5091Original
WAUPEE, or the White Hawk, lived in a remote part of the forest, where animals abounded. Every day he returned from the chase with a large spoil, for he was one of the most skilful and lucky hunters of his tribe. His form was like the cedar; the fire of youth beamed from his eye; there was no forest too gloomy for him to penetrate, and no track made by bird or beast of any kind which he could not readily follow.
One day he had gone beyond any point which he had ever before visited. He traveled through an open wood, which enabled him to see a great distance. At length he beheld a light breaking through the foliage of the distant trees, which made him sure that he was on the borders of a prairie. It was a wide plain, covered with long blue grass, and enamelled with flowers of a thousand lovely tints.
After walking for some time without a path, musing upon the open country and enjoying the fragrant breeze, he suddenly came to a ring worn among the grass and the flowers, as if it had been made by footsteps moving lightly round and round. But it was strange—so strange as to cause the White Hawk to pause and gaze long and fixedly upon the ground—there was no path which led to this flowery circle. There was not even a crushed leaf or a broken twig, nor did he find the least trace of a footstep, approaching or retiring. So wondering he thought he would hide himself and lie in wait to discover, if he could, what this strange circle meant.
Presently he heard faint sounds of music in the air. Looking up in the direction they came from, he saw floating a small object, like a little summer cloud that approaches down from above the earth. At first it was very small, and seemed as if it could have been blown away by the first breeze that came along; but it rapidly grew as he gazed upon it, and the music every moment came clearer and more sweetly to his ear. As it neared the earth it appeared as a basket, and it was filled with twelve sisters, of the most lovely forms and enchanting beauty.
As soon as the basket touched the ground they leaped out, and began straightway to dance around the magic ring, in the most joyous manner, striking a shining ball, which uttered ravishing melodies, keeping time as they danced.
0095m
The White Hawk, from his concealment, gazed with delight upon their graceful forms and movements. He admired them all, but he was most pleased with the youngest. He longed to be at her side, to embrace her, to call her his own; and unable to remain longer a silent admirer, he rushed out and endeavored to seize this twelfth beauty who so enchanted him. But the sisters, the moment they descried the form of a man, leaped back into the basket with the swiftness of birds, and were drawn up into the sky.
Lamenting his ill-luck, Waupee gazed longingly upon the fairy basket as it ascended bearing the lovely sisters from his view.
"They are gone," he said, "and I shall see them no more."
He returned to his solitary lodge, but found no relief to his mind. He walked abroad, but to look at the sky, which had withdrawn from his sight the only being he had ever loved, was painful to him now.
The next day, selecting the same hour, the White Hawk went back to the prairie, and took his station near the ring. But in order to deceive the sisters, he assumed the form of an opossum, and sat among the grass as if he were there engaged in chewing the cud. He had not waited long when he saw the cloudy basket descend, and heard the same sweet music falling as before. He crept slowly toward the ring; but the instant the sisters caught sight of him they were startled, and sprang into their car. It rose a short distance when one of the elder sisters spoke:
"Perhaps," she said, "it has come to show us how the game is played by mortals."
"Oh, no," the youngest replied; "quick, let us ascend."
And all joining in a chant, they rose out of sight.
Then Waupee, casting off his disguise, walked sorrowfully back to his lodge—but ah, the night seemed very long to lonely White Hawk! His whole soul was filled with the thought of the beautiful sister.
Betimes, the next day, he returned to the haunted spot, hoping and fearing, and sighing as though his very soul would leave his body in its anguish. He reflected upon the plan he should follow to secure success. He had already failed twice; to fail a third time would be fatal. By searching he found nearby an old stump, much covered with moss, and just then in use as the residence of a number of mice, who had stopped there on a pilgrimage to some relatives on the other side of the prairie. The White Hawk was so pleased with their tidy little forms that he thought he, too, would be a mouse, especially as they were by no means formidable to look at, and would not be at all likely to create alarm.
