grew into plants, there would be enough to go more than twice round the
world. No wonder it has spread all over the country.
TALE 34
Jack-in-the-Pulpit
Once upon a time there was a missionary named the Rev. John T. Arum, who
set out to preach to the Indians. He had a good heart but a bitter,
biting tongue. He had no respect for the laws of the Indians, so they
killed him, and buried him in the woods. But out of his grave came a new
and wonderful plant, shaped like a pulpit, and right in the middle of
it, as usual, was the Reverend Jack hard at it, preaching away.
If you dig down under the pulpit you will find the preacher's body, or
his heart, in the form of a round root. Taste it and you will believe
that the preacher had a terribly biting tongue, but treat it properly,
that is boil it, and you will find out that after all he had a good
little heart inside. Even the Indians have discovered his good qualities
and have become very fond of him.
TALE 35
How the Indian Pipe Came
[Illustration: How the Indian Pipe Came]
In the last tale you learned the fate of the Rev. John T. Arum, and the
origin of Jack-in-the-Pulpit. But you must not suppose for a moment that
the Indians decided in a hurry to kill the missionary. No, they had too
much sense of fair play for that. They held a great many councils first
to find some way of curbing his tongue, and making him mind his own
business. In fact, they got into the habit of holding a council every
few minutes to discuss the question, no matter where they were or what
else they were doing. So that pretty nearly every part of the woods was
in time used for a council ring to discuss the fate of the Rev. John T.
Arum.
Of course, you know that no Indian can hold a council without smoking
the Peace Pipe, and when the council is over, he empties out the ashes
of the pipe. So that when all those councils were over, when the matter
was settled, when the missionary was buried, and when the warrior had
gone to the ghost land, there came solemnly poking its white bowl and
stem from under the leaves an Indian pipe, at the very spot where the
Councillors had emptied the ashes. It is a beautifully shaped pipe, with
a curved and feathered stem, but it has none of the bright colours of
the old Peace Pipe. It cannot have them for this is only a ghost Pipe to
show where the council used to be; and one pipe there is for each
council held on that spot, so you see how many, many councils the
Indians had, before they killed the troublesome preacher. And sometimes
you can find a pipe that has the bowl still filled with ghost tobacco or
even a little red ghost fire, showing that the warriors had to hurry
away before that council was finished. Whenever you find the ghost pipe
in the woods, you are sure to see close by either a log, a bank or a
rock on which the Councillors sat to talk it over.
TALE 36
The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella
The Indians had Brownies, only they called them Pukwudjies, and I am
going to tell you a story of an Indian Brownie.
[Illustration: The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella]
Whenever the Indians got together for a council, the Brownies did the
same thing, in the woods near by. It was a kind of Brownie Fair, and
some of the little people used to have stands and sell refreshments.
Berries were scarce in the springtime, but the Brownies were very fond
of cucumber. So there were always one or two Cucumber Brownies, who set
up their little umbrellas, and sold slices of Cucumber to the others.
When it was time to go home, or when the sun got so hot that the
cucumbers were likely to spoil, they would bury them in the ground, but
leave the umbrella to mark the place. And there they are yet; many a
time have I found the umbrella, and dug under it to find the cucumber.
It is delicious eating; everything that Brownies like is. You can find
it, and try it. It is one of the things that Monapini taught Ruth
Pilgrim to eat. (Tale 18).
Of course, the Brownies do not like you to dig up their treasure or
good-to-eats, but there are plenty more, far more than they ever need.
"Yet what about it," you say, "if the Brownie happens to be there?"
He may be sitting right under the umbrella, but remember the little
people are invisible to our eyes. You will not see him; at least I never
did.
TALE 37
The Hickory Horn-devil
Hush, whisper! Did you ever meet a Hickory Horn-devil? No! Well I did,
and I tell you he is a terror. Look at this picture of him. It is true,
only he is not quite so big as that, though he looks as if he might be.
And I was not quite so small as that, only I felt as if I were! And
everything about him looked horribly strong, poisonous and ugly. He was
a real devil.
[Illustration: The Hickory Horn-devil (1/2 life size)]
I did not know his history then; I did not learn it for a long time
after, but I can tell it to you now.
