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[Illustration: FROM THE WIGWAM OF THE GREAT SPIRIT (page 2)]
THE BOOK OF NATURE MYTHS
BY FLORENCE HOLBROOK
PRINCIPAL OF FORESTVILLE SCHOOL, CHICAGO
[Illustration: Publishers Stamp]
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON . NEW YORK . CHICAGO . DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Children's Room
COPYRIGHT 1902 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A
PREFACE.
In preparing the Book of Nature Myths the desire has been to make a
second reader which would be adapted to the child's interest, ability,
and progress.
The subject-matter is of permanent value, culled from the folk-lore of
the primitive races; the vocabulary, based upon that of the Hiawatha
Primer, is increased gradually, and the new words and phrases will add
to the child's power of expression. The naive explanations of the
phenomena of nature given by the primitive races appeal to the child's
wonder about the same phenomena, and he is pleased and interested. These
myths will gratify the child's desire for complete stories, and their
intrinsic merit makes them valuable for oral reproduction.
The stories have been adapted to youthful minds from myths contained in
the works of many students of folk-lore whose scholarship is undisputed.
Special acknowledgment is due Miss Eva March Tappan for her valuable
assistance in the final revision of the text.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE STORY OF THE FIRST HUMMING-BIRD.
Part I. The Great Fire-mountain 1
Part II. The Frolic of the Flames 4
Part III. The Bird of Flame 7
THE STORY OF THE FIRST BUTTERFLIES 10
THE STORY OF THE FIRST WOODPECKER 13
WHY THE WOODPECKER'S HEAD IS RED 15
WHY THE CAT ALWAYS FALLS UPON HER FEET 19
WHY THE SWALLOW'S TAIL IS FORKED 23
WHY THE WHITE HARES HAVE BLACK EARS 28
WHY THE MAGPIE'S NEST IS NOT WELL BUILT 31
WHY THE RAVEN'S FEATHERS ARE BLACK 34
HOW FIRE WAS BROUGHT TO THE INDIANS.
Part I. Seizing the Firebrand 36
Part II. The Firebrand in the Forest 40
Part III. The Firebrand in the Pond 41
HOW THE QUAIL BECAME A SNIPE 43
WHY THE SERPENT SHEDS HIS SKIN 47
WHY THE DOVE IS TIMID 50
WHY THE PARROT REPEATS THE WORDS OF MEN 52
THE STORY OF THE FIRST MOCKING-BIRD 56
WHY THE TAIL OF THE FOX HAS A WHITE TIP 60
THE STORY OF THE FIRST FROGS 64
WHY THE RABBIT IS TIMID 68
WHY THE PEETWEET CRIES FOR RAIN 70
WHY THE BEAR HAS A SHORT TAIL 72
WHY THE WREN FLIES CLOSE TO THE EARTH 76
WHY THE HOOFS OF THE DEER ARE SPLIT 79
THE STORY OF THE FIRST GRASSHOPPER 83
THE STORY OF THE ORIOLE 86
WHY THE PEACOCK'S TAIL HAS A HUNDRED EYES 89
THE STORY OF THE BEES AND THE FLIES 93
THE STORY OF THE FIRST MOLES 96
THE STORY OF THE FIRST ANTS 98
THE FACE OF THE MANITO 103
THE STORY OF THE FIRST DIAMONDS 107
THE STORY OF THE FIRST PEARLS 111
THE STORY OF THE FIRST EMERALDS 114
WHY THE EVERGREEN TREES NEVER LOSE THEIR LEAVES 118
WHY THE ASPEN LEAVES TREMBLE 122
HOW THE BLOSSOMS CAME TO THE HEATHER 125
HOW FLAX WAS GIVEN TO MEN 128
WHY THE JUNIPER HAS BERRIES 133
WHY THE SEA IS SALT 135
THE STORY OF THE FIRST WHITEFISH 138
WAS IT THE FIRST TURTLE? 142
WHY THE CROCODILE HAS A WIDE MOUTH 145
THE STORY OF THE PICTURE ON THE VASE 150
WHY THE WATER IN RIVERS IS NEVER STILL 155
HOW THE RAVEN HELPED MEN 160
THE STORY OF THE EARTH AND SKY 165
HOW SUMMER CAME TO THE EARTH.
