LITTLE BEAR.
Once upon a time, there was an Indian boy and he had a little sister. Now the little sister was not like an Indian child, for she was a bear.
Early one morning the boy started out to seek his fortune, but Little Bear wished to go too.
“No, no, Little Bear, you cannot go. You must stay at home and watch the fire,” said her brother. Then he tied Little Bear to the door posts that she might not run away.
He had not gone very far on his journey when he heard TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP, in the path behind him. There was Little Bear following with the door posts on her back.
“Oh, Little Bear, I told you to stay at home and watch the fire,” said the boy.
He led Little Bear back, and this time he tied her to a pine tree.
He had not gone very far when he heard once more, TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP, in the path behind him. There was Little Bear following with the pine tree on her back.
“Oh, Little Bear, you must stay at home and watch the fire,” said the boy.
He led Little Bear back, and this time he tied her to a rock.
He started on his journey again, but he had not gone a stone’s throw, when he heard THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, in the path behind him. There was Little Bear following him with the rock on her back.
“What shall I do with you, Little Bear?” said the boy. But just then they came to a wide brook with no bridge to span it.
“How shall I cross?” said the little boy.
Little Bear pushed the rock into the water. She laid the pine tree across the rock for a bridge. They both walked across the brook in safety.
“Well, you may come with me, Little Bear,” said the boy.
They journeyed for many days until they came, at last, to some very dark woods. In the woods they met Brother Wolf carrying a candle to light him on his way.
“The sun is lost from the sky,” said Brother Wolf; “the old squaw pulled it down.”
“Oho, I can find the sun,” said Little Bear, “but you must first give me two lumps of maple sugar.”
Brother Wolf gave Little Bear two lumps of maple sugar and she hurried along until she came to the old squaw’s wigwam. The old squaw was stirring a kettle of rice over her fire. Little Bear crept up behind her. Little Bear dropped the two lumps of maple sugar into the kettle. As the old squaw stirred, she tasted her rice.
“It is too sweet,” she said; “I must go to the field for more.”
While she was gone, Little Bear found the sun, which the old squaw had hid in her wigwam. Little Bear tossed it back to the sky again.
When the old squaw came back from the rice fields and missed her sun, she was very angry. She looked for it many, many days, but the clouds hid it from her. Then, one night, she pulled the moon down, and hid that away in her wigwam.
So there was no light in the evening. Brother Wolf lighted his candle again, and he hurried after the boy and Little Bear, who had started on their journey again.
“The moon is gone from the sky,” said Brother Wolf, “the old squaw has pulled it down.”
“Oho, I can find the moon,” said Little Bear; “give me two pinches of salt, Brother Wolf.”
Brother Wolf gave Little Bear two pinches of salt, and Little Bear crept up to the old squaw again, and threw the salt in her kettle of rice.
“The rice is too salty,” said the old squaw, tasting as she stirred; “I must go to the field for more.”
While she was gone, Little Bear snatched the moon from the wigwam, where the old squaw had hid it, and tossed it up to the sky again.
Brother Wolf snuffed his candle, for he did not need it any more, but the old squaw was very angry. The old squaw ran after Little Bear. She caught her, and she put her in a bag, and tied the bag to a tree. Then she went for her spoon with which to beat Little Bear.
But while she was gone, Little Bear bit a hole in the bag with her teeth. She slipped out. Then she filled the bag with the old squaw’s pots and pans. When the old squaw came back, and began beating the bag, she broke all her dishes.
Then the boy and Little Bear picked up enough sun gold and moon silver which had fallen by the road to make them rich for always. And Little Bear traveled with her brother wherever he went after that. Was she not a clever Little Bear?
HOW THE PIGS CAN
SEE THE WIND.
Once upon a time, Mrs. Pig lived in a fine house of her own with her five little pigs. Four of the little pigs were black, but the smallest pig was white and he was as the apple of his mother’s eye.