He accordingly brought the stump and set it near the ring. Then, without further notice, he became a mouse, and peeped and sported, and kept his sharp little eyes busy with the others; only he did not forget to keep one eye up toward the sky, and one ear wide open in the same direction.
It was not long before the sisters, at their customary hour, came down and resumed their sport.
"But see," cried the youngest sister, "that stump was not there before."
She ran off, frightened, toward the basket. But her sisters only smiled, and gathering round the old tree-stump, struck it, in jest, when out ran the mice, and among them Waupee. This was sport for the sisters and they chased and killed them all save one, which was pursued by the twelfth sister, who had decided after all to join in the game. As she raised a silver stick which she held in her hand to put an end to that, too, the form of the White Hawk arose, and he clasped his prize in his arms. The other eleven sprang to their basket, and were drawn up to the skies.
Delighted with his success, Waupee exerted all his skill to please his bride and win her affections. He wiped the tears from her eyes; he related his adventures in the chase; he dwelt upon the charms of life on the earth. He was constant in his attentions, keeping fondly by her side, and picking out the way for her to walk as he led her gently toward his lodge. He felt his heart glow with joy as he entered it, and from that moment he was one of the happiest of men.
Winter and summer passed rapidly away, and as spring drew near with its balmy gales and its many-colored flowers, their happiness was increased by the presence of a beautiful boy in their lodge, a son with both his mother's beauty and his father's strength. What more of earthly blessing was there for them to enjoy?
Waupee's wife, however, was a daughter of one of the stars; and as the scenes of earth began to pall upon her sight, she sighed to revisit her father. But she hid these feelings from her husband. She remembered the charm that would carry her up, and while White Hawk was engaged in the chase, she took occasion to construct a wicker basket, which she kept concealed. In the meantime, she collected such rarities from the earth as she thought would please her father, as well as the most dainty kinds of food.
Then on a day when all was in readiness and Wau-pee absent, she went out to the charmed ring, taking with her her little son. As they entered the car she commenced her magical song, and the basket rose. The song was sad, and of a lowly and mournful cadence, and as it was wafted far away by the wind, it caught her husband's ear. It was a voice which he well knew, and he instantly ran to the prairie. But though he made breathless speed, he could not reach the ring before his wife and child had ascended beyond his reach. He lifted up his voice in loud appeals, but they were unavailing. The basket still went up. He watched it till it became a small speck, and finally it vanished in the sky. He then bent his head down to the ground and was miserable.
Through a long winter and a long summer Waupee bewailed his loss, but he found no relief. The beautiful spirit had come and gone, and he should see it no more!
In the meantime his wife had reached her home in the stars, and in the blissful employments of her father's house she almost forgot that she had left a husband upon the earth. But her son, as he grew up, resembled his father more and more, and every day he was restless and anxious to revisit the scene of his birth. His grandfather, perceiving this, said to his daughter:
"Go, my child, take your son down to his father, and ask him to come up and live with us. But tell him to bring along a specimen of each kind of bird and animal he kills in the chase."
The mother accordingly took the boy and descended. And the White Hawk, who was ever near the enchanted spot, heard her voice as she came down the sky. His heart beat with impatience as he saw her form and that of his son, and they were soon clasped in his arms.
He heard the message of the Star, and he began to hunt with the greatest activity, that he might collect the present with all despatch. He spent whole nights, as well as days, in searching for every curious and beautiful animal and bird. But he only preserved a foot, a wing, or a tail of each.
When all was ready, Waupee visited once more each favorite spot—the hill-top whence he had been used to see the rising sun; the stream where he had sported as a boy; the old lodge, which he was to sit in no more; and last of all, he came to the magic circle, and gazed widely around him with tearful eyes. Then taking his wife and child by the hand, he entered the car, and they were drawn up—into a country far beyond the flight of birds, or the power of mortal eye to pierce.