Part I. 169
Part II. 172
THE STORY OF THE FIRST SNOWDROPS 175
WHY THE FACE OF THE MOON IS WHITE 179
WHY ALL MEN LOVE THE MOON 184
WHY THERE IS A HARE IN THE MOON 188
THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON 193
WHY THERE IS A MAN IN THE MOON 197
THE TWIN STARS 200
THE LANTERN AND THE FAN 204
VOCABULARY 211
THE BOOK OF NATURE MYTHS.
THE STORY OF THE FIRST HUMMING-BIRD.
PART I. THE GREAT FIRE-MOUNTAIN.
Long, long ago, when the earth was very young, two hunters were
traveling through the forest. They had been on the track of a deer for
many days, and they were now far away from the village where they lived.
The sun went down and night came on. It was dark and gloomy, but over in
the western sky there came a bright light.
"It is the moon," said one.
"No," said the other. "We have watched many and many a night to see the
great, round moon rise above the trees. That is not the moon. Is it the
northern lights?"
"No, the northern lights are not like this, and it is not a comet. What
can it be?"
It is no wonder that the hunters were afraid, for the flames flared red
over the sky like a wigwam on fire. Thick, blue smoke floated above the
flames and hid the shining stars.
"Do the flames and smoke come from the wigwam of the Great Spirit?"
asked one.
"I fear that he is angry with his children, and that the flames are his
fiery war-clubs," whispered the other. No sleep came to their eyes. All
night long they watched and wondered, and waited in terror for the
morning.
When morning came, the two hunters were still watching the sky. Little
by little they saw that there was a high mountain in the west where the
light had been, and above the mountain floated a dark blue smoke.
"Come," said one, "we will go and see what it is."
They walked and walked till they came close to the mountain, and then
they saw fire shining through the seams of the rocks. "It is a mountain
of fire," one whispered. "Shall we go on?" "We will," said the other,
and they went higher and higher up the mountain. At last they stood upon
its highest point. "Now we know the secret," they cried. "Our people
will be glad when they hear this."
Swiftly they went home through the forest to their own village. "We have
found a wonder," they cried. "We have found the home of the Fire Spirit.
We know where she keeps her flames to help the Great Spirit and his
children. It is a mountain of fire. Blue smoke rises above it night and
day, for its heart is a fiery sea, and on the sea the red flames leap
and dance. Come with us to the wonderful mountain of fire."
The people of the village had been cold in the winter nights, and they
cried, "O brothers, your words are good. We will move our lodges to the
foot of the magic mountain. We can light our wigwam fires from its
flames, and we shall not fear that we shall perish in the long, cold
nights of winter."
So the Indians went to live at the foot of the fire-mountain, and when
the cold nights came, they said, "We are not cold, for the Spirit of
Fire is our good friend, and she keeps her people from perishing."
PART II. THE FROLIC OF THE FLAMES.
For many and many a moon the people of the village lived at the foot of
the great fire-mountain. On summer evenings, the children watched the
light, and when a child asked, "Father, what makes it?" the father said,
"That is the home of the Great Spirit of Fire, who is our good friend."
Then all in the little village went to sleep and lay safely on their
beds till the coming of the morning.
But one night when all the people in the village were asleep, the flames
in the mountain had a great frolic. They danced upon the sea of fire as
warriors dance the war-dance. They seized great rocks and threw them at
the sky. The smoke above them hid the stars; the mountain throbbed and
trembled. Higher and still higher sprang the dancing flames. At last,
they leaped clear above the highest point of the mountain and started
down it in a river of red fire. Then the gentle Spirit of Fire called,
"Come back, my flames, come back again! The people in the village will
not know that you are in a frolic, and they will be afraid."
