FIRE AND THE FIRE MAKERS
"Are you going away, Grandmother? Take me with you."
"I am on my way to the forest, White Cloud. It will be a long walk for you. We need dry moss and decayed wood for tinder. Some cold morning we shall wake and find no red coals in the ashes. Then we shall need some pieces of the driest of wood to kindle a new fire."
"Let me go, and I will help you look for dry wood. I know I am big enough to be a fire maker. Haven't I seen seven winters?"
So Nokomis and White Cloud started on the trail that led to the wild forest. There great trees had died and fallen, and the branches had been decaying for many moons—no one can tell how many.
"Is the fire always lost when we move our camp, Grandmother?"
"Not always. Some lodge keepers try to carry a few coals, and the one who succeeds is glad to share with others. But one person is often sent ahead to the new camp to make a central fire out of doors. You know it takes a long time to get a spark by rubbing two sticks together."
"How did the Indians get fire in the first place? And how did fire get into wood?" asked White Cloud.
"I will tell you, my child. I have heard all about it from the story-tellers.
"Once there was only one fire in all the world. It was kept in a sacred wigwam and guarded by an old blind man.