Great joy was manifested upon their arrival at the starry plains. The Star Chief invited all his people to a feast; and when they had assembled, he proclaimed aloud that each one might continue as he was, an inhabitant of his own dominions, or select of the earthly gifts such as he liked best. A very strange confusion immediately arose; not one but sprang forward. Some chose a foot, some a wing, some a tail, and some a claw. Those who selected tails or claws were changed into animals and ran off; the others assumed the form of birds and flew away. Waupee chose a white hawk's feather. His wife and son followed his example, and each one became a white hawk. He spread his wings, and, followed by his wife and son, descended with the other birds to the earth, where they are still to be found, with the brightness of the starry plains in their eyes and the freedom of the heavenly breezes in their wings.
5101Original
THERE were six falcons living in a nest, five of whom were still too young to fly, when it so happened that both the parent birds were shot in one day. The young brood waited anxiously for their return; but night came, and they were left without parents and without food.
Gray Eagle, the eldest, and the only one whose feathers had become stout enough to enable him to leave the nest, took his place at the head of the family and assumed the duty of stifling his brothers' cries and providing the little household with food. In this he was very successful. But one day, while out on a foraging excursion, he got one of his wings broken. This was more to be regretted as the season had arrived when they were soon to go to a southern country to pass the winter, and the children were only waiting to become a little stronger and more expert on the wing to set out on the journey.
Finding that their elder brother did not return, they resolved to go in search of him. After beating up and down the country for the better part of a whole day, they last found him, sorely wounded and unable to fly, lodged in the upper branches of a sycamore tree.
"Brothers," said Gray Eagle, as they gathered around, questioning him about his injuries, "an accident has befallen me, but let not this prevent your going to a warmer climate. Winter is rapidly approaching, and you cannot remain here. It is better that I alone should die, than for you all to suffer on my account."
"No, no," they replied, with one voice. "We will not forsake you. We will share your sufferings; we will abandon our journey and take care of you as you did of us before we were able to take care of ourselves. If the chill climate kills you, it shall kill us. Do you think we can so soon forget your brotherly care, which has equalled a father's, and even a mother's kindness? Whether you live or die, we will live or die with you."
They sought out a hollow tree to winter in, and contrived to carry their wounded nest-mate thither; and before the rigor of the season had set in, they had, by diligence and economy, stored up food enough to carry them through the winter months.
To make the provisions they had laid in last the better, it was agreed among them that two of their number should go south, leaving the other three to watch over, feed, and protect their wounded brother. So the travelers set forth, sorry to leave home, but resolved that the first promise of spring should bring them back again. And the three who remained, mounting to the very peak of the tree and bearing Gray Eagle in their arms, watched them, as they vanished away southward, till their forms blended with the air and were wholly lost to sight.
Then Gray Eagle was propped up in a snug fork with cushions of dry moss, and the household was set in order. The oldest of the five younger brothers took upon himself the charge of nursing Gray Eagle, preparing his food, bringing him water, and changing his pillows when he grew tired of one position. He also looked to it that the house itself was kept in a tidy condition, and that the pantry was supplied with food. To the next brother was assigned the duty of physician, and he was to prescribe such herbs and other medicines as the health of Gray Eagle seemed to require. As the doctor brother had no other invalid on his visiting-list, he devoted the time not given to the cure of his patient to the killing of game wherewith to stock the housekeeper's larder; so that, whatever he did, he was always busy in the line of professional duty—killing or curing. On his hunting excursions Doctor Falcon carried with him his youngest brother, who, being a foolish young fellow and inexperienced in the ways of the world, it was not thought safe to trust alone.
In due time, what with good nursing, good feeding, and good air, Gray Eagle recovered from his wound; and he then repaid the kindness of his brothers by giving them such advice and instruction in the art of hunting as his age and experience qualified him to impart. As spring advanced they began to look about for the means of replenishing their storehouse, whose supplies were running low; and they were all quite successful in their quest except the youngest, whose name was Peepi, or the Pigeon-Hawk. He had of late begun to set up for himself, but being small and foolish and feather-headed, flying hither and yonder without any set purpose, it so happened that Peepi always came home, so to phrase it, with an empty game-bag and his pinions terribly rumpled.
At last Gray Eagle spoke to him and demanded the cause of his ill-luck.
