{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_23667/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_23667","id":"gutenberg_23667","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23667","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Instructional Books","Natural history -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\nMusic transcribed by Linda Cantoni\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWOODLAND TALES\n\n\n\n\n        WOODLAND TALES\n\n        BY\n        ERNEST THOMPSON SETON\n\n        [Illustration]\n\n        WITH 100 DRAWINGS\n\n        BY\n\n        THE AUTHOR\n\n        AUTHOR OF \"WILD ANIMALS AT HOME,\" \"WILD\n        ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN,\" \"TWO LITTLE SAVAGES,\"\n        \"BIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY,\" \"LIFE\n        HISTORIES OF NORTHERN ANIMALS,\" \"ROLF IN\n        THE WOODS,\" \"THE BOOK OF WOODCRAFT.\"\n        CHIEF OF THE WOODCRAFT LEAGUE OF AMERICA\n\n        GARDEN CITY      NEW YORK\n        DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY\n         1922\n\n\n\n\n        COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1920, 1921, BY\n\n        ERNEST THOMPSON SETON\n\n        ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION\n        INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN\n\n        COPYRIGHT 1903, 1904, BY THE CENTURY COMPANY\n\n        PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES\n        AT\n        THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n_To the Guide_\n\n\nThese Mother Carey Tales were written for children of all ages, who have\nnot outgrown the delight of a fairy tale. It might almost be said that\nthey were written chiefly for myself, for I not only have had the\npleasure of telling them to the little ones, and enjoying their quick\nresponse, but have also had the greater pleasure of thinking them and\nsetting them down.\n\nAs I write, I look from a loved window, across a landscape that I love,\nand my eye rests on a tall beautiful pine planted with my own hands\nyears ago. It is a mass of green fringes, with gem-like tips of buds and\nbaby cones, beautiful, exquisitely beautiful, whether seen from afar as\na green spire, or viewed close at hand as jewellery. It is beautiful,\nfragile and--unimportant, as the world sees it; yet through its\nwind-waved mass one can get little glimpses of the thing that backs it\nall, the storm-defying shaft, the enduring rigid living growing trunk of\nmassive timber that gives it the nobility of strength, and adds value to\nthe rest; sometimes it must be sought for, but it always surely is\nthere, ennobling the lesser pretty things.\n\nI hope this tree is a fair image of my fairy tale. I know my child\nfriends will love the piney fringes and the jewel cones, and they can\nfind the unyielding timber in its underlying truth, if they seek for it.\nIf they do not, it is enough to have them love the cones.\n\nAll are not fairy tales. Other chapters set forth things to see, thing\nto do, things to go to, things to know, things to remember. These,\nsanctified in the blue outdoors, spell \"Woodcraft,\" the one pursuit of\nman that never dies or palls, the thing that in the bygone ages gifted\nhim and yet again will gift him with the seeing eye, the thinking hand,\nthe body that fails not, the winged soul that stores up precious\nmemories.\n\nIt is hoped that these chapters will show how easy and alluring, and how\ngood a thing it is.\n\nWhile they are meant for the children six years of age and upward, it is\nassumed that Mother (or Father) will be active as a leader; therefore it\nis addressed, first of all, to the parent, whom throughout we shall call\nthe \"Guide.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome of these stories date back to my school days, although the first\nactually published was \"Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year.\" This\nin its original form appeared in \"Our Animal Friends\" in September,\n1893. Others, as \"The Fingerboard Goldenrod,\" \"Brook-Brownie,\" \"The\nBluebird,\" \"Diablo and the Dogwood,\" \"How the Violets Came,\" \"How the\nIndian Summer Came,\" \"The Twin Stars,\" \"The Fairy Lamps,\" \"How the\nLittlest Owl Came,\" \"How the Shad Came,\" appeared in slightly different\nform in the _Century Magazine_, 1903 and 1904.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy thanks are due to the Authorities of the American Museum who have\nhelped me with specimens and criticism; to the published writings of Dr.\nW. J. Holland and Clarence M. Weed for guidance in insect problems; to\nBritton and Browne's \"Illustrated Flora, U. S. and Canada\"; and to the\nNature Library of Doubleday, Page & Co., for light in matters botanic;\nto Mrs. Daphne Drake and Mrs. Mary S. Dominick for many valuable\nsuggestions, and to my wife, Grace Gallatin Seton, for help with the\npurely literary work.\n\nAlso to Oliver P. Medsger, the naturalist of Lincoln High School, Jersey\nCity, N. J., for reading with critical care those parts of the\nmanuscript that deal with flowers and insects, as well as for the ballad\nof the Ox-eye, the story of its coming to America, and the photograph of\nthe Mecha-meck.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  Things to See in Springtime\n\n  _The Seeing Eye_\n\n  TALE NO.                                                         