But long long ago, before the feet of white men ever trod the forest of the New World, as America was called in those days, and while Indians in vast numbers roamed over the land, there was a time when Indian corn or maize was unknown even to the red men. Their food consisted almost entirely of meat—the fleet-footed deer and wild turkey—and fish from the little trout streams. Sometimes a handful of sweet berries was found, which added zest to the meal.
Life ran on smoothly in the summer time, for then the Indians lived well, but when the long, snowy New England winters set in, it was quite a different matter. The streams froze over, the birds flew south, and the deer retreated farther into the depths of the forest. Sometimes when there had been an unusually large number of deer killed in the fall, the Indian women cut up the flesh into strips and dried it in the warm bright autumn sunshine. This dried meat was then stored away for the long winter. But the supply seldom lasted until spring, and the people had to face days of famine and suffering during which many of them died.
Now it chanced in those days that there lived a little Indian boy named Waso. He was the son of a chieftain, and like his father he had a kind and gentle heart. The chieftain never forgot to give thanks to the Great Spirit for every catch of fish and for every nimble deer his sharp arrows killed. When times of famine fell upon the tribe, he shared with them until he had no more left to give, and he was constantly trying to discover ways in which he might help his people.
Little Waso, growing from babyhood into boyhood in this kindly atmosphere, began to think very seriously of the welfare of his tribe, over whom he would some day rule as a chieftain.
Often he dreamed strange dreams. He would imagine that he was walking through a dense forest where the briars and brambles stung him, and brought out a rash on his tender skin. But then, at his very feet would spring up a cluster of bright berries, or some green herb, and a voice seemed to urge him to crush the plant and lay it on the red spot. He obeyed and was instantly healed. So too, in a dream, was the bite of a poisonous snake cured. The strangest part of all was that on the following day these things all happened exactly as in his vision. Waso always found the herb he needed growing near him, and thus was saved from many a misfortune.
He told his father of these things, and the chieftain called together the older men of the tribe and related to them all that had happened. They believed his dreams were messages from the Great Spirit, and from that time each particular herb of which the child had dreamed, was carefully gathered and stored away for use as medicine. All the old men declared that Waso would some day become a great chieftain.
At last, for little Waso, came the time when an Indian boy goes away from his family and fasts and calls on the Great Spirit to show him a vision of his future life and teach him how to live wisely and well. So the chieftain built a little wigwam for Waso, at some distance from the others, and the boy went to it, and began the solemn rites.
That first night in his tent alone, he dreamed that the Great Spirit sent a new gift to his people, a food by means of which it would be easier for them to live and which would provide against days of famine. This gift was called Mandowmin and was to grow out of the black soil. But the manner in which he should find it was not revealed to Waso and after he awoke he could think of nothing else but the mysterious gift.
THE NEXT DAY THE YOUNG BRAVE APPEARED