Once upon a time there was a little, greenish, blackish worm. He loved
pretty things, and he hated to be ugly, as he was. No one wanted him,
and he was left all alone, a miserable little outcast. He complained
bitterly to Mother Carey, and asked if she would not bless him with some
grace, to help him in his troubles.
Mother Carey said: "Little ugly worm; you are having a hard time,
because in your other life, before you came into this shape, you had an
ugly, hateful spirit. You must go through this one as you are, until the
Great Sleep comes; after that, you will be exactly what you have made of
yourself."
Then the little ugly worm said: "Oh Mother Carey, I am as miserable as I
can be; let me be twice as ugly, if, in the end, I may be twice as
beautiful."
Mother Carey said gravely, "Do you think you could stand it, little
worm? We shall see."
From that time the worm got bigger and uglier, no creature would even
talk to him. The birds seemed to fear him, and the Squirrels puffed out
little horror-snorts, when they saw him coming, even the other worms
kept away from him.
So he went on his lonely life, uglier and more hated than ever. He lived
chiefly on a big hickory tree, so men called him the Hickory Horn-devil.
One day as he was crawling on a fence, a hen with chickens came running
after him, to eat him. But when she saw how ugly he was she cried: "Oh,
Lawk, lawk! Come away, children, at once!"
At another time he saw a Chipmunk teaching its little ones to play tag.
They looked so bright and happy, he longed, not to join them because he
could only crawl, but to have the happiness of looking on. But when he
came slowly forward, and the old Chipmunk saw him waving his horns and
looking like a green poisonous reptile, she screamed, "Run, my
children!" and all darted into their hole while Mother Chipmunk stuffed
up the doorway with earth.
But the most thrilling thing of all that he saw was one day as the sun
went down, a winged being of dazzling beauty alighted for a moment on
his hickory tree. Never had the Horn-devil seen such a dream of
loveliness. Her slender body was clad in rose velvet, and her wings were
shining with gold. The very sight of her made him hate himself, yet he
could not resist the impulse to crawl nearer, to gaze at her beauty.
But her eyes rested a moment on his horrible shape, and she fled in
fear, while a voice near by said: "The Spangled Queen does not love
poisonous reptiles." Then the poor little Horn-devil wished he were
dead. He hid away from sight for three days. Hunger however forced him
out, and as he was crawling across a pathway, a man who came along was
going to crush him underfoot, but Mother Carey whispered, "No, don't do
it." So the man let him live, but roughly kicked the worm aside, and
bruised him fearfully.
Then came Mother Carey and said: "Well, little ugly worm! Is your spirit
strong, or angry?"
The worm said bravely, though feebly: "Mother, Mother Carey, I am trying
to be strong. I want to win."
The breezes were losing their gentle warmth when Mother Carey came to
him one day, and said: "Little one, your trial has been long, but it is
nearly over.
"Prepare to sleep now, my little horny one, you have fought a brave
fight; your reward is coming. Because your soul has been made beautiful
by your suffering, I will give you a body blazing with such beauty as
shall make all stand in adoration when you pass." Then Mother Earth
said, "Our little one shall have extra care because he has had extra
trials." So the tired little Horn-devil did not even have to make
himself a hammock, for Mother Earth received him and he snuggled into
her bosom. As Mother Carey waved her wand, he dropped off asleep. And he
slept for two hundred days.
Then came the great Awakening Day, the resurrection day of the woods.
Many new birds arrived. Many new flowers appeared. Sleepers woke from
underground, as Mother Carey's silent trumpeters went bugling ahead of
her, and her winged horse, the Warm Wind, came sweeping across the
meadows, with the white world greening as he came.
The bundle-baby of the Horn-devil woke up. He was cramped and sleepy,
but soon awake. Then he knew that he was a prisoner, bound up in silken
cords of strength. But new powers were his now, he was able to break the
cords and crawl out of his hole. He put up his feelers to find those
horrible horns, but they were gone, and his devil form fell off him like
a mask. He had wings, jewelled wings! on his back now. Out he came to
fluff the newfound wings awhile, and when they were spread and supple he
flew into the joyful night, one of the noblest of all the things that
fly, gorgeous in gold and velvet, body and wings; filled with the joy of
life and flight, he went careering through the soft splendour of the
coming night. And as he flew, he glimpsed a radiant form ahead, a being
like himself, with wings of velvet and gold. At first he thought it was
the Princess of the Hickory Tree, but now his eyes were perfect, and he
could see that this was a younger and more beautiful Spangled Princess
than the one of his bygone life, and all his heart was filled with the
blazing fire of love. Fearlessly now he flew to overtake her; for was
she not of his own kind? She sped away, very fast at first, but maybe
she did not go as fast as she could, for soon he was sailing by her
side. At first she turned away a little, but she was not cross or
frightened now. She was indeed inclined to play and tease. Then in their
own language, he asked her to marry him, and in their own language she
said, "yes." Away they flew and flew on their wedding flight, high in
the trees in the purple night, glorious in velvet and gold, more happy
than these printed words can tell.