"It is not my smallness or weakness of body," Peepi answered, "that prevents my bringing home provender as well as my brothers. I am all the time on the wing, hither and thither. I kill ducks and other birds every time I go out; but just as I get to the woods, on my way home, I am met by a large ko-ko-ho, who robs me of my prey; and," added Peepi, with great energy, "it's my settled opinion that the villain lies in wait for the very purpose of doing so."
"I have no doubt you are right, Brother Peepi," rejoined Gray Eagle. "I know this pirate—his name is White Owl; and now that I feel my strength fully recovered, I will go out with you to-morrow and help you look after this greedy bush-ranger."
The next day they went forth in company and arrived at a fine fresh-water lake. Gray Eagle seated himself hard by, while Peepi started out. The latter soon pounced upon a duck.
"Well done!" thought his brother, who saw his success; but just as little Peepi was getting to land with his prize, up sailed a large white owl from a tree where he, too, had been watching, and laid claim to it. He was on the point of wresting it from Peepi, when Gray Eagle, calling out to the intruder to stop, rushed up, fixed his talons in both sides of the owl, and without further introduction or ceremony flew away with him.
The little Pigeon-Hawk followed closely, with the duck under his wing, rejoiced and happy to think that he had something to carry home at last. He was naturally much vexed with the owl, and had no sooner delivered over the duck to the housekeeper, than he flew in the owl's face and, venting an abundance of reproaches, would have torn the very eyes out of the White Owl's head in his passion.
"Softly, Peepi," said the Gray Eagle, stepping in between them. "Don't be in such a huff, my little brother, or show so revengeful a temper. Do you not know that we are to forgive our enemies? White Owl, you may go; but let this be a lesson to you, not to play the tyrant over those who may chance to be weaker than yourself."
So, after adding to this much more good advice and telling him what kind of herbs would cure his wounds.
Gray Eagle dismissed White Owl, and the brothers sat down to supper.
The next day, betimes, before the household had fairly rubbed the cobwebs out of the corners of their eyes, there came a knock at the front door—which was a dry branch that lay down before the hollow of the tree in which they lodged—and being called to come in, who should make their appearance but the two nest-mates, who had just returned from the South where they had been wintering. There was great rejoicing over their return, and now that they were all happily reunited, each one soon chose a mate and began to keep house in the woods for himself.
Spring had now revisited the North. The cold winds had all blown themselves away, the ice had melted, the streams were open and smiled as they looked at the blue sky once more; and the forests, far and wide, in their green mantle, echoed every cheerful sound.
But it is in vain that spring returns, and that the heart of Nature is opened in bounty, if we are not thankful to the Master of Life, who has preserved us through the winter. Nor does that man answer the end for which he was made who does not show a kind and charitable feeling to all who are in want or sickness.
The love and harmony of Gray Eagle and his brothers continued. They never forgot each other. Every week, on the fourth afternoon of the week (for that was the time when they had found their wounded elder brother), they had a meeting in the hollow of the old sycamore tree, when they talked over family matters and advised with each other about their affairs, as brothers should.
5108Original
ONCE upon a time, all the people of a certain country had died, excepting two helpless children, a baby boy and a little girl.
When their parents died, these children were asleep. The little girl, who was the elder, was the first to awake. She looked around her, but seeing nobody but her little brother, who lay smiling in his dreams, she quietly resumed her bed.
At the end of ten days her brother moved, without opening his eyes.
At the end of ten days more he changed his position, lying on the other side, and in this way he kept on sleeping for a long time; and pleasant, too, must have been his dreams, for his little sister never looked at him that he was not quite a little heaven of smiles and flashing lights, which beamed about his head and filled the lodge with a strange splendor.
The girl soon grew to be a woman, but the boy increased in stature very slowly. It was a long time before he could even creep, and he was well advanced in years before he could stand alone. When he was able to walk, his sister made him a little bow and arrows, and hung around his neck a small shell, saying:
"You shall be called Dais-Imid, or He of the Little Shell."
