It was at the time of the Berry Moon that Yeh sen noh wehs hit the story trail. Since then she has journeyed through all the lands of the Senecas, the Onondagas, the Cayugas, the Oneidas, the Mohawks, and the Tuscaroras.
Like the story-teller of old, Yeh sen noh wehs wandered from lodge to lodge of the Iroquois. "Hanio," she would call, and as the Indians gathered round, she would tell them one of the stories that other Indian friends had told to her.
Sometimes this would remind the Red Children of another story, which Yeh sen noh wehs did not know, and they would tell it to her. It was in this way that these stories have been gathered.
There were many days when Yeh sen noh wehs told her stories, but none were told in return. Few members of the tribes—these usually the oldest—could remember the stories "they used to tell."
Sometimes Yeh sen noh wehs heard a story as she trudged along a furrow, beside a ragged Indian who was plowing with a more ragged-looking team. Or she would listen as she helped an Indian woman prepare the evening meal, pick berries, or gather nuts.
Sometimes, as Yeh sen noh wehs sat by a fire down in the depths of a beautiful wood, and watched the smoke of the sacred medicine rise, a medicine man would tell her a story; or an Indian woman would drop a word, as she sat at her door weaving baskets or making beadwork.
These stories Yeh sen noh wehs has made into a story book, that they might not be lost and forgotten; that all the Iroquois Red Children and their children's children might know and tell them, and that Paleface children might learn them as well.
The American children have no fairies of their own. They must borrow their fairies from children of other nations. Yeh sen noh wehs thought it very sad, so she put a magic feather in her cap, and winged moccasins on her feet. Then she went on the chase for real American wonder stories, and for real American fairies.