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GREAT good luck once happened to a young woman who was living all alone in the woods with nobody near her but her little dog; for she found fresh meat every morning at her door. She was much surprised and very curious to know who it was that supplied her. So she watched one morning, just as the sun had risen, and saw a handsome young man gliding away into the forest. Having seen her, he became her husband, and they had a son.
One evening not long after this, he did not return as usual from hunting. She waited till late at night, but he came not at all.
The next day she swung her child to sleep in its cradle, and then said to her dog, "Take care of your brother while I am gone, and when he cries, halloo for me."
The cradle was made of the finest wampum, and all its bandages and ornaments were of the same precious stuff.
After a short time, the woman heard the cry of the dog, and running home as fast as she could, she found her child gone, and the dog too. On looking around, she saw scattered upon the ground pieces of the wampum of her child's cradle, and she knew that the dog had been faithful and had striven his best to save the babe from being carried off.
Now the thief was an old woman from a distant country, called Mukakee Mindemoea, or the Toad-Woman. The mother hurried off at full speed in pursuit of her. As she flew along, she came from time to time to lodges inhabited by old women, who told her at what time the child-thief had passed; they also gave her shoes that she might follow on. A number of these old women seemed to be prophetesses, and knew what was to come long beforehand. Each of them would say to her that when she had arrived at the next lodge, she must set the toes of the moccasins they had given her pointing homeward, and that they would then return of themselves. The young woman was very careful to send back in this manner all the shoes she borrowed.
She thus followed in the pursuit, from valley to valley, and stream to stream, for many months and years, and at length came to the lodge of the last of the friendly old grandmothers, as they were called, who gave her final instructions how to proceed. She told the mother that she was near the place where her son was to be found; and she directed her to build a lodge of cedar-boughs hard by the old Toad-Woman's lodge, and to make a little bark dish, and to fill it with the juice of the wild grape.
"Then," she said, "your first child (meaning the dog) will come and find you out."
These directions the young woman followed just as they had been given to her, and in a short time she heard her son, now grown up, going out to hunt. The dog was following and she called out to him, "Pee-waubik—Spirit-Iron—Twee! Twee!"
The dog came into the lodge, and she set before him the dish of grape-juice.
"See, my child," she said, addressing him, "the pretty drink your mother gives you."
Spirit-Iron took a long draught, and immediately left the lodge with his eyes wide open; for this was the drink which teaches one to see the truth of things as they are. He rose up when he got into the open air, stood upon his hind-legs, and looked about.
"I see how it is," he said; and marching off, erect as a man, he sought out his young master.
Approaching him in great confidence, he bent down and whispered in his ear, having first looked cautiously around to see that no one was listening:
"This old woman here in the lodge is no mother of yours. I have found your real mother, and she is worth looking at. When we come back from our day's sport, I'll prove it to you."
They went out into the woods, and at the close of the afternoon they brought back a great spoil of meat of all kinds. Then the young man, as soon as he had laid aside his weapons, said to the old Toad-Woman, "Send some of the best of this meat to the stranger who has arrived lately."
The Toad-Woman answered, "No! Why should I send to her, the poor widow!" But the young man would not be refused; and at last the old Toad-Woman consented to take something and throw it down at the door.
"My son gives you this," she called out. But, being bewitched by Mukakee Mindemoea, the meat was so bitter and distasteful that the young woman immediately cast it out of the lodge after her.
In the evening the young man paid the stranger a visit at her lodge of cedar-houghs. She then told him that she was his real mother, and that he had been stolen away from her by the old Toad-Woman, who was a child-thief and a witch. As the young man appeared to doubt, she said to him: "Feign yourself sick when you go home to her lodge; and when the Toad-Woman asks what ails you, say that you wish to see your cradle; for your cradle was of wampum, and your faithful brother the dog, in striving to save you, tore off these pieces which I show you."