Every day he would go out with his bow, shooting at the small birds. The first bird he killed was a tom-tit. His sister was highly pleased when he took it to her. She carefully prepared and stuffed it, and put it away for him.
The next day he killed a red squirrel. His sister preserved this, too. The third day he killed a partridge, and this they had for their evening meal.
After this he acquired more courage and would venture some distance from home. His skill and success daily increased, and he killed the deer, bear, moose, and other large animals inhabiting the forest.
At last, although so very small of stature, he became a great hunter, and all that he shot he brought home and shared with his sister; and whenever he entered the lodge, a light beamed about his head and filled the place with a strange splendor.
He had now arrived at the years of manhood, but he still remained a perfect infant in size.
One day, walking about in quest of game, he came to a small lake.
It was in the winter season; and upon the ice of the lake he saw a man of giant height, employed in killing beavers.
Comparing himself with this great man, he felt that he was no bigger than an insect. He seated himself on the shore and watched his movements.
When the large man had killed many beavers, he put them on a hand-sled which he had, and pursued his way home. When he saw him retire, the dwarf hunter followed, and, wielding his magic shell, he cut off the tail of one of the heavers and ran home with the prize.
The giant, on reaching his lodge with his sled-load of heavers, was surprised to find one of them shorn of its tail.
The next day the little hero of the shell went to the same lake. The giant, who had been busy there for some time, had already loaded his sled and commenced his return; but running nimbly forward and overtaking him, Dais-Imid succeeded in securing another of the heaver-tails.
"I wonder," said the giant, on reaching his lodge and overlooking his heavers, "what dog it is that has thus cheated me. Could I meet him, I would make his flesh quiver at the point of my javelin."
The giant forgot that he had taken without permission these very heavers out of a beaver-dam which belonged to the little shell-man and his sister.
The next day he pursued his hunting at the beaver-dam near the lake, and he was again followed by the little man with the shell.
This time the giant was so nimble in his movements that he had nearly reached home before Little Shell could overtake him; but making his best speed, he was just in time to clip another beaver's tail before the sled slipped into the lodge.
The giant would have been a patient giant, indeed, if his anger had not been violent at these constant tricks played upon him. What vexed him most, was, that he could not get sight of his enemy. Sharp eyes he would have needed to do so, inasmuch as He of the Little Shell had the gift of making himself invisible whenever he chose.
The giant, giving vent to his feelings with many loud rumbling words, looked sharply around to see whether he could discover any tracks. He could find none. The unknown had stepped too lightly to leave the slightest mark behind.
The next day the giant resolved to disappoint his mysterious follower by going to the beaver-dam very early; and accordingly, when Dais-Imid came to the place, he found the fresh traces of his work, but the giant had already gone away. He followed hard upon his tracks but failed to overtake him. When He of the Little Shell came in sight of the lodge, the stranger was in front of it, employed in skinning his beavers.
As Dais-Imid stood looking at him—he had been all this time invisible—he thought:
"I will let him have a view of me."
Presently the man, who proved to be no less a personage than the celebrated giant, Manabozho, looked up and saw him. After regarding him with attention, he said:
"Who are you, little man? I have a mind to kill you."
The little hero of the shell replied:
"If you were to try to kill me you could not do it."
With this speech of the little man, Manabozho grabbed at him; but when he thought to have had him in his hand, Little Shell was gone.
"Where are you now, little man?" cried Manabozho.
"Here, under your girdle," answered the shell-dwarf. At which giant Manabozho, thinking to crush him, slapped down his great hand with all his might; but on unloosing his girdle he was disappointed at finding no dwarf there.
"Where are you now, little man?" he cried again, in a greater rage than ever.
"In your right nostril!" the dwarf replied. Whereupon the giant Manabozho seized himself by the finger and thumb at the place, and gave it a violent tweak; but as he immediately heard the voice of the dwarf at a distance upon the ground, he was satisfied that he had only pulled his own nose to no purpose.
