tell me of your adventures, and what strange lands you have been to
see. Let us pass the night together. I will tell you of my prowess and
exploits, and what I can perform. You shall do the same, and we will
amuse ourselves.”
He then drew from his sack a curiously-wrought antique pipe, and having
filled it with tobacco, rendered mild by an admixture of certain dried
leaves, he handed it to his guest.
When this ceremony was attended to, they began to speak.
“I blow my breath,” said the old man, “and the streams stand still. The
water becomes stiff and hard as clear stone.”
“I breathe,” said the young man, “and flowers spring up all over the
plains.”
“I shake my locks,” retorted the old man, “and snow covers the land. The
leaves fall from the trees at my command, and my breath blows them away.
The birds rise from the water and fly to a distant land. The animals hide
themselves from the glance of my eye, and the very ground where I walk
becomes as hard as flint.”
“I shake my ringlets,” rejoined the young man, “and warm showers of
soft rain fall upon the earth. The plants lift up their heads out of
the ground like the eyes of children glistening with delight. My voice
recalls the birds. The warmth of my breath unlocks the streams. Music
fills the groves wherever I walk, and all nature welcomes my approach.”
At length the sun begun to rise. A gentle warmth came over the place. The
tongue of the old man became silent. The robin and the bluebird began to
sing on the top of the lodge. The stream began to murmur by the door,
and the fragrance of growing herbs and flowers came softly on the vernal
breeze.
Daylight fully revealed to the young man the character of his
entertainer. When he looked upon him he had the visage of Peboan, the
icy old Winter-Spirit. Streams began to flow from his eyes. As the sun
increased he grew less and less in stature, and presently he had melted
completely away. Nothing remained on the place of his lodge-fire but
the miskodeed, a small white flower with a pink border, which the young
visitor, Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, placed in the wreath upon his
brow, as his first trophy in the North.