lost that he could not hear it himself, and he began to feel small, and
smaller; and as he began to feel small, a strange thing happened--he
began to get small and smaller, until he was no bigger than a Sparrow;
and his voice, instead of being like a great cataract, became like the
dropping of water, just a little
Tink-tank-tink,
Tink-tank-tink.
And this is why the Indians give to this smallest of the Owls the name
of "The Water-dropping Bird," who was once the greatest of all
creatures, but is now shrunk to be the littlest of the Owls, because he
became proud and forgot the Great Spirit.
TALE 44
The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts
Once upon a time there was a rich boy, who knew all about the city, and
nothing about the woods. He went for an outing into the wilderness, and
got lost. He wandered all day until he was very tired and hungry. The
sun was low when he came to a little pathway. He followed it, and it led
to a small log cabin. When he knocked, an old woman opened the door. He
said, "Please, Ma'am, I am lost and very hungry, will you give me
something to eat?"
[Illustration: The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts]
The old woman looked sharply at his clothes, and knew that he was
rich, so she said: "Poor people are wise, they can take care of
themselves in the woods. They don't get lost. But you rich people are
fools, and I wish you would go away."
"I will, if you'll give me something to eat," he answered.
Then the old woman said: "Listen, foolish rich boy, in the woods beside
you right now is a friend who feeds the poor people, maybe she will feed
you. She is tall and slim, her eyes are brownish purple and her hair is
green, and by this you may know her--she has five fingers on one hand
and seven on the other. Her house is in the brier thicket; she climbs to
the roof and stands there all day waving her hands, and shouting out in
wood-talk, 'There are cocoanuts in my cellar.'
"Now go and find her, maybe she will feed you. She always feeds us poor
folks," and the witch slammed the door.
The boy was puzzled. As he stood in doubt, there was a loud noise, and
his friends arrived. They brought him the food and comfort that he
needed.
Then he said: "I wish to know what that old wood-witch meant by the lady
with the purple eyes and green hair." So he went again to the log cabin
and knocked.
When the old woman came, and saw a lot of people about, she was
frightened for she knew she had been unkind. But the boy said: "Now
Granny, you needn't be afraid, I want you to show me the friend that has
seven fingers and a cellar full of cocoanuts."
"I'll show you, if you promise to do me no harm," she answered.
"Of course, I'll promise," replied the boy.
Then Granny Wood-witch went hobbling to the nearest thicket and cackled
out loud, as she pointed out a trailing vine that had sometimes five
leaflets on a stalk and sometimes seven. "See, see, that's the lady.
See seven fingers on that hand and five on this. Now follow her feet
down and dig in the ground."
They dug and found strings of lovely brown nuts as big as walnuts.
"See, see," chuckled the wood-witch. "See the cocoanuts in the cellar."
* * * * *
Go forth and look for it, ye Woodcrafters. You will find it throughout
Eastern America on the edge of every wood. Its flower is like a
purple-brown sweet-pea, and is in bloom all summer long. Follow down its
vine, dig out a few of the potatoes or nuts, and try them, raw, boiled,
or if ye wish to eat them as Indian Cake, clean them, cut them in
slices, dry till hard, pound them up into meal, and make a cake the same
as you would of oatmeal.
The wild things love them, the Indians love them, and this was the bread
of the wood-witch. The books call it Bog Potato and Ground Nuts. It is
the third secret of the woods.
TALE 45
The Mud-dauber Wasp
If you look under the roof of any wooden barn in Eastern America you are
likely to see the nest of the common Mud-wasp.
[Illustration: The Mud-dauber Wasp (life size)]
If you look on warm sunny days along the edge of some mud puddle you are
sure to see a curious steel-blue wasp, with a very thin waist, working
away at a lump of mud. She seems to be breathing hard with her body, as
she works with her yellow legs, but she finally goes off laden with a
gob of mud. This is the Mud-wasp at work, building a strong mud-nest for
her family. The nest is the one we have seen hung under the roof of
the shed, always put where no rain can reach it.
In the drawing are two of these nests.
Once the cradle is ready, the mother Wasp goes spider-hunting. Whenever
she can find a spider, she pounces on it, and with her sting, she stabs
it in the body, so as to paralyze it, but not kill it. Then she carries
it to the mud cell and packs it in, at the far end. Many spiders are
caught and preserved this way, for they do not usually die though they
cannot move.
