47. THE CRAB’S EYES.
Now a crab slept so long that his eyes dried up. When he awoke he did not know where he was. He could not open his eyes because they had dried up in his head. So he strained for a long time. He crawled along endeavoring to find his way to water. As he crawled he kept striving. After a time he came across an obstruction. So he sang this song:
A-di-na-ote sa-hi ga-i‘
De-sa-si-no gwa-do-nio!
What kind of a standing tree
With crooked legs here?
And the tree answered, “I am the oak!”
“Oh! Oh!” cried the crab, “How far I am from water!”
Now he crawled along straining his eyes and singing his song. He asked every tree whose crooked legs he ran against but they answered, maple or beech, and he was discouraged. After a time a tree said, “rock elm.” Then he was encouraged and said, “Water must be near at hand!” So he kept along striving and singing and when he heard a tree call out “willow” he was exultant. He strained still harder and when he struck water the paste over his eyes melted and so intense was he that his eyes shot out of his head and waved about. Now this was convenient for he could see better than he had ever before. So he decided to keep them out where he could adjust them as he wished. Now the old people have said that this was the way the crab got his eyes and it may be true. So it ends.
48. HOW THE SQUIRREL GAVE A BLANKET TO HIS WARRIOR, ROBBED THE WOODCHUCK OF HIS TAIL AND THE FROG OF HIS TEETH.[[43]]
There was a time when animals and birds were very large. So, also, trees were more lofty and rivers broader. This was long ago.
Now, in those days there was a great chief of the squirrels, and he was very wise. It was his custom to go stealthily through the forest and watch his people as they worked or sported.
One autumn morning as he lay concealed by the leaves on the limb of a giant oak, he heard a chattering voice call from a hemlock. It was the voice of a squirrel.
“All the autumn days I have been gathering nuts,” said the squirrel in an aggrieved tone, “and yet day by day my store is growing smaller. Who is stealing my hoard? Truly some culprit lurks here and is robbing me of my winter’s food that I have patiently stored in that stump!”
Up from a hole in the hillside popped Tēdo‘, the woodchuck. From the dark scummy swamp water a big frog lifted its green head.
“How unfortunate!” said the woodchuck, “Some thief must be lurking here.”
“Yes, I too think it strange,” croaked the big frog, “Surely some thief must be hidden here.”
Then in a chorus both poured out their sympathy to the indignant squirrel.
The squirrel chief seated on the oak limb listened attentively and then nodding his head spoke thus to himself. “True, indeed, thieves are not far away. I think this sympathy betokens knaves.”
At night the chief hid in a branch that overhung the stump that the squirrel had pointed out.
When the sun had gone in his western door and darkness had obscured the earth, from a hole in the hillside a brown head cautiously emerged and after peering slyly around the woodchuck crept from his burrow, swung his tail jauntily and trotted down his path to the swamp. A green backed frog pushed his way from a high tufted hummock of grass through the black water of the swamp toward the hillside. But he made no froggish splash, no gurgling trill, no croak but swam in silence. Reaching the bank he sneaked his way up the path to the stump beneath the squirrel’s hemlock where a furry brown bulk was rummaging.
“Kwe!” exclaimed the frog in a startled note.
“Kwe!” came the hollow reply, and Tedo, the woodchuck, withdrew his head to see who had discovered him but finding it to be only Skoak, the frog, he resumed his work of pilfering the squirrel’s store.
“Iis kho, and you too,” he said in a muffled voice as with bulging cheeks he hurried back to his hole.
Now the frog in those days had sharp gnawing teeth like a beaver’s and when he entered the hollow stump he tested the nuts to find what variety he would choose. He had taken hickory nuts before but now chose to take chestnuts.
From the limb over the stump store house a shrill cry sounded.
“Thief found!” came the alarm, and the woodchuck and the frog buried their ears in their booty to shut out the sound.
On the following day the squirrel chief called a council of all the animals, for in those days the squirrel was a famous animal and mightier than a wolf.
“Thieves have been found,” said he. “I call a council to pronounce judgement.”
Every animal from the neighborhood was present except the frog and the woodchuck.
A delegation was sent to examine the houses of these absent two and after some time returned with the most guilty pair ever brought to council for judgement.
Said the squirrel chief. “I saw you steal the squirrel’s nuts, the delegation found them in your houses, therefore, you shall be punished. You, the woodchuck, shall have your tail removed to humble your pride, and you the frog shall have your teeth taken from your mouth that you may not be further tempted to steal another’s store. You the squirrel have been too careless. Henceforth build your storehouse high and in order to protect yourself from offenders that might attack you, I give you this blanket to stretch from leg to leg so that you may skim the air like a leaf.”