PAGE\n\n   1. Blue-eyes, the Snow-child, or the Story of Hepatica             3\n\n   2. The Story of the Dawnsinger, or How the Bloodroot Came          5\n\n   3. The Prairie-girl with Yellow Hair                               6\n\n   4. The Cat's-eye Toad, a child of Maka Ina                        11\n\n   5. How the Bluebird Came                                          14\n\n   6. Robin, the Bird that Loves to Make Clay Pots                   17\n\n   7. Brook Brownie, or How the Song Sparrow Got his Streaks         20\n\n   8. Diablo and the Dogwood                                         20\n\n   9. The Woolly-bear                                                23\n\n   10. How the Violets Came                                          25\n\n   11. Cocoons                                                       26\n\n   12. Butterflies and Moths                                         28\n\n   13. The Mourning-cloak Butterfly or the Camberwell Beauty         30\n\n   14. The Wandering Monarch                                         32\n\n   15. The Bells of the Solomon Seal                                 35\n\n   16. The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal                    37\n\n\n  Things to See in Summertime\n\n   17. How the Mouse-bird made Fun of the Brownie                    43\n\n   18. The Pot-herb that Sailed with the Pilgrims                    44\n\n   19. How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves           47\n\n   20. The Shamrock and Her Three Sisters                            51\n\n   21. The Indian Basket-Maker                                       53\n\n   22. Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?                            56\n\n   23. The Mecha-meck                                                61\n\n   24. Dutchman's Breeches                                           63\n\n   25. The Seven Sour Sisters                                        65\n\n   26. Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass                          65\n\n   27. The Four Butterflies You See Every Summer                     67\n\n   28. The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar                              72\n\n   29. The Great Splendid Silk-moth or _Samia Cecropia_              77\n\n   30. The Green Fairy with the Long Train                           79\n\n   31. The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon               82\n\n   32. The Fairy Bird or the Humming-bird Moth                       85\n\n   33. Ribgrass or Whiteman's-Foot                                   88\n\n   34. Jack-in-the-Pulpit                                            91\n\n   35. How the Indian Pipe Came                                      91\n\n   36. The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella                     93\n\n   37. The Hickory Horn-Devil                                        95\n\n\n  Things to See in Autumntime\n\n   38. The Purple and Gold of Autumn                                103\n\n   39. Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year                     104\n\n   40. The Story of the Quaking Aspen or Poplar                     107\n\n   41. The Witch-hazel                                              109\n\n   42. How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs         112\n\n   43. How the Littlest Owl Came                                    113\n\n   44. The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts                              114\n\n   45. The Mud-dauber Wasp                                          117\n\n   46. The Cicada and the Katydid                                   121\n\n   47. The Digger Wasp That Killed the Cicada                       123\n\n   48. How the Indian Summer Came                                   126\n\n\n  Things to See in Wintertime\n\n   49. The North Star, or the Home Star                             129\n\n   50. The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back                             131\n\n   51. Orion the Hunter, and his Fight with the Bull                133\n\n   52. The Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull                   134\n\n   53. The Twin Stars                                               136\n\n   54. Stoutheart and His Black Cravat                              137\n\n   55. Tracks and the Stories They Tell                             138\n\n   56. A Rabbit's Story of His Life                                 140\n\n   57. The Singing Hawk                                             144\n\n   58. The Fingerboard Goldenrod                                    145\n\n   59. Woodchuck Day--February Second                               149\n\n\n  Things to Know\n\n  _The Story of The Trail_\n\n   60. How the Pine Tree Tells its Own Story                       153\n\n   61. Blazes                                                      155\n\n   62. Totems                                                      155\n\n   63. Symbols                                                     159\n\n   64. Sign Language                                               161\n\n   65. The Language of Hens                                        161\n\n   66. Why the Squirrel Wears a Bushy Tail                         162\n\n   67. Why the Dog Wags His Tail                                   163\n\n   68. Why the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before Lying Down      164\n\n   69. The Deathcup of