The wise men who saw them said, "There go the Royal Citheronia and his
bride." And Mother Carey smiled as she saw their bliss, and remembered
the Hickory Horn-devil.
FOOTNOTE:
[B] Let the Guide illustrate with some local measure.
THINGS TO SEE IN AUTUMNTIME
[Illustration: The Purple and Gold of Autumn]
Things to See in Autumntime
TALE 38
The Purple and Gold of Autumn
There was once an old gentleman named Father Time, and he had four
beautiful daughters.
The eldest was called Winter Time. She was tall and pale. She dressed
chiefly in white wool trimmed with wonderful lacework. She was much
admired by some, but others considered her very cold and distant. And
most agreed that she was the least winsome of the sisters.
The second one was called Spring Time, and she was dressed in beautiful
golden-green satin. She had a gentle, sunny disposition; some thought
her the loveliest.
The third was Summer Time, and her robe was dark-green velvet. She was
warm-hearted and most attractive, full of life and energy, and as unlike
the eldest sister as possible.
The youngest was Autumn Time. She certainly was a wonderful creature,
with red rosy cheeks, plump form, and riotous good spirits. Her robes
were gorgeous and a little extravagant, for she wore a new one every
day, and of all that she had, the one that she loved the best and wore
the latest was of purple and gold. We can go out in October and see the
purple and gold, and gather some scraps of the robe, for it is on every
wayside and every hillside.
TALE 39
Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year
A long time ago, when it was always summer in our woods, the Chicadees
lived merrily with their cousins, and frolicked the whole year round.
But one day Mother Carey sent the small birds a warning that they must
move to the South, when the leaves fell from the trees, for hard frost
and snow were coming, and maybe starvation too.
All the cousins of the Chicadees listened to the warning and got ready
to go; but Tomtit, their leader, only laughed and turned a dozen wheels
around a twig that served him for a bar.
"Go to the South?" said he. "Not I; I am too happy here; and as for
frost and snow, I never saw any, and I don't believe there are such
things."
Very soon the leaves fell from the trees and the Nut-hatches and the
King-wrens were so busy getting ready to go that the Chicadees left off
play for a minute, to ask questions. They were not pleased with the
answer they got, for the messenger had said that all of them were to
take a long, long journey that would last for days, and the little
King-wrens had actually to go as far as the Gulf of Mexico. Besides,
they were to fly by night, to avoid their enemies, the Hawks, and the
weather at this season was sure to be stormy. So the Chicadees said it
was all nonsense, and went off, singing and chasing one another through
the woods, led by Tomtit singing a new song in which he made fun of the
travellers.
Tom Tom Tiddy-Mouse!
Hid away in our house,
Hid his brother in the cellar,
Wasn't he a silly feller?
But their cousins were quite serious. They picked out wise leaders and
formed themselves into bands. They learned that they must follow their
leader, they must twitter as they flew in the darkness, so as to let
those behind know where\he leaders were; they must follow the great
rivers southward; they must wait for a full moon before starting, and
never travel by day.
The noisy, rollicking Chicadees continued to make fun of their cousins
as they saw them now gathering in the woods along the river; and at
length, when the moon was big, bright, and full, the cousins arose to
the call of the leaders and all flew away in the gloom. The Chicadees
said that all the cousins were crazy, made some good jokes about the
Gulf of Mexico, and then dashed away on their favourite game of tag and
tumble through the woods, which, however, did seem rather quiet now, and
bare of leaves; while the weather, too, was certainly turning
uncomfortably cool.