When the cell is full, the Wasp lays an egg on the last spider, and
seals up the opening with a mud lid.
Very soon the egg hatches out a little white grub which begins on the
spider next to him, eating the legs first, and the body last, so as to
keep it alive as long as possible, though of course the spider has no
feeling. Then he eats the next spider, and the next, growing as he eats,
until he nearly fills the cell, and the spiders are all eaten up.
Now the grub goes to sleep, and next spring comes out as a full-grown
Mud-wasp to do exactly as the mother did, though it never saw that
Mother or had a lesson from any one in the many strange things it must
do to live.
I went into my boat-house to-day, November 20, 1919, to get a mud nest
for this drawing. There were 86 on the roof; some of them with 20 or 30
cells, and besides there was a lot of paper nests by other Wasps. The
nest I took had two cells, one open and empty, and the other with a mud
lid on tight. This held a long, shiny brown transparent case, in which
was a white grub much too small for the big coat he was wearing. The
grub was sound asleep, and would have come out next spring, as a big
steel-blue Mud-wasp had I let him alone. But there are plenty of
Mud-wasps so I fed him to the Chicadees, which likely is what Mother
Carey would have done.
[Illustration: The Cicada and the Katydid (life size)]
TALE 46
The Cicada and the Katydid
Once upon a time, long, long ago, the birds whose job it was to make the
woods merry with their songs, decided to go on strike. They said, "We
have sung all day, all springtime, and half way through the summer, but
now we are moulting, the weather is frightfully hot; we need a rest, and
we are going to stop singing, to take a holiday."
Then Dame Nature, who is sometimes called the All-mother, or Mother
Carey, said: "Dear me, this will never do! No songbirds, woods silent
all through the dog-days. Now who will be strike-breakers and volunteer
to supply the music till the birds get once more in a good humour?"
Then up at that question got a long-winged insect like a big fly, and a
long-legged insect like a green grasshopper, and both said at once, "I
will." Amid low murmurs of "Scab! Scab!" from many of the Wood-birds.
"You. I forgot that you two had any voices at all!" said Mother Carey.
Then the long-winged creature, whose name is Cicada, began, "True, my
voice isn't much, but I have invented a most successful musical
Castanet. Listen!"
Then he began an extraordinary racket like an alarm clock, a threshing
machine, and a buzz-saw all going together. He filled the grove with his
noise, and set all the woodfolk laughing with his funny performance.
Though, of course, he didn't mean to be funny; he thought it was fine.
Then as the Cicada ceased, Mother Carey said to the Green Hopper, whose
name was Katy, "Now, Katy, what can you do?"
"I do not brag of my voice, dear Mother," said she, "but I am a
thrilling performer on the violin."
Then she humped herself up over a green fiddle that she had under her
cloak, and nearly deafened them with its hoarse screechings.
There was no doubt that these two could make as much noise as a wood
full of birds; both were eager to take sole charge, and a bitter dispute
arose as to whose idea it was first.
But Mother Carey settled it by dividing the time. "You," she said to
Cicada, "can take charge of the music by day, and you," she said to the
Green one, "must take it up at sundown in place of the nightingale, and
keep it up, till the night breaks, and both of you continue till the
frost comes, or until the birds are back on the job."
That is how it all came about.
But there is considerable feeling yet among the Katies, that they should
get all the night work, and never be seen performing. They think that
their ancestor was the original inventor of this cheap substitute for
bird song. And it is made all the worse by a division among themselves.
Some say "she did" and some say "she didn't." If you notice in early
August, they are nearly all shouting, "Katy-did." Then by the end of the
month, "Katy-didn't" is stronger. In September it is still mixed. In
October their work is over, the chorus ended, but you hear an occasional
"Katy-did" and finally as late as Indian Summer, which is Hallowe'en, I
have heard the last of the fiddlers rasp out "she did"; and do it in
daytime, too, as though to flout the followers of Cicada. And, if the
last word be truth, as they say, we may consider it settled, that Katy
really and truly _did_. And yet I believe next year the same dispute
will arise, and we shall have the noisy argument all over again.
If you look at the portraits of Cicada, the Hotweather-bug or Locust,
and of the Katydid, you will not see their musical instruments very
plainly, but believe me they have them; and you can hear them any late
summer hot-weather time, in any part of the Eastern States and some
parts of southern Canada.
And now let me finish with a secret. Katy is not a lady at all, but a
he-one disguised in green silk stockings, and a green satin dress.
