The Stone Axe of Burkamukk - Mary Grant Bruce

Then from the camp burst a knot of fighting-men, racing towards him. He caught the glint of the rising sun on their spears and throwing-sticks; and he waved to them, for he could not shout. They came on with great strides: there was music in the sound of their trampling feet. When they came to him, they divided, running past him, and Wurip staggered through the lane they formed. He heard fierce cries and blows behind him, but he did not stop.

Before him the camp lay, and never had it smiled to him a welcome so sweet. There were people running out to meet him; men, women, and little children: he could hear their voices, amazed and rejoicing—"Wurip! It is Wurip, bringing us Fire!" He tried to smile at them, but his lips would not move. So he staggered in to the circle of the huts, and there fell upon his face, still grasping the red fire-stick in his blistered hand. It was all red now, for it had burned down to the last few inches.

Then, as they clustered round him, lifting him with gentle hands and blessing his name, he smiled at them a little, and died peacefully, happy that he had brought back Fire to his own people.

But to the people he did not die. Ever after they honoured his name, calling him the benefactor of the tribe: so that in death he found that honour that forgot he had ever been little and weak, and a cripple. And when you see the little Fire-tailed Finch that hops about so fearlessly, with the bright red feathers making a patch of flame on its sober plumage, you are looking at Wurip, the Fire-bringer, who gave his life to vanquish the wicked Fire-Women and to lay Fire once more upon the hearth-stones of his tribe.

Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London

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MARY GRANT BRUCE'S