[Illustration]
The flames did not heed her words, and the river of fire ran on and on,
straight down the mountain. The flowers in its pathway perished. It
leaped upon great trees and bore them to the earth. It drove the birds
from their nests, and they fluttered about in the thick smoke. It hunted
the wild creatures of the forest from the thickets where they hid, and
they fled before it in terror.
At last, one of the warriors in the village awoke. The thick smoke was
in his nostrils. In his ears was the war-cry of the flames. He sprang to
the door of his lodge and saw the fiery river leaping down the mountain.
"My people, my people," he cried, "the flames are upon us!" With cries
of fear the people in the village fled far away into the forest, and the
flames feasted upon the homes they loved.
The two hunters went to look upon the mountain, and when they came back,
they said sadly, "There are no flowers on the mountain. Not a bird-song
did we hear. Not a living creature did we see. It is all dark and
gloomy. We know the fire is there, for the blue smoke still floats up to
the sky, but the mountain will never again be our friend."
PART III. THE BIRD OF FLAME
When the Great Spirit saw the work of the flames, he was very angry.
"The fires of this mountain must perish," he said. "No longer shall its
red flames light the midnight sky."
The mountain trembled with fear at the angry words of the Great Spirit.
"O father of all fire and light," cried the Fire Spirit, "I know that
the flames have been cruel. They killed the beautiful flowers and drove
your children from their homes, but for many, many moons they heeded my
words and were good and gentle. They drove the frost and cold of winter
from the wigwams of the village. The little children laughed to see
their red light in the sky. The hearts of your people will be sad, if
the flames must perish from the earth."
The Great Spirit listened to the words of the gentle Spirit of Fire, but
he answered, "The fires must perish. They have been cruel to my people,
and the little children will fear them now; but because the children
once loved them, the beautiful colors of the flames shall still live to
make glad the hearts of all who look upon them."
Then the Great Spirit struck the mountain with his magic war-club. The
smoke above it faded away; its fires grew cold and dead. In its dark and
gloomy heart only one little flame still trembled. It looked like a
star. How beautiful it was!
The Great Spirit looked upon the little flame. He saw that it was
beautiful and gentle, and he loved it. "The fires of the mountain must
perish," he said, "but you little, gentle flame, shall have wings and
fly far away from the cruel fires, and all my children will love you as
I do." Swiftly the little thing rose above the mountain and flew away in
the sunshine. The light of the flames was still on its head; their
marvelous colors were on its wings.
[Illustration]
So from the mountain's heart of fire sprang the first humming-bird. It
is the bird of flame, for it has all the beauty of the colors of the
flame, but it is gentle, and every child in all the earth loves it and
is glad to see it fluttering over the flowers.
THE STORY OF THE FIRST BUTTERFLIES.
The Great Spirit thought, "By and by I will make men, but first I will
make a home for them. It shall be very bright and beautiful. There shall
be mountains and prairies and forests, and about it all shall be the
blue waters of the sea."
As the Great Spirit had thought, so he did. He gave the earth a soft
cloak of green. He made the prairies beautiful with flowers. The forests
were bright with birds of many colors, and the sea was the home of
wonderful sea-creatures. "My children will love the prairies, the
forests, and the seas," he thought, "but the mountains look dark and
cold. They are very dear to me, but how shall I make my children go to
them and so learn to love them?"
Long the Great Spirit thought about the mountains. At last, he made many
little shining stones. Some were red, some blue, some green, some
yellow, and some were shining with all the lovely colors of the
beautiful rainbow. "All my children will love what is beautiful," he
thought, "and if I hide the bright stones in the seams of the rocks of
the mountains, men will come to find them, and they will learn to love
my mountains."