TALE 47
The Digger Wasp that Killed the Cicada
Strange things are done in the realm of Mother Carey; strange things and
cruel. At least so they seem to us, for we do not know the plan that is
behind them. We know only that sometimes love must be cruel. I am going
to tell you of a strange happening, that you may see any hot day in
August. And this is how it came about.
At that meeting in the woods when the Cicada and the Katydid undertook
to be musicians, while the birds were on strike, there was one strong
insect who gave off an angry "_Bizz, Bizz_" that sounded like "_Scab,
Scab_." That was the big yellow-and-black Digger Wasp, the biggest of
the wasps, with a sting that is as bad as that of a baby rattlesnake.
And that very day she declared war on the Cicada and his kind. The
Katydids she could not touch, because the Wasp cannot see at night.
But the Cicada was easy to find. As soon as the day got hot, and that
awful buzzing began in the trees, the Big Digger got her sting ready,
and went booming along in the direction of the sound.
[Illustration: The Digger Wasp (life size)]
Now Mother Carey had given the Cicada bright eyes and strong wings, and
it was his own business to take care of himself; but he was so pleased
with his music that he never saw the fierce Digger Wasp, till she
charged on him. And before he could spread his wings, she had stabbed
him through.
His song died away in a few shrieks, and then the Cicada lay still. But
not dead, for the Digger had stuck her poison dagger into the nerve
centre, so that he was paralyzed and helpless, but still living.
Now the Digger set about a plan. She wanted to get that Cicada body into
her den, to feed her young ones with it. But the Cicada was bigger and
heavier than she was, so that she could not carry it. However, she was
bent on doing it, she got all ready, took tight hold with her claws,
then swooped from the tree, flying as strongly as she could, till the
weight of the Cicada brought her to the ground within fifty feet, while
the den was fully a hundred feet away. But the Wasp dragged the Cicada
up the trunk of another tree, then took another long sloping flight as
before. One more climb and skid down, brought her to her den--a hole in
a bank that she had dug out; that is why she is called the Digger Wasp.
The passage was a foot long and had a crook in the middle. At the end
was a round room an inch and a half high. Here the Digger left her
victim's body and right on its breast, to one side, laid an egg.
This hatched in two or three days, and began to feed on the Cicada. In a
week it had eaten the Cicada and grown to be a big fat grub. Then it
spun a cocoon, and made itself into a bundle-baby, resting all autumn
and all winter in that dark den.
But when the spring came with its glorious wakening up, great changes
came over the bundle-baby of the Digger. It threw off the cocoon and its
outer skin, and came forth from the gloom into the sunshine, a big
strong Digger Wasp with a sting of its own, and a deadly feud with all
screaming Cicadas. Although it never saw its mother, or got any lessons
from her, it goes after the buzzing hotweather-bugs, when August comes,
and treats them exactly as she did.
TALE 48
How the Indian Summer Came
Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, the Ruler of the World, had found pleasure
the whole summer long in making mountains, lakes, and forests. Then when
the autumn came, and the leaves fell from the trees, He lighted His pipe
and sat down to look over the things He had made.
As He did so, the north wind arose for Cold Time was coming, and blew
the smoke and ashes of the pipe into His face. Then He said: "Cease your
blowing, all ye winds, until I have finished smoking." So, of course,
there was dead calm.
Wahkonda smoked for ten days, and during all that time there were no
clouds in the sky, for there was no wind to bring them; there was
unbroken, calm sunny weather. But neither was there any wind to carry
off the smoke, so it hung, as the teepee smoke hangs at sunrise, and it
drifted over the valleys and forests in a blue haze.
Then at last when the Great Spirit finished His smoke and His
meditation, He emptied out His pipe. That was the signal, the north wind
broke loose, and came howling down from the hills, driving the leaves
before it, and warning all wild things to be ready, for soon there would
be winter in the woods.
And it hath been so ever since. When the leaves have fallen and before
yet the Ice-king is here, there come, for a little while, the calm
dreamy days, when the Great Spirit is smoking His pipe, and the smoke is
on the land. The Red-men call them the Smoking Days, but we call it
Indian Summer.
THINGS TO SEE IN WINTERTIME
[Illustration: The North Star or Home Star]
Things to See in Wintertime
TALE 49
The North Star, or the Home Star
If you are going to be a Woodcrafter, you must begin by knowing the
North Star, because that is the star which will show you the way home,
if you get lost in the woods at night. That is why the Indians call it
the "Home Star."