They were real wampum, white and blue, shining and beautiful; and the young man, placing them in his bosom, set off. He did not seem quite steady in his belief of the strange woman's story. But the dog, Spirit-Iron, taking his arm, kept close by his side and gave him many words of encouragement as they went along. They entered the lodge together; and the old Toad-Woman saw, from something in the dog's eye, that trouble was coming.
"Mother," said the young man, placing his hand to his head and leaning heavily upon Spirit-Iron, as if a sudden faintness had come upon him, "Why am I so different in looks from the rest of your children?"
"Oh," she answered, "there was a very bright, clear blue sky when you were born; that is the reason."
He seemed to be so very ill that the Toad-Woman at length asked what she could do for him. He said that nothing could do him good but the sight of his cradle. She ran immediately and brought a cedar cradle; but he said:
"That is not my cradle."
She went and got another of her own children's cradles, of which there were four; but he turned his head and said:
"That is not mine; I am as sick as ever."
When she had shown the four, and they had all been rejected, she at last produced the real cradle. The young man saw that it was of the same stuff as the wampum which he had in his bosom. He could even see the marks of the teeth of Spirit-Iron left upon the edges, where he had taken hold, striving to hold it back. So he had no doubt, now, which was his mother.
To get free of the old Toad-Woman, it was necessary that the young man should kill a fat bear; and, being directed by Spirit-Iron, who was very wise in such a matter, he secured the fattest in all that country. Having stripped a tall pine of all its bark and branches, he perched the carcass in the top, with its head to the east and its tail due west. Then returning to the lodge, he informed the old Toad-Woman that the fat hear was ready for her, but that to get it she would have to go very far, even to the end of the earth. She answered:
"It is not so far but that I can get it!" For of all things in the world, a fat bear was the delight of the old Toad-Woman.
She at once set forth; and she was no sooner out of sight than the young man and his dog, Spirit-Iron, blew a strong breath in the face of the Toad-Woman's four children (who were all bad spirits, or bear-fiends), and so put out their life. Then setting them up by the side of the door, they thrust a piece of the white bear-fat in each of their mouths.
The Toad-Woman spent a long time in finding the bear which she had been sent after, and she made at least five and twenty attempts before she was able to climb to the carcass. She slipped down three times where she went up once. But at last she succeeded and returned with the great bear on her back. As she drew near her lodge she was astonished to see the four children standing up by the door-posts with the fat in their mouths. She was angry with them, and called out:
"Why do you thus insult the pomatum of your brother?"
She was still more angry when they made no answer to her complaint; but when she found that they were stark dead and had been placed in this way to mock her, her fury was very great indeed. She ran after the tracks of the young man and his mother as fast as she could; so fast, indeed, that she was on the very point of overtaking them, when the dog, Spirit-Iron, coming close up to his master, whispered to him—"Snake-berry!"
"Let the snakeberry spring up to detain her!" cried out the young man. And immediately the berries spread for a long distance like scarlet all over the path, and the old Toad-Woman, who was almost as fond of these berries as she was of fat bears, could not avoid stooping down to pick and eat.
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The old Toad-Woman was very anxious to get forward, but the snakeberry-vines kept spreading out on every side; and they grew and grew, and spread and spread. And to this day the wicked old Toad-Woman is busy picking the berries. She will never be able to get beyond to the other side, to disturb the happiness of the young hunter and his mother, who still live, with their faithful dog, in the shadow of the beautiful wood-side where they were born.
AN old man had an only son, named Iadilla, who had come to that age when it is thought to be time for a boy to make the long and final fast which is to secure through life a guardian genius or spirit. The father was ambitious that his son should surpass all others in whatever was deemed wisest and greatest among his people. He thought it necessary that the young Iadilla, to do this, should fast a much longer time than any of those renowned for their power or wisdom. The father therefore directed his son to prepare with great ceremony for the important event. First he was to go several times to the sweating-lodge and bath, which were to prepare and purify him for communion with his good spirit. Then he was to lie down upon a clean mat in a little lodge expressly provided for him. He was especially enjoined, at the same time, to endure his fast like a man, and promised that at the end of twelve days he should receive food and the blessing of his father.