At length the frost and snow really did come, and the Chicadees were in
a bad way. Indeed, they were frightened out of their wits, and dashed
hither and thither, seeking in vain for some one to set them aright on
the way to the warm land. They flew wildly about the woods, till they
were truly crazy. I suppose there was not a squirrel-hole or a hollow
log in the neighbourhood that some Chicadee did not enter to inquire if
this was the Gulf of Mexico. But no one could tell anything about it, no
one was going that way, and the great river was hidden under ice and
snow.
About this time a messenger from Mother Carey was passing with a message
to the Caribou in the Far North; but all he could tell the Chicadees was
that he could not be their guide, as he had other business. "Besides,"
he said, "you had the same notice as your cousins whom you called
'crazy.' And from what I know of Mother Carey, you will probably have to
stick it out here all through the snow, not only now, but in every
winter after this; so you may as well make the best of it."
This was sad news for the Chicadee Tomtits; but they were brave little
fellows, and seeing they could not help themselves, they went about
making the best of it. Before a week had gone by they were in their
usual good spirits again, scrambling about the snowy twigs, or chasing
one another as before.
They were glad to remember now that Mother Carey said that winter would
end. They told each other about it so much that even at its beginning,
when a fresh blizzard came on, they would gleefully remark to one
another that it was a "sign of spring," and one or another of the flock
would lift his voice in the sweet little chant that we all know so well:
[Illustration: Spring soon]
Another would take it up and answer back:
[Illustration: Spring com-ing]
and they would keep on repeating the song until the dreary woods rang
again with the good news, and the wood-people learned to love the brave
little bird that sets his face so cheerfully, to meet so hard a case.
And winter did end. Spring did come at last. And the sign of its coming
was when the ice broke on the stream and the pussy willow came purring
out above it. The air was full of the good news. The Chicadees felt it,
and knew it through and through. They went mad with joy, chasing each
other round and round the trees and through the hollow logs, shouting
"The spring is here, the spring is here, Hurree, Hurree, Hurree," and in
another week their joyous lives were going on as before the trouble
came.
But to this day, when the chill wind blows through the deserted woods,
the Chicadees seem to lose their wits for a few days, and dart into all
sorts of queer places. They may then be found in great cities, or open
prairies, cellars, chimneys, and hollow logs; and the next time you find
one of the wanderers in any out-of-the-way corner, be sure to remember
that the Chicadee goes crazy twice a year, in the fall and in the
spring, and probably went into his strange hole or town in search of the
Gulf of Mexico.
TALE 40
The Story of the Quaking Aspen or Poplar
The leaf of the Quaking Asp is like the one marked "a" in the drawing.
Its trunk is smooth, greenish, or whitish, with black knots of bark like
"c". All the farmers know it as Popple, or White Poplar; but the hunters
call it Quaking Asp or Aspen.
[Illustration: The Story of the Quaking Aspen]
The name "quaking" was given because it is for ever shaking its leaves;
the slightest wind sets them all rustling. They move so easily because
each leaf-stem is like a thin, flat strap set on edge; while the
leaf-stem of such as the oak is nearly round and scarcely rustles at
all. Why does the Quaking Asp do this? No doubt, because it lives in
places where the hot dust falls thick on the leaves at times, and if it
did not have some trick of shaking it off, the leaf would be choked and
bent so that the tree could scarcely breathe; for the leaves are the
lungs of the trees. So remember, when the Poplar rustles loudly, it is
coughing to clear its lungs of the dust.
Some trees try to hide their troubles, and quickly cover up their
wounds; but the Aspen has a very touchy skin and, once it is wounded, it
shows the scar as long as it lives. We can, therefore, go to any Aspen
tree, and have it tell us the story of its life. Here is the picture of
one. The black marks at the forks (c) are scars of growth; the belts of
dots (d) were wounds given by a sapsucker to rob it of its sap; the flat
places (e) show where a Red Squirrel gnawed off the outer bark.
If a Raccoon climbed the tree (f), or an insect bored into the trunk, we
are sure to see a record of it in this sensitive bark.
Now, last of all, the paper on which this story is printed was likely
made out of Aspen wood.