When the stones were made and the Great Spirit looked upon their beauty,
he said, "I will not hide you all away in the seams of the rocks. Some
of you shall be out in the sunshine, so that the little children who
cannot go to the mountains shall see your colors." Then the southwind
came by, and as he went, he sang softly of forests flecked with light
and shadow, of birds and their nests in the leafy trees. He sang of long
summer days and the music of waters beating upon the shore. He sang of
the moonlight and the starlight. All the wonders of the night, all the
beauty of the morning, were in his song.
"Dear southwind," said the Great Spirit "here are some beautiful things
for you to bear away with, you to your summer home. You will love them,
and all the little children will love them." At these words of the Great
Spirit, all the stones before him stirred with life and lifted
themselves on many-colored wings. They fluttered away in the sunshine,
and the southwind sang to them as they went.
[Illustration]
So it was that the first butterflies came from a beautiful thought of
the Great Spirit, and in their wings were all the colors of the shining
stones that he did not wish to hide away.
THE STORY OF THE FIRST WOODPECKER.
In the days of long ago the Great Spirit came down from the sky and
talked with men. Once as he went up and down the earth, he came to the
wigwam of a woman. He went into the wigwam and sat down by the fire, but
he looked like an old man, and the woman did not know who he was.
"I have fasted for many days," said the Great Spirit to the woman. "Will
you give me some food?" The woman made a very little cake and put it on
the fire. "You can have this cake," she said, "if you will wait for it
to bake." "I will wait," he said.
When the cake was baked, the woman stood and looked at it. She thought,
"It is very large. I thought it was small. I will not give him so large
a cake as that." So she put it away and made a small one. "If you will
wait, I will give you this when it is baked," she said, and the Great
Spirit said, "I will wait."
When that cake was baked, it was larger than the first one. "It is so
large that I will keep it for a feast," she thought. So she said to her
guest, "I will not give you this cake, but if you will wait, I will make
you another one." "I will wait," said the Great Spirit again.
Then the woman made another cake. It was still smaller than the others
had been at first, but when she went to the fire for it, she found it
the largest of all. She did not know that the Great Spirit's magic had
made each cake larger, and she thought, "This is a marvel, but I will
not give away the largest cake of all." So she said to her guest, "I
have no food for you. Go to the forest and look there for your food. You
can find it in the bark of the trees, if you will."
The Great Spirit was angry when he heard the words of the woman. He rose
up from where he sat and threw back his cloak. "A woman must be good and
gentle," he said, "and you are cruel. You shall no longer be a woman and
live in a wigwam. You shall go out into the forest and hunt for your
food in the bark of trees."
The Great Spirit stamped his foot on the earth, and the woman grew
smaller and smaller. Wings started from her body and feathers grew upon
her. With a loud cry she rose from the earth and flew away to the
forest.
And to this day all woodpeckers live in the forest and hunt for their
food in the bark of trees.
WHY THE WOODPECKER'S HEAD IS RED.
One day the woodpecker said to the Great Spirit, "Men do not like me. I
wish they did."
The Great Spirit said, "If you wish men to love you, you must be good to
them and help them. Then they will call you their friend."
"How can a little bird help a man?" asked the woodpecker.
"If one wishes to help, the day will come when he can help," said the
Great Spirit. The day did come, and this story shows how a little bird
helped a strong warrior.
There was once a cruel magician who lived in a gloomy wigwam beside the
Black-Sea-Water. He did not like flowers, and they did not blossom in
his pathway. He did not like birds, and they did not sing in the trees
above him. The breath of his nostrils was fatal to all life. North,
south, east, and west he blew the deadly fever that killed the women and
the little children.
"Can I help them?" thought a brave warrior, and he said, "I will find
the magician, and see if death will not come to him as he has made it
come to others. I will go straightway to his home."
For many days the brave warrior was in his canoe traveling across the
Black-Sea-Water. At last he saw the gloomy wigwam of the cruel magician.
He shot an arrow at the door and called, "Come out, O coward! You have
killed women and children with your fatal breath, but you cannot kill a
warrior. Come out and fight, if you are not afraid."
