Yellow Thunder, Our Little Indian Cousin

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

Yellow Thunder begins already to look forward to the first festival of the springtime. It is called by the Indians "Thanks to the Maple." I don't dare to give it to you in their own language. You would only scowl and say, "Oh, dear! what's the use? I can't pronounce those long words, and I will not try."

Just as soon as the first warm days arrive, the red boy's eyes begin to watch the maple-trees. He wishes to be the first one to discover that the sap has started and is beginning to flow. Then hurrah for a holiday for old and young! Thanks must be given to the tree that gives so much sweetness to boys and girls. The Great Spirit must be thanked, also, for he gave the maple to the poor Indian.

There must be more feasting and story-telling, more games and dancing. Tobacco must be burned as an offering to the Great Spirit, and prayers must be said. The great feather dance will be the best thing of all. It is very graceful and beautiful, and the band of dancers will wear costumes which belong only to this dance.

You certainly cannot wonder that Yellow Thunder enjoys this festival. I don't doubt you would like to be there, also, as well as at the green corn feast, and many others.

At these times your red cousin's heart is full of gladness and gratitude for the great gifts the Great Spirit has given him.

It is evening time. Let us creep up softly behind him as he listens to a legend one of the story-tellers of the tribe is repeating. It is the tale of the Lone Lightning.

Once upon a time there was a poor little boy who had no father or mother. He lived with an uncle who did not love him. This cruel man made the child do many hard things and did not give him enough to eat. Of course the child did not grow properly. He was very thin and pitiful to look upon. After awhile the cruel uncle grew ashamed of the appearance of the boy. Every one could see that he was ill-treated.

He said to himself, "I will give the child so much to eat that he will die. I hate him!" Then he went to his wife and said, "Give the boy bear's meat, and choose the fat of it for him."

They kept cramming the child. When they were stuffing the food down his throat one day, he almost choked. Poor little fellow! There was no one who cared for him or wished him to live. He knew it only too well.

The first chance he obtained, he ran away. He did not know where to go, but wandered around in the forest. Night came. Wild beasts would now begin to roam about. They would get him and eat him. The little boy was afraid when he thought of all this. He climbed up in a tree as far as he dared, and went to sleep in a fork of the branches. He had a wonderful dream. It was an omen given to him by the spirits.