Diablo                                      165\n\n   70. The Poison Ivy, or the Three-fingered Demon of the Woods    169\n\n   71. The Medicine in the Sky                                     170\n\n   72. The Angel of the Night                                      172\n\n\n  Things to Do\n\n  _The Thinking Hand_\n\n   73. Bird-nesting in Winter                                      177\n\n   74. The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite                              179\n\n   75. The Monkey-hunt                                             181\n\n   76. The Horsetail and the Jungle                                185\n\n   77. The Woods in Winter                                         186\n\n   78. The Fish and the Pond                                       187\n\n   79. Smoke Prints of Leaves                                      189\n\n   80. Bird-boxes                                                  189\n\n   81. A Hunter's Lamp                                             193\n\n   82. The Coon Hunt                                               194\n\n   83. The Indian Pot                                              195\n\n   84. Snowflakes                                                  197\n\n   85. Are you Alive? Farsight                                     199\n\n   86. Are you Alive? Quicksight                                   200\n\n   87. Are you Alive? Hearing                                      200\n\n   88. Are you Alive? Feeling                                      201\n\n   89. Are you Alive? Quickness                                    202\n\n   90. Are you Alive? Guessing Length                              203\n\n   91. Are you Alive? Aim or Limb-control                          204\n\n   92. A Treasure Hunt                                             205\n\n   93. Moving Pictures                                             205\n\n   94. The Natural Autograph Album                                 207\n\n   95. The Crooked Stick                                           208\n\n   96. The Animal Dance of Nana-bo-jou                             209\n\n   97. The Caribou Dance                                           212\n\n   98. The Council Robe                                            216\n\n\n  Things to Remember\n\n  _The Winged Soul that Stores up Precious Memories._\n\n   99. How the Wren Became King of the Birds                       221\n\n  100. The Snowstorm                                               222\n\n  101. The Fairy Lamps                                             223\n\n  102. The Sweetest Sad Song in the Woods                          225\n\n  103. Springtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol           227\n\n  104. Running the Council                                         228\n\n  105. The Sandpainting of the Fire                                229\n\n  106. The Woodcraft Kalendar                                      231\n\n  107. Climbing the Mountain                                       233\n\n  108. The Omaha Prayer                                            235\n\n\n  A List of Books by the Author                                    236\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n_Mother Carey_\n\n\nAll-mother! Mater Cara! I have never seen you, but I hungered so to know\nyou that I understood it when you came, unseen, and silently whispered\nto me that first time in the long ago.\n\nI cannot tell the children what you look like, Mother Carey, for mortal\neye hath never rested on your face; and yet I can offer them a portrait,\nO strong Angel of the Wild Things, neither young nor old--Oh! loving One\nthat neither trembles nor relents!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA mink he was, a young mink and foolish. One of a happy brood, who were\nseeing the world with their mother--a first glimpse of it. She was\nanxious and leading, happy and proud, warning, sniffing, inviting,\nloving, yet angersome at trivial disobedience, doling out her wisdom in\nnips and examples and shrill warnings that all heeded; except this one,\nthe clever fool of the family, the self-satisfied smart one. He would\nnot be warned, the thing smelt so good. He plunged ahead. Mother was a\nfool; he was wiser than Mother. Here was a merry feasting for him. Then\n_clank_! The iron jaws of a trap sprang from the hiding grass, and\nclutched on his soft young paws. Screams of pain, futile strainings,\nwrithings, ragings and moanings; bloody jaws on the trap; the mother\ndistraught with grief, eager to take all the punishment herself, but\nhelpless and stunned, unable to leave; the little brothers, aghast at\nthis first touch of passion, this glimpse of reality, skurrying, scared,\ngoing and coming, mesmerized, with glowing eyes and bristling\nshoulder-fur. And the mother, mad with sorrow, goaded by the screaming,\ngreen-eyed, vacant-minded, despairing--till a new spirit entered into\nher, the spirit of Cara the All-mother, Mother Carey the Beneficent,\nMother Carey the wise Straightwalker. Then the mother mink, inspired,\nsprang on her suffering baby. With all the power of her limbs she sprang\nand clutched; with all the power of her love she craunched. His screams\nwere ended; his days in the land were ended. He had not heeded her\nwisdom; the family fool was finished. The race was better, better for\nthe suffering fool mink; better for the suffering mother mink.\n\nThe spirit left her; left her limp and broken-hearted. And away on the\nwind went riding, grimly riding her empire.