked, even though she blushed and had taken her hand from his.

One day, trailing a bear, Happy told all she knew of Neti’s romance. This vexed the father, so he threatened not to allow Neti to go more than twenty paces from the lodge, and to take from her all the baubles she had received from her admirers, this being the most severe punishment he could inflict. He also went to Tiki, the Shaman of the tribe, and asked him to make medicine and bring upon the lover some evil.

[Illustration: One day, trailing a bear, Happy told all she knew of Neti’s romance]

“No,” said the Shaman, “It is not upon the young brave, but upon your dog that I shall bring punishment.”

“No, no!” said Nudi, “My dog is my friend. You shall not bring upon her any misfortune!”

“Yes,” said Tiki, “she has told that which she should not. We cannot ourselves judge of another’s affection. We must choose according to the dictates of our own hearts.”

[Illustration: “Yes,” said Tiki, “she has told that which she should not.”]

So the Medicine Man used his powers so that dogs could never talk again; but left them the capacity to understand the language of all mankind. Though he took from all dogs the power of speech, he left to them fidelity, patience, and affection, and made them so nearly human that many who have loved them mourn their loss almost as much as one of their own kind. For has not the dog much of human intelligence with none of man’s conceit, hypocrisy or ingratitude? Does he not cling to his master no matter how humble may be his lot or how spare may be his meal? He will even forgive those who abuse and neglect him. No matter what may be the adversity that befalls those around him, he is still their loyal, clinging friend.

What an object-lesson is this patient, trusting creature that shares man’s companionship, a companionship that if broken by the loss of the master, has sometimes ended in the death of man’s best and truest friend.

MR. FISH AND YONI

Yoni, an old Indian, had lost his wife by death, so, to the custom of his people, he covered her body with birch-bark, and wrapped it in a large moose-skin. Then, with the help of his friends, he put the body on a platform high up in the boughs of a tall, young spruce-tree.

He then cut his hair very short, as a sign of mourning, and began to think how alone he would be during the long winter days.

The frost had come and touched the trees and bush, and the beautiful colors that the artist of Nature was painting upon them, just a little while before Nature destroyed the picture, began to appear in places here and there, all over the land. The fine birds that sang to Yoni, and the plain little wrens he loved best were leaving, one by one, to wing their ways to the Southland where the sun is always warm and smiling, and Jack Frost and his bearded old relation Father Winter are unknown.

Yoni had been very happy during the many years of his life. He was a good hunter, so of deer meat and fish he always had a plentiful supply. But his age, even with all the pleasant memories of the years gone by, meant to him in his solitude only sorrow and loneliness. He would have been glad if his wife, many years younger than he, could have lived to help him in his old age, but this was not to be.

He would sit outside his lodge, and watch the beavers working on their dam just across the river, and recall how he had told his wife, Noimi, who was very pretty in his eyes, that there was no one to compare with her in all the graces and virtues, that she must not go for wood when the nights were cold; and if she did, he would call her back and insist that she go into the tipi and sit by the fire, and if she wished, she could sew on the skins that would keep them warm during the winter.

He would waken at night, and out of the silence would come, from far across the lonely hills, the barking of the great timber-wolves, sounding like big dogs. Sometimes a stealthy bear would come with its cubs and tear down his fish-racks, and carry off the fish he had dressed and was drying for the winter. In the morning he would go out to see what damage they had done. He would never get angry, saying in a low voice: “Let them eat. It’s very bad to be hungry.” Then he would smile at their destruction, and with thin, trembling hands, try to straighten the poles.

Twice a day he would pull up his nets that were made of willow fibre. Sometimes there were many fish, and sometimes only a few--but he never complained, for there were always enough for his needs now that he was all alone--having not even a dog. The preceding fall he had had two, but one had wandered away and he had given the other to Moni, his friend, who lived just around the bend of the river, and who was busy hauling wood for his winter fires, so did not come to visit him so often as in summer. Moni was growing old also, and his children had left him, all but a daughter, and she was blind, and not much help.

One morning before it was very light, old Yoni heard a terrific splashing in the water above the place he tied his canoe. He had heard the connie or pike making a great rumpus when trying to catch a frog, but the splashing increased, so Yoni started for the shore as fast as his poor old legs could go. There he found a strange and very large fish splashing and floundering, and the more he floundered the more he became entangled in Yoni’s net, and the only one he had.