TALE 41
The Witch-hazel
[Illustration: Witch-hazel]
These are the things to make you remember the Witch-hazel; its forked
twig was used--nay, still is used--as a magic rod to show where there is
running water underground; that is, where it is possible to find water
by sinking a well. Its nuts are explosive, and go off with a _snap_,
shooting the seeds that are inside, ten or twenty feet away, when the
cold dry days of autumn come. Third, its curious golden-thread flowers
appear in the fall.
As Cracked Jimmy used to sing:-
Witch-hazel blossoms in the fall,
To cure the chills and fevers all.
--_Two Little Savages._
On November 16, 1919, after a sharp frost, I went out in the morning to
get some Witch-hazel flowers for this drawing, and found them blooming
away in the cold air, vigorously as ever. Imagine a flower that can
bloom while it is freezing. In the drawing I have shown the flower, like
a 4-lipped cup with four yellow snakes coiling out of it.
But these are not the deadly snakes one hears about. They are rather
symbols of old AEsculapius, the famous healer of the long ago, whose
emblem was the cup of life with curling snakes of wisdom about it. In
the Witch-hazel has been found a soothing balm for many an ache and
pain. The Witch-hazel you buy in the drugstores, is made out of the bark
of this tree. If you chew one of the little branches you will know it by
the taste.
Near the top is a flower that is finished, its snakes have fled; and at
the top of all is a bud for next year. That is, they are--_is_,
_has-been_ and _going-to-be_. The nuts are shown in the corner.
Note, last of all, that it is a sociable little tree; it always goes
with a crowd. There are generally three or four Witch-hazels from one
root, and there is always a family of cousins not far away.
TALE 42
How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs
In the woods of Poconic there once roamed a very discontented Porcupine.
She was forever fretting. She complained that everything was wrong, till
it was perfectly scandalous, and Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, getting
tired of her grumbling, said:
"You and the world I have made don't seem to fit; one or the other must
be wrong. It is easier to change you. You don't like the trees, you are
unhappy on the ground, and think everything is upside down, therefore
I'll turn you inside out, and put you in the water." And so the
Porcupine was turned into a new creature, a fish, called the Shad. That
is why he is so full of little sharp bones.
Then after the old Porcupine had been turned into a Shad, the young ones
missed their mother, and crawled up into a high Chestnut tree to look
for her coming. Wahkonda happened to pass that way, and they all
chattered their teeth at him, thinking themselves safe. They were not
wicked, but at heart quite good, only badly brought up; oh, so
ill-trained, and some of them chattered and groaned as Wahkonda came
nearer. Then Wahkonda was sorry for them, remembering that he had taken
their mother from them, and said: "You look very well up there, you
little Porkys, so you had better stay there for always, and be part of
the Chestnut tree." And he touched each one with his magic wand and
turned it into a burr that grew tight to the tree. That is how it came
about. There they hang like a lot of little Porcupines on the twigs of
the tree. They are spiney and dangerous, utterly without manners, and
yet most of them have a good little heart inside.
TALE 43
How the Littlest Owl Came
After the Great Spirit had made the world and the creatures in it, he
made the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo. This was like an Owl, but bigger than
anything else alive, and his voice was like a river plunging over a
rocky ledge. He was so big that he thought he had done it all himself,
and he became puffed up. He forgot the Great Spirit, who decided to
teach him a lesson in this wise:
He called the Blue-jay, the mischief-maker of the woods, and told him
what to do. Away went the Blue-jay to the mountain at the top of which
was the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo making thunder in his throat. The Blue-jay
flew up to his ear, and said: "Pooh, Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, you don't call
that a big noise! You should hear Niagara; then you would never twitter
again."
The Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo was so mad at hearing his big wonderful song
called a twitter, that he said: "Niagara, Niagara! I'm sick of hearing
about Niagara. I will go and silence Niagara with my voice." So he flew
to Niagara while the Blue-jay snickered and followed to see the fun.
Now when Niagara Falls was made the Great Spirit said to it, "Flow on
for ever." That last word of the Great Spirit it took up as it rushed
on, and never ceases to thunder out "For ever! For ever! For ever!"
When they came to Niagara the mighty cataract, the Blue-jay said, "Now,
Gitchee, you can beat that I am sure." So Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo began
bawling to drown the noise of it, but could not make himself heard.
"Wa-wa-wa," said the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, with great effort and only for
a few heart beats.
"_For ever, For ever, For ever_," thundered the river, steadily, easily,
ceaselessly.