\n\nFour swift steeds for riding, has she, the White Wind, the West Wind,\nthe Wet Wind and the Waking Wind. But mostly she rides the swift West\nWind.\n\nShe is strong, is Mother Carey, strong, wise, inexorable, calm and\ndirect as an iceberg. And beneficent; but she loves the strong ones\nbest. She ever favours the wise ones. She is building, ceaselessly\nbuilding. The good brick she sets in a place of honour, and the poor one\nshe grinds into gravel for the workmen to walk on.\n\nShe loves you, but far less than she does your race. It may be that you\nare not wise, and if it seem best, she will drop a tear and crush you\ninto the dust.\n\nThree others there be of power, like Mother Carey: Maka Ina who is\nMother Earth; El Sol, the Sun in the Sky, and Diablo the Evil Spirit of\nDisease and Dread. But over all is the One Great Spirit, the Beginning\nand the Ruler with these and many messengers, who do His bidding. But\nmostly you shall hear of Mother Carey.\n\nIt is long ago since first I heard her whisper, and though I hear better\nnow than then, I have no happier memory than that earliest message.\n\n\"Ho Wayseeker,\" she called, \"I have watched your struggle to find the\npathway, and I know that you will love the things that belong to it.\nTherefore, I will show you the trail, and this is what it will lead you\nto: a thousand pleasant friendships that will offer honey in little\nthorny cups, the twelve secrets of the underbrush, the health of\nsunlight, suppleness of body, the unafraidness of the night, the delight\nof deep water, the goodness of rain, the story of the trail, the\nknowledge of the swamp, the aloofness of knowing,--yea, more, a crown\nand a little kingdom measured to your power and all your own.\n\n\"But there is a condition attached. When you have found a trail you are\nthereby ordained a guide. When you have won a kingdom you must give it\nto the world or lose it. For those who have got power must with it bear\nresponsibility; evade the one, the other fades away.\"\n\nThis is the pledge I am trying to keep; I want to be your Guide. I am\noffering you my little kingdom.\n\n\n\n\nTHINGS TO SEE IN SPRINGTIME\n\n[Illustration: Blue-eyes the Snow Child]\n\n\n\n\nThings to See in Springtime\n\n\nTALE 1\n\nBlue-eyes, the Snow Child, or The Story of Hepatica\n\nHave you ever seen El Sol, the Chief of the Wonder-workers, brother to\nMother Carey? Yes, you have, though probably you did not know it; at\nleast you could not look him in the face. Well, I am going to tell you\nabout him, and tell of a sad thing that happened to him, and to some one\nwhom he loved more than words can tell.\n\nTall and of blazing beauty was El Sol, the King of the Wonder-workers;\nhis hair was like shining gold, and stood straight out a yard from his\nhead, as he marched over the hilltops.\n\nEveryone loved him, except a very few, who once had dared to fight him,\nand had been worsted. Everyone else loved him, and he liked everybody,\nwithout really loving them. Until one day, as he walked in his garden,\nhe suddenly came on a beautiful white maiden, whom he had never seen\nbefore. Her eyes were of the loveliest blue, her hair was so soft that\nit floated on the air, and her robe was white, covered with ferns done\nin white lace.\n\nHe fell deeply in love with her at once, but she waved a warning hand,\nwhen he tried to come near.\n\n\"Who are you, oh radiant princess? I love you even before I hear you\nspeak.\"\n\n\"I am Snowroba, the daughter of the great King Jackfrost,\" she said.\n\n\"I love you as I never loved any one. Will you marry me? I am the King\nof the Wonder-workers. I will make you the Queen.\"\n\n\"No,\" said she, \"I cannot marry you, for it is written that if one of my\npeople marry one of your people, she will sink down and die in a day.\"\n\nThen El Sol was very sad. But he said, \"May I not see you again?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered, \"I will meet you here in the morning, for it is\npleasant to look on your beauty,\" and her voice tinkled sweetly.\n\nSo she met him in the morning, and again on the third morning. He loved\nher madly now, and though she held back, he seized her in his arms and\nkissed her tenderly.\n\nThen her arms fell weakly to her sides, and her eyes half closed as she\nsaid: \"I know now that the old writing spake truth. I love you, I love\nyou, my love; but you have killed me.\"\n\nAnd she sank down, a limp white form, on the leafy ground.\n\nEl Sol was wild with grief. He tried to revive her, to bring her back.\n\nShe only whispered, \"Good-bye, my love. I am going fast. You will see me\nno more, but come to this place a year from now. It may be Maka Ina will\nbe kind, and will send you a little one that is yours and mine.\"\n\nHer white body melted away, as he bent over it and wept.\n\nHe came back every morning, but saw Snowroba no more. One year from that\nday, as he lingered sadly over the sacred spot, he saw a new and\nwonderful flower come forth. Its bloom was of the tenderest violet blue,\nand it was full of expression. As he gazed, he saw those eyes again; the\nscalding tears dropped from his eyes, and burned its leaves into a\nblotched and brownish colour. He remembered, and understood her promise\nnow. He knew that this was their blue-eyed little one.