[Illustration: There he found a strange and very large fish splashing and floundering]

When the fish saw Yoni he called: “Come quickly and release me. I’m afraid I shall die. Come! I feel so strange.”

Yoni made no effort to untangle the monster, who was just twenty-five feet long to an inch.

“Oh!” thought Yoni, “You are a fine catch; you’ll be food for me all winter and much to spare; this I can barter with Moni for my winter’s wood.” And Yoni was pleased and smiled, and this he did not do very often.

The more the creature struggled, the more and the tighter the net held him.

“Hurry!” called the fish, not knowing what Yoni had been thinking about. Then he became perfectly still, and looking up at Yoni in a very appealing way said: “You are an old man. Get me out of this tangle and I will reward you.”

“How?” said Yoni, becoming very much interested to have an affair with a fish that could talk.

“There are many places and people,” said the fish, “along these great river ways that you have never seen.”

“Yes,” said Yoni, becoming more interested. “The Yellow Knife, the Dog Rib, the Cree and many tribes far away to the North.”

“I know their language,” said the fish. “Release me and I will take you where you will be among friends, and to those who will honor your old age. As you know, the rivers are long with many rapids that would upset your old canoe, and crush it on the rocks. Many of the portages are high hills, and many too rough and stony for your feet.”

“This is all very well in words,” said Yoni, “but you may be like many of the fur-traders who do not always speak words that are to be depended upon.”

Although the net was very tight about the neck of the fish, he managed to smile.

“Ah” said he, “fish who talk never are known to speak untruths. Release me, and I will prove to you my gratitude by taking you anywhere you wish to go.”

So Yoni, convinced that he was talking to a truthful fish, waded slowly arm deep in the water, and cut the tangled strands holding his new-found friend.

“Just a moment,” said the fish after the last strand binding his gills had been severed, and he straightened out to see if his tail and fins were in working order, “I’ll swim out a little way to see if everything is right for our journey.” So far from shore and nearly to the middle of the stream the fish swam.

“He’ll never come back,” thought Yoni, “and my net is in shreds.”

Far out, and out of sight the monster had gone. At first Yoni thought he would never believe the promise of a talking-fish again, but knowing he had saved the creature’s life, he thought he might keep faith with one who had so truly befriended him. Just as Yoni was really losing faith, the fish rose to the surface far out in midstream.

“I’m coming,” he called. “There are a few scales missing, but otherwise I’m all right for a long swim.”

Yoni was glad his confidence was justified, although he did begin to think the story was fishy, like others where fish were concerned.

“Wade out to the rock,” called the fish. “I’ll swim alongside; you get on my back and then we’ll be off for anywhere.”

So Yoni with some difficulty waded to the rock, and climbed upon it just as the fish rose alongside. Yoni got aboard, straddling the huge back as if he were riding a horse just as he had once done before he grew so old.

“Where shall we go, and what is your name?” asked the fish.

“Yoni,” replied the old Indian, “What is yours?”

“Piscatori,” answered the huge creature.

“What a strange name,” said Yoni, “I am afraid I cannot remember it. My memory is not so good as it was years ago.”

“That’s not important,” replied the fish. “Just call me Mr. Fish. I’ll understand.”

Yoni thought that was best, so he asked the fish to turn around and go down the river to a place where he had set his snares and traps the year before. So Mr. Fish turned around and began to swim so fast it took Yoni’s breath almost away.

“Not so fast, Mr. Fish,” called Yoni. “I’m afraid I’ll slip off.”

“Oh, no!” said Mr. Fish. “Hold onto my front fin. Look out you don’t prick your fingers, the points are sharp. If you get cold, lift up the fin, step down, and you’ll find a cosy room just large enough to hold you comfortably.”

So Yoni, being just a little chilly, with some difficulty raised the fin, and to his great joy and surprise he found such a cosy little place like a little room, with the floor and sides covered with the most beautifully colored scales--just as if they had stolen the tints from an Arctic rainbow or from the inside of a beautiful shell. And it was so warm, and Mr. Fish said, “Quite waterproof.”