At last he looked up to see what it was.
There sat the little elf man, swinging on the tip of a branch, and throwing nuts and twigs at him. He looked just as he did when Little Shooter met him by the stream long before. He had not grown old or changed at all.
"How long have you been here?" asked Little Shooter.
"I have always been here," said the little man. "I have been in the world ever since the stones were soft."
Then he laughed, and asked, "Does Little Shooter now like big bow and arrows best, or has he learned that sometimes small things are great? Next time, he had better trade with the little man," and aiming another nut at Little Shooter's head, he disappeared in the tree trunk.
HOW AN INDIAN BOY WON HIS NAME
It was bluebird time, many moons ago. Little brooks laughed and danced, and all the forest was glad.