The lad carefully observed these commands, and lay with his face covered, calmly awaiting the approach of the spirit which was to decide his good or evil fortune for all the days of his life.
Every morning his father came to the door of the little lodge and encouraged him to persevere, dwelling at length on the vast honor and renown that must ever attend him, should he accomplish the full term of trial allotted to him.
To these glowing words of promise and glory the boy never replied, but he lay without the least sign of discontent or murmuring until the ninth day, when he addressed his father as follows:
"My father, my dreams forbode evil. May I break my fast now, and at a more favorable time make a new fast?"
The father answered:
"My son, you know not what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory will depart. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but three days more, and your term will be completed. You know it is for your own good, and I encourage you to persevere. Shall not your aged father live to see you a star among the chieftains and the beloved of battle?"
The son assented; and covering himself more closely, that he might shut out the light which prompted him to complain, he lay till the eleventh day, when he repeated his request.
The father addressed Iadilla as he had the day before, and promised that he would himself prepare his first meal and bring it to him by the dawn of the next morning.
The son moaned, and the father added:
"Will you bring shame upon your father when he is is falling in the west?"
"I will not shame you, my father," replied Iadilla; he lay so still and motionless that you could only know that he was living by the gentle heaving of his chest.
At the spring of day, the father, delighted at having gained his end, prepared a repast for his son and hastened to set it before him. But on coming to the door of rhe little lodge, he was surprised to hear his son talking to himself. He stooped his ear to listen, and, looking through a small opening, was yet more astonished when he beheld his son painted with vermillion over all his breast. He was just in the act of finishing his work by laying on the paint as far back on his shoulders as he could reach, saying at the same time to himself: "My father has destroyed my fortune as a man. He would not listen to my requests. He has urged me beyond my tender strength. He will be the loser. I shall be forever happy in my new state, for I have been obedient to my parent. He alone will be the sufferer, for my guardian spirit is a just one. Though not propitious to me in the manner I desired, he has shown me pity in another way—he has given me another shape; and now I must go."
At this moment the old man broke in, exclaiming:
"My son! my son! I pray you leave me not!"
But the young man, with the quickness of a bird, had flown to the top of the lodge and perched himself on the highest pole, having been changed into a beautiful robin red-breast. He looked down upon his father with pity beaming in his eyes, and addressed him as follows:
"Regret not, my father, the change you behold. I shall be happier in my present state than I could have been as a man. I shall always be the friend of men and keep near their dwellings. I shall ever be happy and contented; and although I could not be a mighty warrior as you wished, it will be my daily aim to make you amends for it as a harbinger of peace and joy. I will cheer you by my songs and strive to inspire in others the joy and lightsomeness of heart I feel in my present state. This will be some compensation to you for the loss of glory you expected. I am now free from the cares and pains of human life. My food is spontaneously furnished by the mountains and fields, and my path of fife is in the bright air."
Then stretching himself on his toes, as if delighted with the gift of wings, Iadilla carolled one of his sweetest songs and flew away into a neighboring wood.
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THERE was an old man living in the depth of a forest with his grandson, whom he had taken in charge when quite an infant. The child had no parents, brothers, or sisters; they had all been destroyed by six large giants, and he was informed that he had no other relative living besides his grandfather. The band of Indians to whom he had belonged had put up their children on a wager in a race against those of the giants, and had thus lost them. But there was an old tradition in the tribe, that one day it would produce a great man, who would wear a white feather, and who would astonish every one by his feats of skill and bravery.
The grandfather, as soon as the child could play about, gave him a bow and arrows to amuse himself with. He went into the edge of the woods one day and saw a rabbit; but not knowing what it was, he ran home and described it to his grandfather, who told him that its flesh was good to eat, and that if he would shoot one of his arrows into its body he would kill it. The boy went out again and brought home the little animal, which he asked his grandfather to boil, that they might feast on it. The old man humored the boy in this and encouraged him to go on acquiring the knowledge of hunting, until he could kill deer and the larger kinds of game. And thus he became, as he grew up, an expert hunter.
