It was during this unhappy time that a young brave, Grey Squirrel, lived among the Oneida people. He was not an unusual Indian. He was of average build with average good looks and average abilities. He took part in only the things the average young man in his tribe enjoyed—hunting, fishing, trapping, and doing all the things they did. However, there was one difference that set Grey Squirrel aside from his brothers of the tribe: Grey Squirrel had never heard his name spoken by the chiefs of the tribe. All the other braves of his age had either heard the chiefs call their names while on the hunt, at a tribal ceremony, or while walking in the woods or swimming in the stream.
So Grey Squirrel began to wonder whether he had ever done anything which, in the eyes of the chiefs, made him unworthy. He had fought in great battles, but he had never been cowardly. So cowardice could not be the reason. He had never failed to hunt well, to keep his wigwam warm and sturdy, and to see that there was enough food for all the family. He could see no way in which he had been unworthy of the chiefs’ notice. Often Grey Squirrel would walk by the quiet stream and ponder the reason for his being a brave forgotten by the chiefs.
As Grey Squirrel’s heart grew troubled, he sought the wise advice of his father, Grey Owl. One evening, he approached his father’s wigwam and asked if he might speak with him about something which tormented his mind. Grey Owl invited him into his home and they both sat cross-legged around the small fire in the center of the wigwam. There was a long period of silence and then Grey Owl spoke.
“What is it that troubles you so deeply, my son? I have often watched you wander from the village to the near-by stream and sit and ponder. I have watched you return with a downcast look from the hunt or battle when you should have been joyful that your bow had proven straight and true in whatever task you set for it.” His father paused. “Speak, my son, unburden your heart to your father who has loved you and guided you from babyhood to fine young manhood.”
Grey Squirrel looked long at his father and as he watched his father’s eyes, his face softened and he said, “O wise and kind father, many years I walked the forest trails at your heels carefully watching every move, imitating all that you taught me to the best of my ability. Many, many hours we spent together beneath the sheltering branches of the towering oak trees, listening with our ears to the voices of the forest. You taught me how to listen and what to listen for, so that my ears have grown very keen. Today the deer may not tread the forest floor that I do not hear, nor the rabbit scurry for cover that I cannot uncover the entrance to his home, nor the bluebird set his wings for flight that I cannot immediately see his starting place. And yet, dear father, there is one sound I have listened for and have not heard.”
Grey Owl had been listening calmly to all that his young son had to say. Surprise crossed his face with his son’s last words, and then a gentle smile came upon his lips. “Tell me, Grey Squirrel, what is this sound you listen so hard for but cannot hear?”
“O father,” Grey Squirrel said, “I have listened for the voices of our great chiefs calling my name, but to this day I have not heard them. Am I not in favor with those who watch over our tribe and guide our feet along the safe paths? Tell me, father, why do I not hear my name spoken by them? I have listened along the forest trails or in the din of battle. I have lain awake in the quiet of my wigwam listening for just a whisper. All the other braves of our village are proud that they have heard their names repeated by the chiefs. I alone have not. What is wrong, father? I have come to you to seek your wise answer.”
Grey Owl lowered his eyes to the ground as he searched his thoughts for the right reply. Then he lifted his head slowly and studied his son’s face. He began to speak slowly and kindly. “My son, you have made one very great mistake. Without having meant to do so, you have done the one thing which could have prevented you from hearing the chiefs call your name.”
“Tell me, father,” Grey Squirrel said impatiently, “tell me what it is!”
Grey Owl rose and walked behind his son. Placing his hands upon the young man’s shoulders, he said, “Because you have walked in search of their praise you have spent many hours expecting to hear them praise you. Do not listen so hard, my son. Live your life the best you know how. One day you shall be rewarded by hearing the voices of the chiefs who watch over our tribe. Do not be troubled any longer. Return to your wigwam and your family and continue to be a good husband and father. If you allow it to worry you greatly, it will soon hurt your whole life. You are young, my son. You have not been forgotten.”