Around the hill from Mrs. Pig’s house lived Brother Wolf, and Brother Wolf had a mighty good mouth for pig meat. Every night Mr. Wolf came through the garden gate, and he walked round and round Mrs. Pig’s house, sniffing and snuffing, and calling in a soft voice:
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”
But Mrs. Pig always locked her door fast, and Brother Wolf had to go home without any pig meat.
One night Brother Wolf thought of a trick. He put a very high hat on his head. He put shoes on his feet. He tied a necktie around his neck, and he looked just like Mr. Man.
Then he put a bag of corn over his shoulder, and he walked, TRAMP, TRAMP, up the brick walk that led to Mrs. Pig’s house, and he rapped loudly on Mrs. Pig’s door.
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin,”
he said.
“Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig, peeping through the window, the little white pig under her arm.
“Mr. Man, come to put a mark on your little pigs,” said Brother Wolf.
Then Mrs. Pig opened the door, and she turned out the four little black pigs. But the little white pig was as the apple of her eye, and she hid him in the cupboard.
So Brother Wolf emptied all the corn out of his bag, and he put in the four little pigs, and he carried them home with him.
By and by, Brother Wolf was hungry for more pig meat, so he dressed himself in his clothes again. He put his bag of corn over his shoulder, and he rapped loudly at Mrs. Pig’s door, calling:
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”
“Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig.
“Mr. Man, come to put a mark on your little white pig,” said Brother Wolf.
But Mrs. Pig barred the door, and locked the window, and hid the little white pig in the dresser, for he was as the apple of her eye.
Then Brother Wolf was very angry, and he took off his hat and his shoes and his necktie. He hurried up and down the roads until he met Mr. Wind, who wore a red cloak, and was sweeping the fields.
Brother Wolf told Mr. Wind how he had a mighty good mouth for pig meat. Mr. Wind said he would help Brother Wolf, for he always liked a romp.
So Mr. Wind and Brother Wolf went to Mrs. Pig’s house and they rapped loudly on the door, and Brother Wolf called out:
“Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”
But never a word did Mrs. Pig say.
“Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig.
“Blow, Mr. Wind,” said Brother Wolf.
Then Mr. Wind began to puff himself out bigger and bigger. He huffed and he puffed and he blew a mighty gale. He blew round the garden, and he pulled up the corn and threw it down on the ground. He slammed the gate and he rattled the window. He shook the door, and he cried, “WHE-EE, WHE-EE,” in the keyhole, did Mr. Wind.
Brother Wolf was so frightened that his hair stood up straight on his back. Out of the garden he ran, and around the hill. He never stopped, nor looked behind him, and no one ever saw him in Mrs. Pig’s garden again.
“WHE-EE, WHE-EE, let me in,” called Mr. Wind.
Mrs. Pig opened her door a crack, and peeped out with the little white pig under her arm, for he was the apple of her eye.
HUFF, PUFF, the door blew open wide. When Mrs. Pig saw Mr. Wind in his red cloak running around the garden, she hurried off to the woods with her little white pig, and she never came home for a day and a night.
And that is how the pigs first came to see the wind. If you do not believe it, just watch them run when Mr. Wind comes huffing and puffing through the garden.
THE TALKING
GRASS.
Once upon a time when there were only Indians and animals in our land, there was a green hill covered with long talking grass. The four winds of heaven brought the grasses news of what was going on in the world, and of the coming of hunters. Then the grasses whispered this news to their friends, the little red Fox, the Hare, the Deer, and the Wolf. If the animals were too far away to hear the soft voices of the grasses, they gave the messages to the Butterflies. The hill was the refuge of these animals, and the talking grasses were their friends.
One day a great band of hunters came from their camp in the valley, up the hill. They were armed with bows and arrows. They planned to kill enough game to give them food for a long time. But the grasses knew that the hunters were on their way. They warned the animals, who hid at once. When the hunters reached the hill, they saw nothing but green grass waving in the wind. Many bright butterflies flew above it.