As they lived alone, and away from other Indians, the curiosity of the stripling was excited to know what was passing in the world. One day he came to the edge of a prairie, where he saw ashes like those at his grandfather's lodge, and lodge-poles left standing. He returned and inquired whether his grandfather had put up the poles and made the fire.
"No," answered the old man, "nor do I believe that you have seen anything of the kind; you must have lost your sense to be thinking of such things."
Another day the youth went out to see what there was, within a day's hunt, that was curious; and on entering the woods he heard a voice calling out to him:
"Come here, you who are destined to wear the White Feather. You do not wear it, yet, but you are worthy of it. Return home and take a short nap. You will dream of hearing a voice, which will tell you to rise and smoke. You will see in your dream a pipe, a smoking-sack, and a large white feather. When you awake you will find these articles. Put the feather on your head, and you will become a great hunter, a great warrior, and a great man, able to do anything. As a proof that these things shall come to pass, when you smoke, the smoke will turn into pigeons."
The voice then informed the youth who he was, and made known the character of his grandfather, who was imposing upon him to serve his own ends.
The voice-spirit then caused a vine to be laid at his side, and told him that he was now of an age to avenge the wrongs of his kindred.
"When you meet your enemy," the spirit added, "you will run a race with him. He will not see the vine, because it is enchanted. While you are running, you will throw it over his head and entangle him, so that you will win the race."
Long before this speech was ended the youth had turned to the quarter from which the voice proceeded, and was astonished to behold a man; as yet he had never seen any human being besides his grandfather.
As he looked more keenly, he saw that this man, who had the looks of great age, was wood from the breast downward, and that he appeared to be fixed in the earth. As the youth's eye dwelt upon this strange being, the countenance by degrees faded away, and when he advanced to the spot whence it had addressed him, it was gone.
He returned home; slept, and in the midst of his slumbers, as from the hollow of the air, heard the voice; wakened and found the promised gifts. It was all just as the old man had said. The grandfather on awakening was greatly surprised to find the youth with a white feather on his forehead, and to see flocks of pigeons flying out of the lodge. He then remembered the old tradition, and knowing that now the day had come when he should lose control of his charge, he bitterly bewailed the hour.
Possessed of his three magic gifts, the young man departed the next morning, to seek his enemies and to demand revenge.
The six giants lived in a very high lodge in the middle of a wood. He traveled on with good heart till he reached this lodge, where he found that his coming had been made known by the little spirits who carry the news. The giants hastened out and gave a cry of joy as they saw him drawing near. "When he approached within hail, they began to make sport of him, saying:
"Here comes the little man with the white feather, who is to achieve such wonderful wonders."
When, however, he had arrived among them, they spoke him fair, saying he was a brave man and would do brave things. Their object was to encourage him, so that he would be bold to engage in some foolhardy trial of strength.
Without paying much heed to their fine speeches, White Feather went fearlessly into their lodge; and without waiting for invitation, he challenged them to a foot-match. They agreed; and by way of being easy at first, told him to begin the race with the smallest of their number.
The point to which they were to run was a peeled tree toward the rising sun, and then back to the starting-place, which was a war-club of iron. Whoever won this stake was empowered to use it in despatching the defeated champion. If White Feather should overcome the first giant, he was to try the second, and so on, until they had all measured speed with him. To this the giants agreed without a thought that he would survive the first trial. But White Feather feared nothing and, by a dexterous use of the vine, gained the race, struck down his competitor, and cut off his head.
The next morning he raced with the second giant, whom he also outran, killed and beheaded.
He went on in this way for five mornings, always conquering by the aid of his vine, and lopping off the heads of the vanquished.
Finally the last of the giants who was yet to run with him acknowledged his power, but prepared secretly to deceive him. By way of parley, he proposed that White Feather should leave the heads with him, and offered to give him a handsome start for odds. This White Feather declined, as he preferred to keep the heads as trophies of his victory.