A wolf snapped off the woodchuck’s tail and a heron extracted the frog’s teeth and so punished the guilty knaves in sight of all.
So now all these things came to pass; all frogs were afterwards hatched without teeth, all woodchucks had bobbed tails and all the descendents of the squirrel had blankets fastened to their legs and bellies and made a tribe of their own. Moreover, since that time all frogs have been afraid of long-billed birds and all woodchucks are afraid of wolves but some squirrels have blankets and can skim the air like leaves.
49. THE CHICKADEE’S SONG.[[44]]
Djikdjunkwa was a lonely chickadee. She was very sad and sat on the limb of a tree singing a sorrowful tune. Then she flew to another tree and listened for an answering call.
A wolf passing by heard her crying song and tears came in his eyes. “Let me be your helper?” he asked.
“What kind of food do you eat, good friend?” asked she.
“Raw meat, raw meat,” exclaimed the wolf, seeking to lure the Chickadee to him.
But Chickadee screamed a fluttering note and flew away. Soon again she sang her song.
“I am so lonesome, I am looking for somebody to marry me.”
A crow flying over listened and was moved to help the distressed little bird.
“Oh poor Chickadee,” said Crow. “I would like to marry you.”
“What would you feed my young ones?” asked the Chickadee.
“Ripe dead meat,” answered the crow, whereupon Chickadee flew away and hid herself in a low bush, until the crow had flown away. Then she returned to a tree and sang again:
“Dji-he, dji-he, dji-i-he, I am so lonely that I would like to marry. Dji-he, dji-he, dji-i-he.”
Soon she heard an answering call and saw a bird like herself. He flew toward her and said, “I am the one and we will marry now.”
50. THE BIRD WOMAN.[[45]]
Sitting mournfully on the edge of her nest was a heart-broken Gonadjodjo, (Chewink). Her husband had been blown away on the breath of a storm and the bird mother was left alone to care for her hungry brood.
All day long she had waited for her mate to return but, alas, he seemed to have forgotten her. Disconsolate, she listened to her children’s cries. When she would fly to find their food they would shiver with cold and when she nestled them under her wings they would scream for bugs and seeds and berries. Something must be done or her callow nestlings would perish. So with a sad heart she began to sing in melancholy note.
Fluttering upon the stump of a fallen tree she sang and an owl within a hollow stub nearby poked out his head and said, “Oh may I not be your helper and care for your nest?”
“Alas!” sighed Gonadjodjo in great distress, “it would never do for my young birds would die when they heard you.”
The owl drew back into his hole and Gonadjodjo sang again.
From another hollow tree came an answering call. “May I not be your helper?” screeched a night hawk.
“Ah, what would you say to comfort them?” said Ganojojo.
“I would say Hai‘´, hai‘´, hai‘´, hai‘´!”
“Oh no, no!” cried Ganodjodjo, “they would scream the worse.”
Flying to an open spot she sang again and a crow poking among the weeds paused and lifted his head as he heard the song. Then, with all compassion he said, “Oh, Ganodjodjo, I would like to help you.”
“Then what would you say to soothe my children?” sighed the unhappy bird.
“Ga! ga! ga! ga!” replied the crow, but Ganodjodjo cried in terror that his harsh hoarse voice was far too hoarse for her little ones, so, the crow croaked and strode on.
Winging her way to the top of a dead tree Ganodjodjo sang again her plaintive song. There was a whirr of wings and a bluejay alighted on the branch beside her.
“I will help you gladly,” said he.
“Well,” said the hapless Ganodjodjo shyly, for she was impressed with the gay bird at her side, “what would you say to my children?”
“In my softest voice I would say, “Di’´, di’´, di’´, di’´, di’´, di’´, di’´, skil´lŭm, skil´lŭm!”
The sharp shrill cry of the bluejay made Ganodjodjo’s ears ache and fluttering to the ground half fainting she fell in a mouldering pile of leaves. Plaintively she sang her song again. The leaves on the ground a distance away began to tremble and rustle and then there was a faint sound of “tci´-wii‘, tci´-wii‘!” The disconsolate bird stopped short, and darting to the spot found her own lost mate.
“I have been stunned and bruised,” he said, “and only awoke when you called.”
She plucked him a red berry for medicine and then together they flew to their nest, he with unsteady wings but she in strong and happy flight.