The hunters listened and heard the grasses talking to one another. They saw, too, the trails of the animals as they had passed through it. They guessed at once what had happened.
“The grasses have told the animals to flee and hide from us,” they said. “We must kill them. To-night we will rest and sleep among them, for we are tired with our long journey. But to-morrow we will tear every blade of grass up by its roots.”
At these cruel words the grasses became still. They loved their life on the hill, with their roots in the earth and their green blades reaching up to the sunshine. Now they knew that they were going to die in the morning. They could neither sing nor talk any more. But the Butterflies knew the grasses’ peril. They flew away, one by one, so that the hunters would suspect nothing, until they came to the Fox’s den. They told him of the great danger of the talking grasses. They begged him to do anything that he could to save them.
The Fox set off at once. He did not stop until he came to a dark cave on the side of a mountain. Here the Fire Manito lived. Few dared speak to him, for he was a very mighty Manito. He was able to destroy man or beast at his will. But when he saw the eager, trembling little Fox, waiting outside, the Fire Manito asked him his errand. The Fox told him that the grasses were to be killed in the morning, unless something was done to save them.
The Manito went to the back of his cave and brought out a heap of black stones. There was no light in them. He told the Fox about them.
“They came from the depths of the earth,” he said. “The Great Spirit mixed a million sunbeams in each. Then he hid them in the earth until they should be needed to give heat and light to man. Now we will use the black stones to save the grasses.”
The Manito heated the stones in his wood fire and they glowed like red rubies. He sent the Fox ahead to tell the grasses to be brave. He, himself, followed with his arms full of the glowing stones which did not burn him because he was the Fire Manito.
The hunters had arisen early and waited at the foot of the hill, ready to rush up and tear up the grasses. But the Manito laid the brightly burning stones in a circle about the hill. The hunters were not able to get through. It was a ring of fire and it frightened them. They had never seen burning coals before. They went back to their camp and the grasses were safe, for the coals burned to ashes without touching them.
The grasses soon found their voices again, and they have been talking to their friends, the animals, ever since. In the summer they tell the Field Mouse and the Hare where to hide safely. In the spring they tell the Deer that they are fresh and green for his food. When it is winter, a few of the grasses stand up, stiff and tall, above the snow as the lone gray Wolf runs by. They guide him to food. In the fall the whispering of the dry grasses helps the Fox to double his trail so that no one may catch him.
Who of you have heard the voices of the grasses?
HOW THE FOX
PLAYED HERDSMAN.
Once upon a time there was a little old woman who had a farm of her very own with sheep, and cows, and swine. But the little old woman was so busy making butter and minding the dairy that she had no time to look after the herds.
One fine morning she started out to hire a herdsman. Now she had not gone very far when she met a bear.
“Whither away, Goody?” asked Bruin of the little old woman.
“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody in reply.
“Why not hire me, Goody?” asked Bruin.
“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.
“You should just hear me,” said Bruin, and he called in a very loud and gruff voice, “OW, OW.”
“No, no, I won’t have you,” said the little old woman as soon as she heard his gruff voice, and off she went on her way.
She had not gone a day’s journey farther when she met a wolf.
“Whither away, Goody?” asked the wolf of the little old woman.
“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody.
“Why not hire me, Goody?” asked the wolf.
“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.
“You should just hear me,” said the wolf, and he called in a shrill voice, “UH, UH.”
“No, no,” said the little old woman as soon as she heard that, and off she went on her way.
But before the end of another day’s journey, whom should the little old woman meet but Brother Fox, sitting beside a blackberry bush, and sunning himself.
“Whither away, Goody?” asked Brother Fox.
“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody in reply.
“Why not hire me, Goody?” said Brother Fox.
“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.