The cruel magician laughed loud and long. "One breath of fever," he
said, "and you will fall to the earth." The warrior shot again, and then
the magician was angry. He did not laugh, but he came straight out of
his gloomy lodge, and as he came, he blew the fever all about him.
Then was seen the greatest fight that the sun had ever looked upon. The
brave warrior shot his flint-tipped arrows, but the magician had on his
magic cloak, and the arrows could not wound him. He blew from his
nostrils the deadly breath of fever, but the heart of the warrior was so
strong that the fever could not kill him.
At last the brave warrior had but three arrows in his quiver. "What
shall I do?" he said sadly. "My arrows are good and my aim is good, but
no arrow can go through the magic cloak."
"Come on, come on," called the magician. "You are the man who wished to
fight. Come on." Then a woodpecker in a tree above the brave warrior
said softly, "Aim your arrow at his head, O warrior! Do not shoot at
his heart, but at the crest of feathers on his head. He can be wounded
there, but not in his heart."
The warrior was not so proud that he could not listen to a little bird.
The magician bent to lift a stone, and an arrow flew from the warrior's
bow. It buzzed and stung like a wasp. It came so close to the crest of
feathers that the magician trembled with terror. Before he could run,
another arrow came, and this one struck him right on his crest. His
heart grew cold with fear. "Death has struck me," he cried.
"Your cruel life is over," said the warrior. "People shall no longer
fear your fatal breath." Then he said to the woodpecker, "Little bird,
you have been a good friend to me, and I will do all that I can for
you." He put some of the red blood of the magician upon the little
creature's head. It made the crest of feathers there as red as flame.
"Whenever a man looks upon you," said the warrior, "he will say, 'That
bird is our friend. He helped to kill the cruel magician.'"
The little woodpecker was very proud of his red crest because it showed
that he was the friend of man, and all his children to this day are as
proud as he was.
[Illustration]
WHY THE CAT ALWAYS FALLS UPON HER FEET.
Some magicians are cruel, but others are gentle and good to all the
creatures of the earth. One of these good magicians was one day
traveling in a great forest. The sun rose high in the heavens, and he
lay down at the foot of a tree. Soft, green moss grew all about him. The
sun shining through the leaves made flecks of light and shadow upon the
earth. He heard the song of the bird and the lazy buzz of the wasp. The
wind rustled the leafy boughs above him. All the music of the forest
lulled him to slumber, and he closed his eyes.
As the magician lay asleep, a great serpent came softly from the
thicket. It lifted high its shining crest and saw the man at the foot of
the tree. "I will kill him!" it hissed. "I could have eaten that cat
last night if he had not called, 'Watch, little cat, watch!' I will kill
him, I will kill him!"
Closer and closer the deadly serpent moved. The magician stirred in his
sleep. "Watch, little cat, watch!" he said softly. The serpent drew
back, but the magician's eyes were shut, and it went closer. It hissed
its war-cry. The sleeping magician did not move. The serpent was upon
him--no, far up in the high branches of the tree above his head the
little cat lay hidden. She had seen the serpent when it came from the
thicket.
[Illustration: SHE LEAPED DOWN UPON THE SERPENT]
She watched it as it went closer and closer to the sleeping man, and she
heard it hiss its war-cry. The little cat's body quivered with anger and
with fear, for she was so little and the serpent was so big. "The
magician was very good to me," she thought, and she leaped down upon the
serpent.
Oh, how angry the serpent was! It hissed, and the flames shot from its
eyes. It struck wildly at the brave little cat, but now the cat had no
fear. Again and again she leaped upon the serpent's head, and at last
the creature lay dead beside the sleeping man whom it had wished to
kill.
When the magician awoke, the little cat lay on the earth, and not far
away was the dead serpent. He knew at once what the cat had done, and he
said, "Little cat, what can I do to show you honor for your brave fight?
Your eyes are quick to see, and your ears are quick to hear. You can run
very swiftly. I know what I can do for you. You shall be known over the
earth as the friend of man, and you shall always have a home in the
home of man. And one thing more, little cat: you leaped from the high
tree to kill the deadly serpent, and now as long as you live, you shall
leap where you will, and you shall always fall upon your feet."