On his way to the giant's lodge the sixth morning, White Feather met his old counsellor in the woods. He was standing rooted in the earth, as before. He told White Feather that he was about to give him a word of warning.
"On your way this morning," he said, "you will meet the most beautiful woman in the world, but do not trust her or pay the least attention to her. As soon as you catch her eye you must wish yourself changed into an elk. The change will take place immediately. Do not look at her again."
White Feather thanked his kind adviser, who even as he spoke was disappearing as before, then proceeded toward the lodge. He had not gone far before he met the maiden, who was, indeed, as lovely as the morning's light. This was White Feather's first sight of a maiden, and he was greatly disposed to linger. But remembering the counsellor's words, he lost no time in becoming an elk. At this the maiden began to reproach him that he had cast aside the form of a man so that he might avoid her.
"I have traveled a great distance," she said, "to see you and to become your wife; for I have heard of your great achievements and admire you very much."
Now this woman was the sixth giant, who had assumed this disguise to entrap White Feather. But without a suspicion of her real character, her reproaches and her beauty affected him so deeply that he wished himself a man again, and at once resumed his natural shape. Then they sat down and began to talk together.
Soothed by her smiles and gracious manner, he laid his head on her lap, and in a little while fell into a deep slumber.
Even then, such was her fear of White Feather, she doubted whether his sleep might not be feigned. To assure herself she pushed his head aside, and seeing that he remained unconscious, she quickly assumed the form of the sixth giant. He took the plume from the brow of White Feather and placed it upon his own head. Then with a sudden blow of his war-club the giant changed White Feather into a dog, in which form he followed his enemy to the lodge.
While these things were passing, there were living in an Indian village at some distance two sisters, the daughters of a chief. These sisters were rivals, and they were at that very time fasting to acquire power for enticing the wearer of the white feather to visit their lodge. They each secretly hoped to win his love, and each had built a lodge on the border of the village encampment.
The giant, knowing this and having become possessed of the magic plume, went immediately to visit them. As he approached, the sisters, who were on the look-out at their lodge-doors, espied and recognized the feather.
The elder sister had prepared her lodge with great show, and all the finery she could command, so as to attract the eye. The younger touched nothing in her lodge, but left it in its ordinary state.
The elder went out to meet the giant and invited him in. He accepted her invitation and made her his wife. The younger sister invited the enchanted dog into her lodge, prepared him a good supper and a neat bed, and treated him with much attention.
The giant, supposing that whoever possessed the white feather possessed also all its virtues, went out upon the prairie to hunt, hallooing aloud to the game to come and be killed; but the great hubbub he kept up scared them away, and he returned at night with nothing but himself; for he had shouted so lustily all day long that he had been obliged to leave even the mighty halloo behind.
The dog went out the same day hunting upon the banks of a river. He stole quietly along to a certain spot, and stepping into the water drew out a stone, which instantly became a beaver.
The next day the giant followed the dog, and hiding behind a tree, watched the manner in which the dog hunted in the river and drew out a stone, which at once turned into a beaver.
"Ah, ha!" said the giant to himself, "I will catch some beaver for myself."
So as soon as the dog had left the place, the giant went to the river, and, imitating the dog, drew out a stone. He was delighted to see it change into a fine fat beaver as soon as it touched the land.
Tying it to his belt he hastened home, shouting a good deal and brandishing the white feather about, as if he were prepared now to show them what he could do when he once tried. And when he reached home he threw the beaver down, as is the custom, at the door of the lodge before he entered.
After being seated a short time, he gave a dry cough and bade his wife bring in his hunting girdle. She made despatch to obey him and presently returned with the girdle, with nothing tied to it but a stone.
The next day the dog, finding that his method of catching beavers had been discovered, went to a wood at some distance and broke off a charred limb from a burned tree. This limb instantly became a bear. The giant, who appeared to have lost faith in his hullaba-looing, again watched him, did exactly as the dog had done, and carried a bear home; but his wife, when she came to go out for it, found nothing but a black stick tied to his belt.