“Ah, you should hear me,” said Brother Fox. He opened his mouth very wide, and sang in a sweet voice:
“Tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti-tra-la-la.”
“You will do very well,” said the little old woman, quite carried away with the fox’s sweet singing. “You shall come home with me, and be my herdsman.”
Things went very well for a little while at the farm. Early each morning Brother Fox led the sheep and the cows and the swine to pasture, and at night he led them home again, and locked the barn, and bolted the pigpen.
But, somehow, after a week, the flocks and the herds seemed smaller each night when the little old woman went out to make the rounds of the farm.
“Where is the small black pig?” she asked of Brother Fox.
“Loitering in the meadow,” said Brother Fox, wiping his mouth with his paw.
“Where is the old ram?” asked the little old woman.
“He stops behind at the brook,” said Brother Fox, turning his head away that Goody might not see him laughing.
So Goody went back to the dairy, and she wondered and wondered what made the flocks grow smaller.
At last she had churned enough butter to make a fine cake and she went out to the poultry roost for eggs with which to enrich it.
Alas, such a hubbub, and cackling, and fussing did she find.
The cock stood on the pump, crying loudly, “Cock-a-doodle-do.”
The hens ran about cackling, and out of their midst walked Brother Fox with a chicken over his back, and his hat full of eggs.
And as he went along he sang to all the poultry yard:
“Tum-ti-ti, Tum-ti-ti,
Tum, tum, ti,
Old Goody’s herdsman,
Sly Reynard, am I.”
“Well, it’s certainly a very poor herdsman you are,” cried the little old woman. “Where is the small black pig? Where is the old ram?”
She ran after Brother Fox, who dropped his eggs and broke every one, and tipped over the churn as he passed the dairy. The little old woman picked up the dasher, and would have beaten Brother Fox, but he was too quick for her, and reached the woods, with a drop of cream on the tip end of his tail.
So the little old woman learned what had become of her herds, and Brother Fox was never able to get that cream from off his tail, The tip end has been white ever since he played at being a herdsman.
MR. ELEPHANT
AND MR. FROG.
Once upon a time, when Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog lived together in the same wood with Mr. Fox and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Hare and Mr. Lion, the animals were all very good friends.
Mr. Elephant was very, very big, and Mr. Frog was very, very little, but every day they went walking together, Mr. Elephant going in front, tramp, tramp, tramp; and Mr. Frog going on behind, hop, hop, hop.
One night when they came home, Mr. Hare, who was a saucy little fellow, ran to meet them, and he said:
“Oho, Mr. Frog says Mr. Elephant is his horse.”
Then Mr. Fox and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Lion all followed after Mr. Hare, crying:
“Oho, oho, Mr. Elephant is Mr. Frog’s horse.”
Mr. Elephant turned around, and he said in a very gruff voice to Mr. Frog:
“Did you tell them, grandson, that I was your horse?”
And Mr. Frog said in a high, squeaky voice:
“No, no, grandfather.”
But all the time Mr. Frog was thinking of a trick to play on Mr. Elephant.
The next day, Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog started off for a long walk. Mr. Frog had heard of a place where the swamps were deep and muddy. Mr. Elephant knew a place where the bananas grew ripe and thick. And they spent a pleasant day. On the way home Mr. Frog hopped up close to Mr. Elephant, and he said in his high, squeaky voice:
“Grandfather, I have no strength to walk. Let me get up on your back.”
“Climb up, my grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.
And just then they came toward home.
He put his trunk down for a ladder, and Mr. Frog climbed up. They had not gone very far when Mr. Frog hopped up close to Mr. Elephant’s ear, and he said:
“I am going to fall, grandfather. Give me some small cords from the roadside that I may bind your mouth, and hold myself upon your back.”
“I will, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.
So Mr. Elephant stripped some small cords from a birch tree by the roadside, and handed them to Mr. Frog. Then Mr. Frog bound Mr. Elephant’s mouth, and they went on a little farther. It was not long, though, before Mr. Frog spoke again to Mr. Elephant.