\n\nIn the early springtime we can see it. Three sunny days on the edge of\nthe snowdrift will bring it forth. The hunterfolk who find it, say that\nit is just one of the spring flowers, out earlier than any other, and is\ncalled Liverleaf, but we Woodcrafters know better. We know it is\nHepatica, the child of El Sol and Snowroba.\n\n\nTALE 2\n\nThe Story of the White Dawnsinger\n\nor\n\nHow the Bloodroot Came\n\nHave you noticed that there are no snow-white birds in our woods during\nsummer? Mother Carey long ago made it a rule that all snow-white\nlandbirds should go north, when the snow was gone in the springtime. And\nthey were quite obedient; they flew, keeping just on the south edge of\nthe melting snow.\n\nBut it so happened that one of the sweetest singers of all--the\nsnow-white Dawnsinger with the golden bill and the ruby legs--was flying\nnorthward with his bride, when she sprained her wing so she could not\nfly at all.\n\nThere was no other help for it; they must stay in that thicket till her\nwing grew strong again.\n\nThe other white birds flew on, but the Dawnsinger waited. He sang his\nmerriest songs to cheer her. He brought her food: and he warned her when\nenemies were near.\n\nA moon had come and gone. Now she was well again, and strong on the\nwing. He was anxious to go on to their northern home. A second warning\ncame from Mother Carey, \"White birds go north.\"\n\nBut the sunny woodside had become very pleasant, food was abundant, and\nthe little white lady said, \"Why should we go north when it is so much\nnicer right here?\"\n\nThe Dawnsinger felt the same way, and the next time the warning came,\n\"White birds go north,\" he would not listen at all, and they settled\ndown to a joyful life in the woods.\n\nThey did not know anything about the Yellow-eyed Whizz. They never would\nhave known, had they gone north at their right time. But the Yellow-eyed\nWhizz was coming. It came, and It always goes straight after white\nthings in the woods, for brown things It cannot see.\n\nDawnsinger was high on a tree, praising the light in a glorious song,\nthat he had just made up, when It singled him out by his whiteness, and\npierced him through.\n\nHe fell fluttering and dying; and as she flew to him, with a cry of\ndistress, the Yellow-eyed wicked Whizz struck her down by his side.\n\nThe Chewinks scratched leaves over the two white bodies, and--I\nthink--that Mother Carey dropped a tear on the place.\n\nThat was the end of the White Dawnsinger and his bride. Yet every year,\nat that same place, as the snow goes, the brown leaves move and part,\nand up from beneath there comes a beautiful white flower.\n\n[Illustration: The Story of the White Dawnsinger]\n\nIts bloom threads are yellow like the Dawnsinger's beak, and its stem is\nruby like his legs; all the rest is snow-white like his plumes. It\nrises, looks about, faces the sun, and sings a little odour-song, a\nlittle aroma-lay. If you look deep down into the open soul of the\nDawnsinger you will see the little golden thoughts he sings about. Then\nup from the same grave comes another, just the same, but a little\nsmaller, and for a while they stand up side by side, and praise the\nlight. But the Wither-bloom that haunts the flowers as the Yellow-eyed\nWhizz does the birds, soon finds them out; their song is ended, their\nwhite plumes are scattered, and they shrink back into their grave, to be\nside by side again.\n\nYou can find their little bodies, but deal gently with them, for they\nare wounded; you may make them bleed again.\n\nAnd when you hear the Chewinks scratching in the underbrush, remember\nthey are putting leaves on the grave of the White Dawnsinger.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSurely you have guessed the secret; the flower is the Bloodroot, and the\nWhizz is the Sharp-shinned Hawk.\n\n\nTALE 3\n\nThe Prairie-girl with Yellow Hair\n\n[Illustration: The Prairie-girl]\n\nTall and fair was the Prairie-girl. She was not very pretty, but her\nform was slender and graceful, and her head was covered with a mass of\ngolden hair that made you see her from afar off. It has been whispered\nthat she was deeply in love with El Sol, for wherever he went, she\nturned her head to look at him; and when she could not see him, she\ndrooped and languished. But he never seemed to notice her. As she grew\nolder her golden head turned white, and at last the swish of Mother\nCarey's horses carried away all her white hair, and left her old, bald,\nand ugly. So she pined and died, and Maka Ina buried her poor little\nbody under the grass. But some say it was Father Time that blew her hair\naway, and that El Sol had the body cremated.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf you look on the lawns or the fields in springtime, you are sure to\nfind the Prairie-girl. The Guide can show her to you, if you do not\nknow her. But he will call her \"Common Dandelion,\" and I do not know of\nany flower that has so many things for us children to remember.\n\nIf you are learning French, you will see how it got the name\n\"Dandelion\"; it used to be written _dent de lion_; that is, \"tooth of a\nlion\"; because its leaves are edged with sharp teeth, like a lion's jaw.\n\nIts golden-yellow flower is said to open when the Swallows arrive from\nthe south, that is, in April; and though it blooms chiefly in springtime\nit keeps on blooming till long after the Swallows fly away. It certainly\nthrives as long as the sun shines on it, and fades when the cold dark\nseason comes. But I have seen it out in November; that is, the Dandelion\nblooms for fully nine months. I do not know of any other flower that\ndoes; most of them are done in one month.