One day little Luke heard Old John the Indian speak of redbreast as
Little Brother O-pee-chee. He wanted to ask the old man about the name,
but did not get a chance. So the next morning he went down to the apple
tree in the meadow and asked Father Redbreast about it.
"That," answered redbreast, "is an old tale which both the Red Men and
our people know. According to the story, the first redbreast was an
Indian boy, and that is why he calls us Little Brothers."
"Tell me about it," said the little boy.
* * * * *
"Long, long ago," began Father Redbreast, "there was a tribe of Indians
which dwelt in the distant Northland. Their chief, who was a wise man
and a brave warrior, had an only child, a little son. The boy was a
bright little fellow, but not very strong. Somehow he was not so big and
hardy as the other Indian boys. But his father loved him more than
anything else in the world and wanted him to become the wisest man and
the greatest warrior of his tribe.
"'My son,' said the old chief one day, 'you are about to become a
warrior. You know the custom of our tribe. You must go apart and fast
for a long time. The longer you fast, the greater and wiser you will
become. I want you to fast longer than any other Indian has ever fasted.
If you do this, the Good Man-i-to, the Master of Life, will come to you
in a dream and tell you what you must do to become wise in council and
brave, strong, and skillful in war.'
"'Father,' said the boy, 'I will do whatever you bid me. But I fear that
I am not able to do what you wish.'
"'Make your heart strong,' answered the father, 'and all will be well.
Most of the young men fast only four or five days. I want you to fast
for twelve days, then you will have strong dreams. Now I will go into
the forest and build your fasting lodge for you. Make yourself ready,
for to-morrow you must begin your fast.'
"The little boy said no more and on the morrow his father took him to
the fasting lodge and left him there. The boy stretched himself upon a
mat, which his mother had made for him, and lay still.
"Each day the old chief went and looked at his son and asked him about
his dreams. Each time the boy answered that the Man-i-to had not come.
"Day by day the boy became weaker and weaker. On the eleventh day he
spoke to his father.
"'Oh, my father,' said he, 'I am not strong enough to fast longer. I am
very weak. The Man-i-to has not come to me. Let me break my fast.'
"'You are the son of a great warrior,' said the father sternly; 'make
your heart strong. Yet a little while and the Man-i-to will surely come
to you. Perhaps he will come to-night.'
"The boy shook his head sadly and his father went back to his wigwam.
"The next day when he drew near to the fasting lodge, he heard someone
talking within it.
"'My father has asked too much,' said a voice which sounded like, and
yet unlike, the voice of his son. 'I am not strong enough. He should
have waited until I became older and stronger. Now I shall die.'
"'It was not the will of the Man-i-to,' said another voice, 'that you
should become a great warrior. But you shall not die. From this time you
shall be a bird. You shall fly about in the free air. No longer shall
you suffer the pain and sorrow which fall to the lot of men.'
"The old chief could wait no longer. He opened the door of the lodge and
looked within. No one was there, only a brown bird with a gray breast
flew out of the door and perched upon a branch above his head.
"The old chief was very sad, but the bird spoke to him and said, 'Do not
mourn for me, my father, for I am free from pain and sorrow. It was not
the will of the Man-i-to that I should become the greatest warrior of
the tribe. But because I was obedient to you and did the best I could,
he has changed me into a bird.
"'From this time, as long as the world shall last, I shall be the friend
of man. When the cold winds blow and ice covers the streams, I shall go
away to the warm land of the South. But in the spring, when the snows
begin to melt, I shall return. And when the children hear my voice, they
shall be happy, knowing that the long, cold winter is over. Do not mourn
for me, my father. Farewell!'
"Ever since then, when the Indian children hear a robin singing, they
say, 'There is O-pee-chee, the bird that was once an Indian boy.' And no
Indian boy ever hurts a robin."
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