WHY THE SWALLOW'S TAIL IS FORKED.
This is the story of how the swallow's tail came to be forked.
One day the Great Spirit asked all the animals that he had made to come
to his lodge. Those that could fly came first: the robin, the bluebird,
the owl, the butterfly, the wasp, and the firefly. Behind them came the
chicken, fluttering its wings and trying hard to keep up. Then came the
deer, the squirrel, the serpent, the cat, and the rabbit. Last of all
came the bear, the beaver, and the hedgehog. Every one traveled as
swiftly as he could, for each wished to hear the words of the Great
Spirit.
"I have called you together," said the Great Spirit, "because I often
hear you scold and fret. What do you wish me to do for you? How can I
help you?"
"I do not like to hunt so long for my food," said the bear.
"I do not like to build nests," said the bluebird.
"I do not like to live in the water," said the beaver.
"And I do not like to live in a tree," said the squirrel.
At last man stood erect before the Great Spirit and said, "O Great
Father, the serpent feasts upon my blood. Will you not give him some
other food?"
"And why?" asked the Great Spirit.
"Because I am the first of all the creatures you have made," answered
man proudly.
Then every animal in the lodge was angry to hear the words of man. The
squirrel chattered, the wasp buzzed, the owl hooted, and the serpent
hissed.
"Hush, be still," said the Great Spirit. "You are, O man, the first of
my creatures, but I am the father of all. Each one has his rights, and
the serpent must have his food. Mosquito, you are a great traveler. Now
fly away and find what creature's blood is best for the serpent. Do you
all come back in a year and a day."
The animals straightway went to their homes. Some went to the river,
some to the forest, and some to the prairie, to wait for the day when
they must meet at the lodge of the Great Spirit.
The mosquito traveled over the earth and stung every creature that he
met to find whose blood was the best for the serpent. On his way back to
the lodge of the Great Spirit he looked up into the sky, and there was
the swallow.
"Good-day, swallow," called the mosquito.
"I am glad to see you, my friend," sang the swallow. "Are you going to
the lodge of the Great Spirit? And have you found out whose blood is
best for the serpent?"
"The blood of man," answered the mosquito.
The mosquito did not like man, but the swallow had always been his
friend. "What can I do to help man?" he thought. "Oh, I know what I can
do." Then he asked the mosquito, "Whose blood did you say?"
"Man's blood," said the mosquito; "that is best."
"_This_ is best," said the swallow, and he tore out the mosquito's
tongue.
The mosquito buzzed angrily and went quickly to the Great Spirit.
"All the animals are here," said the Great Spirit. "They are waiting to
hear whose blood is best for the serpent."
The mosquito tried to answer, "The blood of man," but he could not say a
word. He could make no sound but "Kss-ksss-ksssss!"
"What do you say?"
"Kss-ksss-ksssss!" buzzed the mosquito angrily.
All the creatures wondered. Then said the swallow:--
"Great Father, the mosquito is timid and cannot answer you. I met him
before we came, and he told me whose blood it was."
"Then let us know at once," said the Great Spirit.
[Illustration]
"It is the blood of the frog," answered the swallow quickly. "Is it not
so, friend mosquito?"
"Kss-ksss-ksssss!" hissed the angry mosquito.
"The serpent shall have the frog's blood," said the Great Spirit. "Man
shall be his food no longer."
Now the serpent was angry with the swallow, for he did not like frog's
blood. As the swallow flew near him, he seized him by the tail and tore
away a little of it. This is why the swallow's tail is forked, and it is
why man always looks upon the swallow as his friend.
WHY THE WHITE HARES HAVE BLACK EARS.
In the forest there is a beautiful spirit. All the beasts and all the
birds are dear to him, and he likes to have them gentle and good. One
morning he saw some of his little white hares fighting one another, and
each trying to seize the best of the food.