And so it happened with everything. Whatever the dog undertook, prospered; whatever the giant attempted, failed. And even his brave halloo had now died away to a feeble chirp. Every day the younger sister had reason to be more proud of the poor dog she had asked into her lodge, and every day the elder sister was made more aware that, though she had married the white feather, the virtues of the magic plume were not the personal property of the noisy giant.
At last the wife determined that she would go to her father and make known to him what a valuable husband she had, and how he furnished her lodge with a great abundance of sticks and stones, which he would pass upon her for bear and beaver. So, when her husband had started for the hunt, she set out.
As soon as these two had gone away from the neighborhood, the dog made signs to his mistress to sweat him after the manner of the Indians. He had always been a good dog, and she was willing to oblige him. She accordingly made a lodge just large enough for him to creep in. She then put in heated stones and poured water upon them, raising a vapor that filled the lodge and searched with its warmth to the very heart's core of the enchanted dog.
When this had been kept up for the customary time, the enchanted dog was completely sweated away, and out came in his stead a very handsome young man. But unhappily he was without the power of speech. In taking away the form of the dog, it appears that the sweating-lodge had also carried off his voice with it.
Meantime the elder sister had reached her father's lodge and had told him with much circumstance and a very long face how her sister was supporting an idle dog, and entertaining him as her husband. In her anxiety to make known her sister's affairs and the great scandal she was bringing upon the family, the elder sister forgot to say anything of the sticks and stones which her own husband brought home for bears and beavers. The old man listening to his daughter and suspecting that there was magic about, sent a deputation of young men and women to ask his younger daughter to come to him and to bring her dog along with her. When the deputation reached the lodge, they were surprised to find in the place of the dog a fine young man; and on announcing their message, they all returned to the old chief, who was no less surprised at the change.
He immediately assembled all the old and wise beads of the nation to come and be witnesses to the exploits which it was reported that the young man could perform. The sixth giant, although neither very old nor very wise, thrust himself in among the relations of the old chief.
When they were all assembled and seated in a circle, the old chief took his pipe and filled it, and passed it to the Indians around, to see if anything would happen when they smoked. They passed it on until it came to the Dog, who made a sign that it should be handed first to the giant, and this was done. And the giant puffed with all his might, and shook the white feather upon his head, and swelled his chest; but nothing came of it, except a great deal of smoke. The Dog then took it himself. He made a sign to them to put the white feather upon his head. This was no sooner done than he recovered his speech, and, beginning to draw upon the pipe at the same moment, behold! immense flocks of white and blue pigeons rushed from the smoke.
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Then White Feather, at the request of the company, faithfully recounted his history, and the sixth giant was known for what he was. So the old chief, who was a magician too, ordered that he should be transformed into a dog and turned into the middle of the village, where the boys could pelt him to death with clubs. This being done, the whole six giants were at an end, and never troubled that neighborhood again, forever after.
The chief then gave out a further command, at the request of White Feather, that all the young men should employ themselves four days in making arrows. White Feather also asked for a buffalo robe. This he cut into thin shreds, and in the night went secretly and sowed them about the prairie in every direction.
At the end of the four days he invited the young men to gather together all of their arrows and to accompany him to a buffalo hunt. When they got out upon the prairie, they found it covered with a great herd of buffalos. Of these they killed as many as they pleased, and afterward they had a grand festival in honor of White Feather's triumph over the giants.
All this being pleasantly over, White Feather got his wife to ask her father's permission to go with him on a visit to his grandfather. The old chief replied that a woman must follow her husband into whatever quarter of the world he may choose to go.
So bidding farewell to all his friends, White Feather placed the plume in his frontlet, took his war-club in his hand, and led the way into the forest, followed by his faithful wife.
ON a certain afternoon the sun was falling in the west, and in the midst of the ruddy silence a solitary lodge stood on the banks of a remote lake. One sound only broke in the least degree the forest stillness—the low breathing of the dying inmate of the lodge, who was the head of a poor family. His wife and children surrounded the buffalo robe on which he lay. Of the children, two were almost grown up—a daughter and a son; the other was a boy, and a mere child in years.