\n\nWhen the yellow flower is over, its place is taken by a beautiful globe\nof soft, white plumes; this is why the story says its golden hair turns\nwhite with age. The children believe that this woolly head will tell you\nthe time of day. You hold it up, then pretend you are Father Time\nblowing her hair away, blow a sharp puff with your breath, then another\nand another, till the plumes are blown away. If it takes four blows,\nthey say it means four o'clock; but it is not a very true clock.\n\nSome children make a wish, then blow once and say, \"this year\"; the\nsecond time, \"next year\"; the third time, \"some time\"; the fourth time,\n\"never.\" Then begin all over, and keep on as long as any plumes are\nleft, to tell when the wish is coming true.\n\nNow pull the head off the stalk. You will find it leaves a long, open\ntube that sounds like a trumpet when you blow through it from the small\nend. If you force your finger into the big end, and keep pushing, you\nsplit the tube into two or three pieces; put these in your mouth and\nthey will curl up like ringlets. Some children hang these on their ears\nfor ornaments. Take a stalk for each year of your age; pull its head\noff. Then you will find that the top end will go into the bottom and\nmake a ring. Use all the stalks you have gathered, to make a chain; now\nthrow this chain into a low tree. If it sticks the first time, your wish\nwill come true this year. Each time it falls puts your wish a year\nfarther away.\n\nThis may not be true; but it is a game to play. Some big girls use it,\nto find out when they are going to be married.\n\nNow dig up the whole plant, root and all--the gardener will be much\nobliged to you for doing so--take it home, and ask the Guide to make the\nleaves into a salad; you will find it good to eat; most Europeans eat it\nregularly, either raw, or boiled as greens.\n\nLast of all, ask the Guide to roast the root, till it is brown and\ncrisp, then grind it in a coffee-mill, and use it to make coffee. Some\npeople think it better than real coffee; at any rate, the doctors say it\nis much healthier, for it is nourishing food, and does not do one any\nharm at all. But perhaps you will not like it. You may think all the\ntime you are eating the body of the poor little Prairie-girl, who died\nof love.\n\n\nTALE 4\n\nThe Cat's-eye Toad, a Child of Maka Ina\n\nWhen you were little, O Guide! didn't you delight in the tales of gnomes\nor _nibelungen_, those strange underground creatures that lived hidden\nfrom the light, and busied themselves with precious stones and metals?\nHow unwillingly we gave up those glad beliefs, as we inevitably grew old\nand lost our fairyland eyes!\n\n[Illustration: The Cat's eye Toad (life size)]\n\nBut you must not give up all your joyful creeds; you must keep on\nbelieving in the weird underground dwarfs; for I am going to tell you of\none that the cold calculating Professor Science has at last accepted,\nand that lives in your own back-yard. That is, the Cat's-eye Toad or\nSpadefoot. It is much like a common Toad, but a little smoother, the\ndigging spade on its hind foot is bigger and its eye, its beautiful\ngold-stone eye, has the pupil up and down like that of a Cat, instead of\nlevel as in its cousin, the warty Hoptoad.\n\nBut the wonderful thing about the Cat's-eye is that it spends most of\nits life underground, coming out in the early springtime for a few days\nof the most riotous honeymoon in some small pond, where it sings a loud\nchorus till mated, lays a few hundred eggs, to be hatched into tadpoles,\nthen backs itself into its underground world by means of the boring\nmachine on its hind feet, to be heard no more that season, and seen no\nmore, unless some one chance to dig it out, just as Hans in the story\ndug out the mole-gnome.\n\nIn the fairy tale the Shepherd-boy was rewarded by the gnome for digging\nhim out; for he received both gold and precious stones. But our gnome\ndoes not wish us to dig him out; nevertheless, if you do, you will be\nrewarded with a golden fact, and a glimpse of two wonderful jewel eyes.\n\nAccording to one who knows him well, the Cat's-eye buries itself far\nunderground, and sleeps days, or weeks, _perhaps years_ at a time. Once\na grave-digger found a Cat's-eye three feet two inches down in the earth\nwith no way out.\n\nHow and when are we then to find this strange creature? Only during his\nnoisy honeymoon in April.\n\nDo you know the soft trilling whistle of the common Hoptoad in May? The\ncall of the Cat's-eye is of the same style but very loud and harsh, and\nheard early in April. If on some warm night in springtime, you hear a\nsong which sounds like a cross between a Toad's whistle and a Chicken's\nsquawk, get a searchlight and go quietly to the place. The light will\nhelp you to come close, and in the water up to his chin, you will see\nhim, his gold-stone eyes blazing like jewels and his throat blown out\nlike a mammoth pearl, each time he utters the \"squawk\" which he intends\nfor a song. And it is a song, and a very successful one, for a visit to\nthe same pond a week or two later, will show you--not the Cat's-eye or\nhis mate, they have gone a-tunnelling--but a swarm of little black\npin-like tadpole Cat's-eyes, born and bred in the glorious sunlight but\ndoomed and ready, if they live, to follow in their parents' tracks far\nunderground. Sure proof that the song did win a mate, and was crowned\nwith the success for which all woodland, and marshland song first was\nmade.