But first, I must tell you how it came to be, and the story begins a
long, long time ago.
In those far-off days, we are told, there were two wonderful hunters,
one named Orion, and the other named Booetes (Bo-o-tees). Orion hunted
everything and I shall have to leave him for another story. Booetes was
an ox-driver and only hunted bears to save his cattle. One day he went
after a Mother Bear, that had one little cub.
[Illustration: The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back]
He chased them up to the top of a mountain so high, that they leaped off
into the sky, and just as they were going, Booetes shot his arrows after
them. His very first arrow hit the Little Bear in the tail--they had
long tails in those days--and pinned him to the sky. There he has hung
ever since, swinging round and round, on the arrow in his tail, while
his mother runs bawling around him, with Booetes and his dogs chasing
her. He shot arrows into her tail, which was long and curved, into her
body, and into her shoulder. Seven big arrows he shot, and there they
are yet, in the form of a dipper pointing always to the cub who is
called the "Little Bear." The shining head of the big arrow in the end
of the Little Bear's tail is called the North Star or Pole Star. You can
always tell which is the North Star, by the two Pointers; these are the
two bright stars that make the outer side of the Dipper on the Big
Bear's shoulder. A line drawn through them, points out the North Star.
The Dipper, that is the Big Bear, goes round and round the Pole
Star, once in about twenty-four hours; so that sometimes the Pointers are
over, sometimes under, to left or to right; but always pointing out the
Pole Star or North Star.
This star shows nearly the true north; and, knowing that, a traveller
can find his way in any strange country, so long as he can see this
friendly Home Star.
TALE 50
The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back
Now that you know how the Bears and the Big Dipper came, you should know
the Indian story of the Old Squaw.
First find the bright star that is at the bend of the Dipper handle.
This is called the "Old Squaw"; on her back is a tiny star that they
call "The Pappoose."
As soon as an Indian boy is old enough to understand, his mother takes
him out into the night when it is calm and clear, and without any moon
or any bright lights near, and says, "My child, yonder is the Old Squaw,
the second of the seven stars; she is going over the top of the hill; on
her back she carries her pappoose. Tell me, my child, can you see the
pappoose?"
[Illustration: Orion Fighting the Bull]
Then the little redskin gazes, and from his mother's hand he takes two
pebbles, a big one and a little one, and he sets them together on her
palm, to show how the two stars seem to him. When the mother is sure
that he did see them clearly, she rejoices. She goes to the fire and
drops a pinch of tobacco into it, for incense to carry her message, then
looking toward the sky she says: "Great Spirit, I thank Thee that my
child has the eyes of a hunter."
* * * * *
These things are not new, O Woodcrafter. The wise men of our race call
the Big Star "Mizar" one of the chariot horses, and the little star
"Alcor" or the Rider. In all ages it has been considered proof of
first-class eyes, to see this little star. Can you see it? Have you the
eyes of a hunter?
TALE 51
Orion the Hunter, and His Fight With the Bull
In the 49th Tale I told you there were two giants among the mighty
hunters in the sky, Booetes, whose adventure with the Bears you have
already heard, and Orion. (O-ry'-on).
Orion was the most famous of all. In his day men had no guns; they had
nothing but clubs, spears, and arrows to fight with, and the beasts were
very big and fierce as well as plentiful, yet Orion went whenever he was
needed, armed chiefly with his club, fought the wild beasts, all alone,
killing them or driving them out, and saving the people, for the joy of
doing it. Once he killed a lion with his club, and ever afterward wore
the lion's skin on his arm. Bears were as nothing to him; he killed them
as easily as most hunters would rabbits, but he found his match, when he
went after a ferocious wild Bull as big as a young elephant.
As soon as the Bull saw him, it came rushing at him. It happened to be
on the other side of a stream, and as it plunged in, Orion drew his bow
and fired seven quick shots at the Bull's heart. But the monster was
coming head on, and the seven arrows all stuck in its shoulder, making
it madder than ever. So Orion waved his lion skin in his left hand, and
with his club in the right, ran to meet the Bull, as it was scrambling
up the bank from the water.
The first whack of the club tumbled the Bull back into the water, but it
turned aside, went to another place, and charged again. And again Orion
landed a fearful blow with the club on the monster's curly forehead.
By this time, all the animals had gathered around to see the big fight,
and the gods in heaven got so interested that they shouted out, "Hold
on, that is good enough for us to see. Come up here."
