When he arose the white bear saw only a little pile of gray ashes. He laughed so loudly that the boy awoke and snatched up his bow and arrows.
But the white bear ran away to his cave, still growling laughingly. He knew that no human being could live in that cruelly cold north country without fire.
Now when the white bear was gone, the little gray robin hopped near. Her chirp was quite sad. She, too, saw nothing but a little heap of ashes as gray as her own feathers.
She hopped nearer. She scratched among the ashes with her cold little claws. She looked eagerly at each cinder with her sharp little eyes. She found—a tiny live coal.
It was only the tiniest spark! The least flake of the fast-falling snow would put it out!
The little gray robin hovered over it that the cold wind might not reach the spark. She fanned it softly with her wings for a long, long time.
The gray robin hovered so close that the coal touched her gray breast. As she fanned it glowed larger and redder. Her breast was scorched quite red, as the coal grew.
But the robin did not leave until a fine red flame blazed up.
Then the robin with her poor scorched red breast flew away. She flew wearily, for she was very tired. Now and again she touched the ground.
And wherever the robin's red breast touched the earth a fire was kindled. Soon the whole north country was blazing with tiny fires over which the Eskimos might cook their food and dry their clothes.