"Perhaps he did. I don't know. Go to bed."
"What happened to old King Walrus?"
"I won't tell you to-night. Go to bed!"
"Did King Moose come home and fight him?"
"Go to bed! Go to bed! Go—to—bed!"
So, at last, while the fire still burned brightly, little Flying Plover went to bed under a soft robe of furs—and with most of his clothes on too. But his grandmother sat up for an hour or two longer, and smoked another pipeful of tobacco.
IV
HOW FIRE CAME TO THE MOUNTAINEERS
Flying Plover was awake bright and early next morning, and went right out in the cold and snow to get wood for his grandmother's fire. The men of the village always kept the old medicine-woman's wood pile well supplied—so the little boy had no chopping to do, but just carried armfuls of dry sticks into the lodge. Though it was nearly breakfast time, the sun was not yet up; but a narrow yellow band edged the horizon in one place, and in the faint twilight several people besides Flying Plover were moving about out of doors. Some were getting wood, and some were carrying water from the hole in the frozen brook. Big Hunter, the chief of the village, was feeding frozen fish to his sledge-dogs; for he and his sons were going to make an early start in search of caribou. The air was very still and cold, and the tall trees which stood all around and among the lodges snapped in the frost. Little Flying Plover was too cold to even shout out to his friends. This was the part of the day which he did not like—the short time before the fire was lighted and breakfast was cooked. So he worked very fast, running backward and forward between the lodge and the wood pile. His task was soon done; and soon the fire burned cheerily in the middle of the lodge, the smoke streamed up to the peak of the roof and out into the frosty air, and the old medicine-woman put the tea-kettle and the frying-pan on the coals.
After breakfast, Squat-by-the-fire gave her little grandson a lesson in moccasin-sewing; and after the lesson she kept him at work at making a pair of moccasins while she steeped medicines. For a little while in the afternoon he worked at carving a caribou from a block of wood; but it was hard work, and he cut his finger; and after a whole hour of scooping and cutting, the thing still looked more like a block than a caribou. He almost cried. In fact, two tears rolled out of his eyes and half-way down his fat cheeks before he remembered that warriors do not weep and hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand. His grandmother did not let him know that she had seen the tears; but she tied a piece of rag around his cut finger and told him to go out and play with the other little boys.