All the skill of the household in simple medicines was exhausted, and they stood watching now, awaiting the departure of the spirit. As one of the last acts of kindness, the skin door of the lodge had been thrown back to admit the fresh air of the evening. The poor man felt a momentary return of strength, and raising himself a little, he addressed his family:
"I leave you," he said, "in a world of care, in which it has required all my strength and skill to supply you food, and to protect you from the storms and cold of a harsh climate."
He cast his eyes upon his wife, and continued: "For you, my partner in life, I have less sorrow, because I am persuaded you will not remain long behind me; but you, my children! my poor and forsaken children, who have just begun the career of life! Who will shelter you from calamity? Listen to my words. Unkindness, ingratitude, and every wickedness are in the outside world. It was for this that years ago I withdrew from my kindred and my tribe to spend our days in this lonely spot. I have contented myself with the company of your mother and yourselves, during seasons of very frequent scarcity and want, while your kindred, feasting in plenty, have caused the forests to echo with the shouts of successful war. I gave up these things for the enjoyment of peace. I wished to hide you away from the bad examples which would have spoiled your innocence. I have seen you, thus far, grow up in purity of heart. If we have sometimes suffered bodily want, we have escaped pain of mind. We have not been compelled to look on or to take a part with the red hand in scenes of rioting and bloodshed. My path now stops. I have arrived at the brink of the world. I will shut my eyes in peace if you, my children, will promise me to cherish each other. Let not your mother suffer during the few days that are left to her; and I charge you, on no account, to forsake your younger brother. Of him I give you both my dying command to have a tender care."
He spoke no more, and as the sun fell out of view the light had gone from his face. The family stood still, as if they expected to hear something further; but when they came to his side and called him by name, his spirit did not answer. It was in another world.
The mother and daughter lamented aloud, but the elder son clothed himself in a mantle of silence and took his course as though nothing had occurred. He exerted himself to supply, with his bow and net, the wants of the little household, but he never made mention of his father.
Five moons had filled and waned, and the sixth was near its full, when the mother also died. In her last moments she begged them to fulfil their father's wish.
The winter passed, and the spring, sparkling in the clear northern air, cheered the spirits of the lonely little people in the lodge.
The girl, being the eldest, directed her brothers, and she seemed to feel a tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, who was slight of frame and of a delicate temper. The other boy soon began to break forth with restless speeches, which showed that his spirit was not at ease. One day he addressed his sister as follows:
"My sister, are we always to live as if there were no other human beings in the world? Must I deprive myself of the pleasure of mingling with my own kind? I have determined this question for myself. I shall seek the villages of men, and you can not prevent me."
The sister replied:
"I do not say no, my brother, to what you desire; we are not forbidden the society of our fellow mortals, but we are told to cherish each other, and to do nothing that shall not be agreeable to all our little household. Neither pleasure nor pain ought, therefore, to separate us, especially from our younger brother, who, being but a child and weakly withal, is entitled to a double share of our affection. If we follow our separate fancies, it will surely make us neglect him, whom we are bound to support by vows both to our father and mother."
The young man received this address in silence, still took his course as though nothing out of the ordinary way had occurred, and after a while seemed to recover his spirits. Now as they lived in a large country, where there were open fields, the two brothers often amused themselves in playing ball. One afternoon Owasso, the elder brother, chose the ground near to a beautiful lake, and they played and laughed with great spirit, and the ball was seldom allowed to touch the ground.
In this lake there happened to harbor a wicked old Manito, Mishosha by name. He looked at the brothers as they played and was vastly pleased with their nimbleness and beauty. He thought to himself, "What shall I do to get these lads to accompany me? I know—one of them shall hit the ball sideways and it shall fall into my canoe."
It so happened, and it somehow seemed as if Owasso had purposely given the ball that direction. But when he saw the old man, he professed to be greatly surprised, as the other, Sheem by name, was in truth, for he had not noticed the old Manito before.
"Bring the ball to us," they both cried ont. "Come to the shore."