So they moved the mighty Hunter and the Bull, and the River and all the
animals, up to heaven, and the fight has gone on there ever since.
In the picture I have shown a lot of animals besides Orion and the Bull,
but the only things I want you to look now in the sky, are Orion's belt
with the three stars on it, and the Pleiades on the Bull's shoulder, the
seven spots where the seven arrows struck.
And remember these stars cannot be seen in summer, they pass over us in
winter time. You can find Orion by drawing a straight line across the
rim of the Dipper, beginning at the inner or handle side, passing
through the outer or Pointers side, and continued for twice the length
of the Dipper, handle and all, this will bring you to Betelgeuze, the
big star in the Giant's right shoulder, below that are the three stars
of his belt, sometimes called the "Three Kings."
TALE 52
The Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull
[Illustration: The Pleiades]
When late autumn comes the Pleiades (Ply'-a-dees) appear in the evening
sky to the eastward. These are the seven shots in the Bull's shoulder,
the seven arrows from Orion's bow. The Guide can locate them by
continuing the line of Orion's belt, eight times the length of the belt
to the right, as one faces the Hunter, so Orion must have been very
close indeed. At first they look like a faint light with a few bright
pin-points scattered through. Tennyson described them as:
Glittering like a swarm of fireflies
Tangled in a silver braid.
The best time to see them is some clear night about Christmas, when
there is no moon, and the Pleiades are nearly overhead, above the mist
and smoke of the horizon, and there are no electric lights near by.
Study them attentively. Make a tube of your two hands and look through.
Look on the ground, then look back again; look not straight at them, but
a little to one side; and at last, mark down on paper how many you can
clearly see, putting a big spot for the big one, and little spots for
the little ones. Poor eyes see nothing but a haze; fairly good eyes see
four of the pin-points; good eyes see five; the best of eyes see seven.
I can see seven on a clear winter night when there are no clouds and no
moon. This is as high as you need expect to get, although it is said
that some men in clear air on a mountain top have seen ten, while the
telescope shows that there are 2,000.
In taking these eyesight tests you may use your spectacles if you
usually wear them.
TALE 53
The Twin Stars
Two-Bright-Eyes went wandering out
To chase the Whippoorwill;
Two-Bright-Eyes got lost and left
Our teepee--oh, so still!
Two-Bright-Eyes was carried up
To sparkle in the skies
And look like stars--but we know well
That that's our lost Bright-Eyes.
She is looking for the camp,
She would come back if she could;
She still peeps thro' the tree-tops
For the teepee in the wood.
TALE 54
Stoutheart and His Black Cravat
Do you know the bird that wears a black cravat, which he changes once a
year? It is the English Sparrow, the commonest of all our birds. His
hair is gray, but he must have been red-headed once, for just back of
his ears there is still a band of red; and his collar, maybe, was white
once, but it is very dingy now. His shirt and vest are gray; his coat is
brown with black streaks--a sort of sporting tweed. The new cravat comes
when the new feathers grow in late summer; and, at first, it is barred
with gray as if in half mourning for his sins. As the gray tips wear
off, it becomes solid black; that is, in March or April. In summer, it
gets rusty and worn out; so every year he puts on a new one in late
August.
The hen sparrow is quite different and wears no cravat. She has a
black-and-brown cape of the sporting pattern, but her dress is
everywhere of brownish Quaker gray.
The song of the English Sparrow is loud and short; but he tries to make
up, by singing it over and over again, for many minutes.
He eats many bad bugs, and would be well liked, if he did not steal the
nests and the food of Bluebirds, Woodpeckers, Swallows, and others that
are prettier and more useful birds, as well as far better singers than
he is.
But there is much to admire in the Sparrow. I do not know of any bird
that is braver, or more ready to find a way out of trouble; and if he
cannot find a way, he cheerfully makes the best of it.
Some years ago I was at Duluth during a bitterly cold spell of weather.
The thermometer registered 20 deg. or 30 deg. below zero, and the blizzard wind
was blowing. Oh my, it was cold. But out in the street were dozens of
English Sparrows chirruping and feeding; thriving just as they do in
warmer lands and in fine weather.
When black night came down, colder yet, I wondered what the little
stout-hearts would do. Crawl into some hole or bird-house, maybe? or
dive into a snowdrift? as many native birds do.
I found out; and the answer was most unexpected.