"Good-bye, Manabozho," said the voice of the invisible dwarf. "Count your beaver-tails, and you will find that I have taken another for my sister"; for He of the Little Shell never, in his wanderings or pastimes, forgot his sister and her wishes. "Good-bye, beaver-man!"
And as he went away he made himself visible once more, and a light beamed about his head and lit the air around him with a strange splendor; a circumstance which Manabozho, who was at times quite thick-headed and dull of apprehension, could in no way understand.
When Dais-Imid returned home, he told his sister that the time drew nigh when they must separate.
"I must go away," said Dais-Imid, "it is my fate. You, too," he added, "must go away soon. Tell me where you would wish to dwell."
She said, "I would like to go to the place of the breaking of daylight. I have always loved the East. The earliest glimpses of light are from that quarter, and it is to my mind the most beautiful part of the heavens. After I get there, my brother, whenever you see the clouds, in that direction, of various colors, you may think that your sister is painting her face."
"And I," said he, "I, my sister, shall live on the mountains and rocks. There I can see you at the earliest hour; there the streams of water run clear; the air is pure; and the golden lights will shine ever around my head. I shall ever be called 'Puck-Ininee, or the Little Wild Man of the Mountains.' But," he resumed, "before we part forever, I must go and try to find what manitoes rule the earth, and see which of them will be friendly to us."
He left his sister and traveled over the surface of the globe, and then went far down into the earth.
He had been treated well wherever he went. But at last he came to a giant manito, who had a large kettle which was forever boiling. The giant, who was a first cousin to Manabozho, and had already heard of the tricks which Dais-Imid had played upon his kinsman, regarded him with a stern look, and, catching him up in his hand, threw him unceremoniously into the kettle.
It was evidently the giant's intention to drown Dais-Imid. In this he was unsuccessful, for by means of his magic shell, little Dais, in less than a second's time, hailed the water to the bottom, leaped from the kettle, and ran away unharmed.
He returned to his sister and related his rovings and adventures. He finished his story by addressing her thus:
"My sister, there is a manito at each of the four corners of the earth. There is also one above them, far in the sky, a Great Being who assigns to you and to me and to all of us, where we must go. And last," he continued, "there is another and wicked one who lives deep down in the earth. It will be our lot to escape out of his reach. We must now separate. When the winds blow from the four corners of the earth, you must then go. They will carry you to the place you wish. I go to the rocks and mountains, where my kindred will ever delight to dwell."
Dais-Imid then took his hall-stick and commenced running up a high mountain; a bright light shone about his head all the way, and he kept singing as he went:
Blow, winds, blow! my sister lingers
For her dwelling in the sky,
Where the mom, with rosy fingers,
Shall her cheeks with vermil dye.
There my earliest views directed,
Shall from her their color take,
And her smiles, through clouds reflected,
Guide me on by wood or lake.
While I range the highest mountains,
Sport in valleys green and low,
Or, beside our Indian fountains,
Raise my tiny hip-hallo.
His voice rose faintly and more faint, and at last the maiden was alone.
But presently the winds blew, and, as Dais-Imid had predicted, his sister was borne by them to the eastern sky, where she has ever since lived, and her name is now the Morning Star.
5116Original
THERE once lived an Indian in the north who had ten daughters, all of whom grew up to womanhood. They were noted for their beauty, especially Oweenee, the youngest, who was very independent in her way of thinking. She was a great admirer of romantic places and spent much of her time with the flowers and winds and clouds in the open air. It mattered not to her that the flower was homely, if it was fragrant—that the winds were rough, if they were healthful—and that the clouds were dark, if they embosomed the fruitful rain; she knew how, in spite of appearances, to acknowledge the good qualities concealed from the eye.
Her elder sisters were all sought in marriage, and one after another went off to dwell in the lodges of their husbands. But Oweenee paid very little attention to the many handsome young men who came to her father's lodge for the purpose of seeing her. She was deaf to all proposals, till at last to the great surprise of her kinsfolk she married an old man called Osseo, who was scarcely able to walk, and who was too poor to have things like other people. The only property he owned in the world was the walking-staff which he carried in his hand. But though thus poor and homely, Osseo was a devout and good man, faithful in all his duties, and obedient in all things to the Good Spirit. Of course they jeered and laughed at Oweenee on all sides, but she seemed to be quite happy, and said to them:
"It is my choice and you will see in the end who has acted the wisest."