"Oh, my selfish little hares," he said sadly, "why do you fight and try
to seize the best of everything for yourselves? Why do you not live in
love together?"
"Tell us a story and we will be good," cried the hares.
Then the spirit of the forest was glad. "I will tell you a story of how
you first came to live on the green earth with the other animals," he
said, "and why it is that you are white, and the other hares are not."
Then the little hares came close about the spirit of the forest, and sat
very still to hear the story.
"Away up above the stars," the gentle spirit began, "the sky children
were all together one snowy day. They threw snowflakes at one another,
and some of the snowflakes fell from the sky. They came down swiftly
between the stars and among the branches of the trees. At last they lay
on the green earth. They were the first that had ever come to the earth,
and no one knew what they were. The swallow asked, 'What are they?' and
the butterfly answered, 'I do not know.' The spirit of the sky was
listening, and he said, 'We call them snowflakes.'
"'I never heard of snowflakes. Are they birds or beasts?' asked the
butterfly.
"'They are snowflakes,' answered the spirit of the sky, 'but they are
magic snowflakes. Watch them closely.'
"The swallow and the butterfly watched. Every snowflake showed two
bright eyes, then two long ears, then some soft feet, and there were the
whitest, softest little hares that were ever seen."
"Were we the little white hares?" asked the listeners.
"You were the little white hares," answered the spirit, "and if you are
gentle and good, you will always be white."
The hares were not gentle and good; they were fretful, and before long
they were scolding and fighting again. The gentle spirit was angry. "I
must get a firebrand and beat them with it," he said, "for they must
learn to be good."
So the hares were beaten with the firebrand till their ears were black
as night. Their bodies were still white, but if the spirit hears them
scolding and fighting again, it may be that we shall see their bodies as
black as their ears.
WHY THE MAGPIE'S NEST IS NOT WELL BUILT.
A long time ago all the birds met together to talk about building nests.
"Every Indian has a wigwam," said the robin, "and every bird needs a
home."
"Indians have no feathers," said the owl, "and so they are cold without
wigwams. We have feathers."
"I keep warm by flying swiftly," said the swallow.
"And I keep warm by fluttering my wings," said the humming-bird.
"By and by we shall have our little ones," said the robin. "They will
have no feathers on their wings, so they cannot fly or flutter; and they
will be cold. How shall we keep them warm if we have no nests?"
Then all the birds said, "We will build nests so that our little ones
will be warm."
The birds went to work. One brought twigs, one brought moss, and one
brought leaves. They sang together merrily, for they thought of the
little ones that would some time come to live in the warm nests.
Now the magpie was lazy, and she sat still and watched the others at
their work.
"Come and build your nest in the reeds and rushes," cried one bird, but
the magpie said "No."
"My nest is on the branch of a tree," called another, "and it rocks like
a child's cradle. Come and build beside it," but the magpie said "No."
Before long all the birds but the magpie had their nests built. The
magpie cried, "I do not know how to build a nest. Will you not help me?"
The other birds were sorry for her and answered, "We will teach you."
The black-bird said, "Put the twigs on this bough;" the robin said, "Put
the leaves between the twigs;" and the humming-bird said, "Put this soft
green moss over it all."
[Illustration]
"I do not know how," cried the magpie.
"We are teaching you," said the other birds. But the magpie was lazy,
and she thought, "If I do not learn, they will build a nest for me."
The other birds talked together. "She does not wish to learn," they
said, "and we will not help her any longer." So they went away from her.
Then the magpie was sorry. "Come back," she called, "and I will learn."
But by this time the other birds had eggs in their nests, and they were
busy taking care of them, and had no time to teach the lazy magpie. This
is why the magpie's nest is not well built.
WHY THE RAVEN'S FEATHERS ARE BLACK.
Long, long ago the raven's feathers were white as snow. He was a
beautiful bird, but the other birds did not like him because he was a
thief. When they saw him coming, they would hide away the things that
they cared for most, but in some marvelous way he always found them and
took them to his nest in the pine-tree.