\n\n\nTALE 5\n\nHow the Bluebird Came\n\nNana-bo-jou, that some think is the Indian name for El Sol and some say\nis Mother Carey, was sleeping his winter's sleep in the big island just\nabove the thunder-dam that men call Niagara. Four moons had waned, but\nstill he slept. The frost draperies of his couch were gone; his white\nblanket was burnt into holes. He turned over a little; then the ice on\nthe river cracked like near-by thunder. When he turned again, it began\nto slip over the big beaver-dam of Niagara, but still he did not awake.\n\n[Illustration: How the Bluebird Came]\n\nThe great Er-Beaver in his pond, that men call Lake Erie, flapped his\ntail, and the waves rolled away to the shore, and set the ice heaving,\ncracking, and groaning; but Nana-bo-jou slept on.\n\nThen the Ice-demons pounded the shore of the island with their clubs.\nThey pushed back the whole river-flood till the channel was dry, then\nlet it rush down like the end of all things, and they shouted together:\n\n\"Nana-bo-jou! Nana-bo-jou! Nana-bo-jou! Wake up!\"\n\nBut still he slept calmly on.\n\nThen came a soft, sweet voice, more gentle than the mating turtle of\nMiami. It was in the air, but it was nowhere, and yet it was in the\ntrees, in the water, and it was in Nana-bo-jou too. He felt it, and it\nawoke him. He sat up and looked about. His white blanket was gone; only\na few tatters of it were to be seen in the shady places. In the sunny\nspots the shreds of the fringe with its beads had taken root and were\ngrowing into little flowers with beady eyes, Spring Beauties as they are\ncalled now. The small voice kept crying: \"Awake! the spring is coming!\"\n\nNana-bo-jou said: \"Little voice, where are you? Come here.\"\n\nBut the little voice, being everywhere, was nowhere, and could not come\nat the hero's call.\n\nSo he said: \"Little voice, you are nowhere because you have no place to\nlive in; I will make you a home.\"\n\nSo Nana-bo-jou took a curl of birch bark and made a little wigwam, and\nbecause the voice came from the skies he painted the wigwam with blue\nmud, and to show that it came from the Sunland he painted a red sun on\nit. On the floor he spread a scrap of his own white blanket, then for a\nfire he breathed into it a spark of life, and said: \"Here, little voice,\nis your wigwam.\" The little voice entered and took possession, but\nNana-bo-jou had breathed the spark of life into it. The smoke-vent wings\nbegan to move and to flap, and the little wigwam turned into a beautiful\nBluebird with a red sun on its breast and a shirt of white. Away it\nflew, but every year it comes as winter wanes, the Bluebird of the\nspring. The voice still dwells in it, and we feel that it has lost\nnothing of its earliest power when we hear it cry: \"Awake! the spring is\ncoming!\"\n\n\nTALE 6\n\nRobin, the Bird that Loves to Make Clay Pots\n\nEveryone knows the Robin; his reddish-brown breast, gray back, white\nthroat, and dark wings and tail are easily remembered. If you colour the\ndrawing, you will always remember it afterward. The Robin comes about\nour houses and lawns; it lets us get close enough to see it. It has a\nloud, sweet song. All birds have a song[A]; and all sing when they are\nhappy. As they sing most of the time, except when they are asleep, or\nwhen moulting, they must have a lot of happiness in their lives.\n\nHere are some things to remember about the Robin. It is one of the\nearliest of all our birds to get up in the morning, and it begins to\nsing long before there is daylight.\n\nBirds that live in the trees, _hop_; birds that live on the ground,\n_walk_ or _run_; but the Robin lives partly in the trees and partly on\nthe ground, so sometimes he hops and sometimes he runs.\n\n[Illustration: The Robin Making Clay Pots]\n\nWhen he alights on a fence or tree, he looks at you and flashes the\nwhite spots on the outer corners of his tail. Again and again he does\nthis. Why? That is his way of letting you know that he is a Robin. He is\nsaying in signal code--flash and wig-wag--\"I'm a Robin, I'm a Robin, I'm\na Robin.\" So you will not mistake him for some bird that is less loved.\n\nThe Robin invented pottery before men did; his nest is always a clay pot\nset in a little pile of straws. Sometime, get a Robin's nest after the\nbird is done with it; dry it well, put it on the fire very gently; leave\nit till all the straws are burned away, and then if it does not go to\npieces, you will find you have a pretty good earthen pot.\n\nThe Robin loves to make these pots. I have known a cock Robin make\nseveral which he did not need, just for the fun of making them.\n\nA friend of mine said to me once, \"Come, and I will show you the nest of\na crazy Robin.\" We went to the woodshed and there on a beam were six\nperfectly good Robin nests all in a row; all of them empty.\n\n\"There,\" said my friend. \"All of these six were built by a cock Robin in\nabout ten days or two weeks. He seemed to do nothing but sing and build\nnests. Then after finishing the last one, he disappeared. Wasn't he\ncrazy?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"not at all. He was not crazy; he was industrious. Let me\nfinish the chapter. The hen Robin was sitting on the eggs, the cock bird\nhad nothing else to do, so he put in the time at the two things he did\nthe best and loved the most: singing and nest-building. Then after the\nyoung were hatched in the home nest, he had plenty to do caring for\nthem, so he ceased both building and singing, for that season.