They made a special mock of the walking-staff, and scarcely an hour in the day passed that they had not some disparaging reference to make to it. Among themselves they spoke of "Osseo of the walking-staff," in derision, as one might speak of "the owner of the big woods," or "the great timberman."
"True," said Oweenee, "it is but a simple stick; but as it supports the steps of my husband, it is more precious to me than all the forests of the north."
A time came when the sisters and their husbands and their parents were all invited to a feast. As the distance was considerable, they doubted whether Osseo, so aged and feeble, would be able to undertake the journey; but in spite of their friendly doubts, he joined them and set out with a good heart.
As they walked along the path they could not help pitying their young and handsome sister who had such an unsuitable mate. She, however, smiled upon Osseo, and kept with him on the way the same as if he had been the comeliest bridegroom in all the company. Osseo often stopped and gazed upward; but the others could perceive nothing in the direction in which he looked, unless it was the faint glimmering of the evening star. They heard him muttering to himself as they went along, and one of the elder sisters caught the words:
"Pity me, my father!"
"Poor old man," said she, "he is talking to his father. What a pity it is that he would not fall and break his neck, that our sister might have a young husband."
Presently as they came to a great rock where Osseo had been used to breathe his morning and his evening prayer, the star emitted a brighter ray, which shone directly in his face. Osseo, with a sharp cry, fell trembling to the earth, where the others would have left him. But his good wife raised him up, whereupon he sprang forward on the path, and with steps light as the reindeer's he led the party, no longer decrepit and infirm, but a beautiful young man. All were delighted, but when they turned around to look for his wife, behold! she had become changed at the same moment into an aged and feeble woman, bent almost double, and walking with the staff which he had cast aside.
Osseo immediately joined her, and with looks of fondness and the tenderest regard bestowed on her every endearing attention, and constantly addressed her by the term of "De-ne-moosh-a," or "my sweetheart."
As they walked along, whenever they were not gazing fondly in each other's faces they bent their looks on heaven, and a light, as if of far-off stars, was in their eyes.
On arriving at the lodge of the hunter with whom they were to feast, they found the banquet ready, and as soon as their entertainer had finished his harangue—in which he told them his feasting was in honor of the Evening or Woman's Star—they began to partake of the portion dealt out to each one of the guests, according to age and character. The food was very delicious, and they were all happy but Osseo, who looked at his wife and then gazed upward, as if he were still looking into the substance of the sky. Then sounds were heard, as if from far-off voices in the air, and they became plainer and plainer, till he could clearly distinguish some of the words.
"My son, my son," said the voice, "I have seen your afflictions, and pity your wants. I come to call you away from a scene that is stained with blood and tears. The earth is full of sorrows. Wicked spirits, the enemies of mankind, walk abroad and lie in wait to ensnare the children of the sky. Every night they are lifting their voices to the Power of Evil, and every day they make themselves busy in casting mischief in the hunter's path. You have long been their victim, but you shall be their victim no more. The spell you were under is broken. Your evil genius is overcome. I have cast him down by my superior strength, and it is this strength I now exert for your happiness. Ascend, my son; ascend into the skies, and partake of the feast I have prepared for you in the stars, and bring with you those you love.
"The food set before you is enchanted and blessed. Fear not to partake of it. It is endowed with magic power to give immortality to mortals and to change men to spirits. Your bowls and kettles shall no longer be wood and earth. The one shall become silver, and the other pure gold. They shall shine like fire, and glisten like the most beautiful scarlet. Every maiden shall also change her state and looks, and no longer be doomed to laborious tasks. She shall put on the beauty of the star-light and become a shining bird of the air. She shall dance and not work. She shall sing, and not cry.