One morning the raven heard a little bird singing merrily in a thicket.
The leaves of the trees were dark green, and the little bird's yellow
feathers looked like sunshine among them.
"I will have that bird," said the raven, and he seized the trembling
little thing.
The yellow bird fluttered and cried, "Help, help! Will no one come and
help me!"
The other birds happened to be far away, and not one heard her cries.
"The raven will kill me," she called. "Help, help!"
Now hidden in the bark of a tree was a wood-worm.
"I am only a wood-worm," he said to himself, "and I cannot fly like a
bird, but the yellow bird has been good to me, and I will do what I can
to help her."
When the sun set, the raven went to sleep. Then the wood-worm made his
way softly up the pine-tree to the raven's nest, and bound his feet
together with grass and pieces of birch-bark.
"Fly away," whispered the wood-worm softly to the little yellow bird,
"and come to see me by and by. I must teach the raven not to be cruel to
the other birds."
The little yellow bird flew away, and the wood-worm brought twigs, and
moss, and birch-bark, and grass, and put them around the tree. Then he
set them all on fire. Up the great pine-tree went the flames, leaping
from bough to bough.
"Fire! fire!" cried the raven. "Come and help me! My nest is on fire!"
The other birds were not sorry to see him flutter. "He is a thief," said
they. "Let him be in the fire."
By and by the fire burned the grass and the pieces of birch-bark that
fastened his feet together, and the raven flew away. He was not burned,
but he could no longer be proud of his shining white feathers, for the
smoke had made every one of them as black as night.
HOW FIRE WAS BROUGHT TO THE INDIANS.
PART I. SEIZING THE FIREBRAND.
Oh, it was so cold! The wind blew the leaves about on the ground. The
frost spirit hid on the north side of every tree, and stung every animal
of the forest that came near. Then the snow fell till the ground was
white. Through the snowflakes one could see the sun, but the sun looked
cold, for it was not a clear, bright yellow. It was almost as white as
the moon.
The Indians drew their cloaks more and more closely around them, for
they had no fire.
"How shall we get fire?" they asked, but no one answered.
All the fire on earth was in the wigwam of two old women who did not
like the Indians.
"They shall not have it," said the old women, and they watched night and
day so that no one could get a firebrand.
At last a young Indian said to the others, "No man can get fire. Let us
ask the animals to help us."
"What beast or what bird can get fire when the two old women are
watching it?" the others cried.
"The bear might get it."
"No, he cannot run swiftly."
"The deer can run."
"His antlers would not go through the door of the wigwam."
"The raven can go through the door."
"It was smoke that made the raven's feathers black, and now he always
keeps away from the fire."
"The serpent has not been in the smoke."
"No, but he is not our friend, and he will not do anything for us."
"Then I will ask the wolf," said the young man. "He can run, he has no
antlers, and he has not been in the smoke."
So the young man went to the wolf and called, "Friend wolf, if you will
get us a firebrand, I will give you some food every day."
"I will get it," said the wolf. "Go to the home of the old women and
hide behind a tree; and when you hear me cough three times, give a loud
war-cry."
Close by the village of the Indians was a pond. In the pond was a frog,
and near the pond lived a squirrel, a bat, a bear, and a deer. The wolf
cried, "Frog, hide in the rushes across the pond. Squirrel, go to the
bushes beside the path that runs from the pond to the wigwam of the two
old women. Bat, go into the shadow and sleep if you like, but do not
close both eyes. Bear, do not stir from behind this great rock till you
are told. Deer, keep still as a mountain till something happens."
The wolf then went to the wigwam of the two old women. He coughed at the
door, and at last they said, "Wolf, you may come in to the fire."
[Illustration]
The wolf went into the wigwam. He coughed three times, and the Indian
gave a war-cry. The two old women ran out quickly into the forest to
see what had happened, and the wolf ran away with a firebrand from the
fire.