“Grandfather,” he said, “find me a small, green twig that I may fan the mosquitoes from your ears.”
“I will, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant, so he broke a small, green twig from the birch tree, and reached it up to Mr. Frog; and just then they came toward home.
“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Hare.
“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Tiger.
“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Lion and all the others, “Mr. Elephant is Mr. Frog’s horse.”
Mr. Elephant turned himself about, and he saw Mr. Frog on his back, holding the reins and the whip.
“Why, so I am, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.
Then Mr. Frog jumped down to the ground, and he laughed and he laughed until he nearly split his coat, because he had played a trick on Mr. Elephant.
HOW DRAKESTAIL
WENT TO THE
KING.
Once upon a time there was a wee little duck, with a very long tail, so he was called Drakestail. Now, Drakestail had some money of his very, very own, and the king asked if he might take it. So Drakestail loaned all his money to the king.
But the king kept Drakestail’s money for a year and a day, and still he did not send it back. Drakestail said he would go to the king and bring back the money himself.
So off he started, one very fine morning, for the king’s house. The sun was shining on the ponds, and Drakestail waddled along in the middle of the road, feeling very fine. As he traveled, he met a fox, and the fox said, “Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?”
“To the king,” said Drakestail, “for he owes me money.”
“I will travel along with you,” said the fox.
“Ah,” said Drakestail, “your four legs would soon tire. Come along with me this way,” and he opened his wee little bill very wide, and down his wee little throat went the fox.
Then Drakestail traveled on a little farther. As he went he came to a ladder lying beside the road.
“Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?” asked the ladder.
“To the king,” said Drakestail, “for he owes me money.”
“I will travel along with you,” said the ladder.
“Your wooden legs would soon tire,” said Drakestail. “Come along with me this way,” and he opened his little bill very wide, and down his wee little throat went the ladder.
Then Drakestail traveled on a bit farther until he came to his friend, the river, lying and glistening in the sunshine.
“Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?” asked the river.
“To the king, for he owes me money,” said Drakestail.
“I will travel with you,” said the river.
“You would soon tire if you ran so far, my friend,” said Drakestail. “Come along with me this way.” He opened his wee bill very wide, and down his wee little throat went the little river.
Then Drakestail traveled and traveled until he came to the king’s house. Now Drakestail thought that the king would meet him at the gate, so he called out very loudly:
“Honk! Honk! Drakestail waits at the gate.”
But the king did not come out to meet him. Who should appear at the gate but the king’s cook, and the cook took Drakestail by his two little legs and flung him into the poultry yard. The other fowls, who were ill-bred birds, ran up to Drakestail and bit him, and jeered at his large tail. It would have gone very badly with Drakestail, but he called to his friend, the fox:
“Reynard, Reynard, come out to the earth,
Or Drakestail’s life is of little worth.”
So the fox came out, and he ate up all the ill-bred fowls in the king’s poultry yard. But still Drakestail was badly off. He heard the king’s cook putting the broth pot over the fire.
“Ladder, ladder, come out to the wall,
Drakestail does not wish to be broth at all,”
he cried. So the ladder came out and leaned against the wall, and Drakestail climbed over in safety. But the king’s cook saw Drakestail and set out after him. He caught poor Drakestail and clapped him into the broth pot, and hung him over the fire.
“River, my sweetheart, put out this hot fire,
The flames that would cook me rise higher and higher,”
cried Drakestail. So the river put out the fire with a great noise and sputtering, which the king heard. And the king came running to the kitchen.
“Good morning to you, King,” said Drakestail, hopping out of the broth pot, and making a very low bow, “are you through with my money, which you have kept for a year and a day?”
“That I am, Drakestail,” said the king. “You shall have it at once.”
So the king gave Drakestail the money that he owed him, and Drakestail waddled home again to tell of all his travels.