"My beams," continued the voice, "shine faintly on your lodge, but they have power to transform it into the lightness of the skies and decorate it with the colors of the clouds. Come, Osseo, my son, and dwell no longer on earth. Think strongly on my words and look steadfastly at my beams. My power is now at its height. Doubt not, delay not. It is the voice of the Spirit of the Evening Star that calls you away to happiness and celestial rest."
The words were clear to Osseo, but his companions thought them some far-off sounds of music, or birds singing in the woods. Very soon the lodge began to shake and tremble, and they felt it rising into the air. It was too late to run out, for they were already as high as the tops of the trees. Osseo looked around him as the lodge passed through the topmost boughs, and behold, their wooden dishes were changed into shells of a scarlet color, the poles of the lodge to glittering rods of silver, and the bark that covered them into the gorgeous wings of insects.
A moment more and his brothers and sisters, and their parents and friends, were transformed into birds of various plumage. Some were jays, some partridges and pigeons, and others gay singing birds, who hopped about displaying their many-colored feathers and singing songs of cheerful note.
But his wife, Oweenee, still kept her earthly garb and showed all the signs of extreme old age. He again cast his eyes in the direction of the clouds and uttered the peculiar cry which had given him the victory at the rock. In a moment the youth and beauty of his wife returned; her dingy garments assumed the shining appearance of green silk, and her staff was changed into a silver feather.
The lodge again shook and trembled, for they were now passing through the uppermost clouds, and they immediately afterward found themselves in the Evening Star, the residence of Osseo's father.
"My son," said the old man, "leave the cage of birds at the door of the lodge. Then enter, and I will inform you why you and your wife have been sent for."
Osseo obeyed, and then took his seat in the lodge.
"Pity was shown to you," resumed the King of the Star, "on account of the contempt of your wife's sisters, who laughed at her ill fortune and ridiculed you while you were under the power of that wicked spirit whom you overcame at the rock. That spirit lives in the next lodge, the small star you see on the left of mine. He has always felt envious of my family because we had greater power, and especially that we had committed to us the care of the female world. He failed in many attempts to destroy your brothers and sisters-in-law, but succeeded at last in transforming yourself and your wife into decrepit old persons. You must be careful and not let the light of his beams fall on you, while you are here, for therein lies the power of his enchantment. A ray of light is the bow and arrow he uses."
Osseo and Oweenee lived happy and contented in the parental lodge, and in the course of time had a son, who grew up rapidly and in the very likeness of Osseo himself. He was very quick and ready in learning everything that was done in his grandfather's dominions, but he wished also to learn the art of hunting, for he had heard that this was a favorite pursuit below. To gratify him, his father made him a bow and arrows and then let the birds out of the cage that he might practise shooting. In this pastime he soon became expert, and the very first day he brought down a bird; but when he went to pick it up, to his amazement it was a beautiful young woman, with the arrow sticking in her breast. It was one of his younger aunts.
The moment her blood fell upon the surface of that pure and spotless planet, the charm was dissolved. The boy immediately found himself sinking, although he was partly upheld by something like wings until he had passed through the lower clouds. He then suddenly dropped upon a high, breezy island in a large lake. He was pleased, on looking up, to see all his aunts and uncles following him in the form of birds, and he soon discovered the silver lodge descending with his father and mother, its waving tassels fluttering like so many insects' gilded wings. It rested on the loftiest cliffs of the island, and there they fixed their residence. They all resumed their natural shapes, but they were diminished to the size of fairies; and as a mark of homage to the King of the Evening Star, they never failed on every pleasant evening during the summer season to join hands and dance upon the top of the rocks. These rocks were quickly observed by the Indians to be covered, on moonlight evenings, with a larger sort of Ininees, or little men. They called them Mish-in-e-mok-in-ok-ong, or Little Spirits, and the island is named from them to this day.
Their shining lodge can be seen in the summer evenings, when the moon beams strongly on the pinnacles of the rocks; and the fishermen who go near those high cliffs at night have even heard the voices of the happy little dancers. And Osseo and his wife, as fondly attached to each other as ever, always lead the dance.