"No," answered the old magician. He, however, came near enough for either of them to wade out to him. "Come, come," he said. "Come and get your ball."
They insisted that he should come ashore, but this he sturdily declined to do.
"Very well," said Owasso, "I will go and get it." And he ran into the water. "Hand it to me," he said, when he had approached near enough to receive it.
"Ha!" answered the Manito, "reach over and get it yourself."
Owasso was about to grasp the ball, when the old magician suddenly seized him and pushed him into the boat.
"My grandfather," said Owasso, "pray take my little brother also. Alone I can not go with you; he will starve if I leave him."
Mishosha only laughed at him. He then uttered the charmed words, "Chemaun Poll!" and gave his canoe a slap, whereupon it glided through the water with the swiftness of an arrow without further help.
In a short time they reached the magician's lodge, which stood upon the further shore a little distance back from the lake. The two daughters of Mishosha were seated within.
"My daughter," the magician said to the eldest, as they entered the lodge, "I have brought you a husband."
The young woman smiled; for Owasso was a comely youth to look upon. The magician told him to take his seat near her, and by this act the marriage ceremony was completed. Owasso and the magician's daughter were now man and wife, and in the course of time a son was born to them.
But no sooner was Owasso in the family than the old Manito wished him out of the way, and went about in his own wicked fashion to compass it.
One day he asked his son-in-law to go out a-fishing with him. They started without delay; for the magician had only to speak, and oft went the canoe. Soon they reached a solitary bay in an island, a very dark, lonely, and out-of-the-way place. The Manito advised Owasso to spear a large sturgeon that came alongside, which with its great glassy eye turned up seemed to recognize the magician. Owasso rose in the boat to dart his spear, and by speaking that moment to his canoe, Mishosha shot forward in it and hurled his son-in-law headlong into the water. Leaving him to struggle for himself, the old magician was soon out of sight.
Meanwhile Owasso, being himself gifted with certain limited magical powers, spoke to the fish and bade him swim toward the lodge, then grabbing hold of the tail, he was carried along at great speed. Once he directed the sturgeon to rise near the surface of the water, so that he might, if possible, get a view of the magician. The fish obeyed, and Owasso saw the wicked old Manito busy in another direction, fishing, as unconcerned as though he had not just lost a member of his family.
On went the fish, and on went Owasso, till they reached the shore, near the magician's lodge. He then spoke kindly to the sturgeon and told him he should not be angry at having been speared, as he was created to be meat for man. The sturgeon made no reply, or if he did, it has not been reported; and Owasso, drawing the fish on shore, went up and told his wife to dress and cook it immediately. By the time it was prepared the magician had come in sight.
"Your grandfather has arrived," said the woman to her son; "go and see what he brings, and eat this as you go"—handing him a piece of the fish.
The boy went, and the magician no sooner saw him with the fish in his hand, than he asked him, "What are you eating? Who brought it?"
The boy replied, "My father brought it."
The magician began to feel uneasy, for he saw that he had been outwitted. He put on a grave face, however, and entering the lodge, acted as if nothing unusual had happened.
Some days after this, Mishosha again requested his son-in-law to accompany him; and Owasso, without hesitation, said "Yes!"
They went out and quickly arrived at a solitary island, which was no more than a heap of high and craggy rocks.
The magician said to Owasso, "Go on shore, my son, and pick up all the gulls' eggs you can find."
The rocks were strewn with eggs, and the air resounded with the cry of the birds as they saw them gathered up by Owasso.
The old magician took the opportunity to speak to the gulls.
"I have long wished," he said, "to offer you something. I now give you this young man for food."
He then uttered the charm to his canoe, and it shot out of sight, leaving Owasso to make his peace the best way he could.
The gulls flew in immense numbers around, all ready to devour him, but Owasso did not lose his presence cf mind. He addressed them and said:
"Gulls, you know you were not formed to eat human flesh, nor was man made to be the prey of birds. Obey my words. Fly close together, a sufficient number of you, and carry me on your backs to the magician's lodge."