II
While they talked, the night departed. From his shining lodge of silver came the sun. The air was warm and pleasant; the streams began to murmur; the birds began to sing. And a scent of growing grasses was wafted through the lodge.
The old man's face dropped upon his breast, and he slept. Then the maiden saw more clearly the icy face before her—saw the icy face of winter.
Slowly she passed her hands above his head. Streams of water ran from his eyes, and his body shrunk and dwindled till it faded into the air—vanished into the earth—and his clothing turned to green leaves.
The maiden took from her bosom the most precious flowers. Kneeling upon the ground, she hid them all about among the leaves.
"I give you my most precious flowers and my sweetest breath," she said, "but all who would pluck you must do so upon bended knee."
Then the maiden moved away—through the forest and over the waking fields; and wherever she stepped, and nowhere else in all the land, grows the trailing arbutus.
—INDIAN LEGEND.