\"\n\nI have often heard of such things. Indeed, they are rather common, but\nnot often noticed, because the Robin does not often build all the extra\nnests in one place.\n\nDo you know the lovely shade called Robin's-egg blue? The next time you\nsee a Robin's nest with eggs in it you will understand why it was so\nnamed and feel for a moment, when first you see it, that you have found\na casket full of most exquisite jewels.\n\nNext to nest-building, singing is the Robin's gift, and the songs that\nhe sings are full of joy. He says, \"_cheerup, cheer up, cheerily\ncheer-up_\"; and he means it too.\n\n\nTALE 7\n\nBrook Brownie, or How the Song Sparrow Got His Streaks\n\n[Illustration: Brook Brownie]\n\n  His Mother was the Brook and his sisters were the Reeds,\n  They, every one, applauded when he sang about his deeds.\n  His vest was white, his mantle brown, as clear as they could be,\n  And his songs were fairly bubbling o'er with melody and glee.\n  But an envious Neighbour splashed with mud our Brownie's coat and vest,\n  And then a final handful threw that stuck upon his breast.\n  The Brook-bird's mother did her best to wash the stains away;\n  But there they stuck, and, as it seems, are very like to stay.\n  And so he wears the splashes and the mud blotch, as you see;\n  But his songs are bubbling over still with melody and glee.\n\n\nTALE 8\n\nDiablo and the Dogwood\n\n\n[Illustration: The Dogwood Bloom]\n\nWhat a glorious thing is the Maytime Dogwood in our woods! How it does\nsing out its song! More loudly and clearly it sings than any other\nspring flower! For it is not one, but a great chorus; and I know it is\nsinging that \"The spring, the very spring is in the land!\"\n\nI suppose if one had King Solomon's fayland ears, one might hear the\nDogwood music like a lot of church bells pealing, like the chorus of the\ncathedral where Woodthrush is the preacher-priest and the Veeries make\nresponses.\n\nIt was Adam's favourite tree, they say, in the Garden of Eden. And it\ngrew so high, flowered so wonderfully, and gave so much pleasure that\nDiablo, who is also called the Devil, wanted to kill it. He made up his\nmind that he would blight and scatter every shining leaf of its snowy\nbloom. So one dark night he climbed a Honey Locust tree near the gate,\nand swung by his tail over the wall, intending to tear off all the\nlovely blossoms. But he got a shock when he found that every flower was\nin the _shape of a cross_, which put them beyond his power to blight. He\nwas furious at not being able to destroy its beauty, so did the worst he\ncould. Keeping away from the cross he bit a piece out of the edge of\nevery snowy flower leaf, and then jumped back to the Honey Locust tree.\n\nThe Locust was ashamed when she found that she had helped Diablo to do\nsuch a mean bit of mischief, so she grew a bristling necklace of strong\nspikes to wear; they were so long and sharp that no one since, not even\nDiablo himself, has ever been able to climb that Honey Locust tree.\n\nBut it was too late to save the Dogwood bloom. The bites were out, and\nthey never healed up again, as you can see to this very day.\n\n\nTALE 9\n\nThe Woolly-bear\n\n[Illustration: The Woolly-bear (the moth is 1-1/4 life size)]\n\nDo you know the Woolly-bear Caterpillar? It is divided into three parts;\nthe middle one brown, the two ends black. Everyone notices the\nWoolly-bear, because it comes out in early spring, as soon as the frost\nis over, and crawls on the fences and sidewalks as though they belonged\nto it. It does not seem to be afraid of any one or anything. It will\nmarch across the road in front of a motor car, or crawl up the leg of\nyour boot. Sometimes when you brush it off with your hand, little\nhairs are left sticking in your fingers, because it is really like a\nsmall porcupine, protected by short spears sticking out of its skin in\nall directions. Here at the side of the picture, is one of these hairs\nseen under a microscope.\n\nWhere did the Woolly-bear come from? It was hatched from an egg last\nsummer.\n\nAnd now what is going to happen? It will stuff itself with rib-grass or\nother low plants, till it has grown bigger; then it will get a warning\nfrom the All-mother to prepare for the great change. In some low dry\nplace under a log, stone or fence-rail, it will spin a cocoon with its\nown spikey hairs outside for a protector. In this rough hairy coffin it\nwill roll itself up, for its \"little death,\" as the Indians call it, and\nMother Carey will come along with her sleeping wand, and touch it, so it\nwill go into sound sleep, but for only a few days. One bright sunny\nmorning old Mother Carey comes around again, touches the Woolly-bear\nbundle-baby, and out of it comes the Woolly-bear, only now it is changed\nlike the Prince in the story into a beautiful Moth called the\nTiger-Moth! Out he comes, and if you look up at one end of the coffin he\nis leaving, you may see the graveclothes he wore when first he went to\nsleep. Away he flies now to seek his beautiful mate, and soon she lays a\nlot of eggs, from each of which will come another little Woolly-bear to\ngrow into a big Woolly-bear, and do it all over again.\n\n\nTALE 10\n\nHow the Violets Came\n\n        The Meadow she was sorry\n        For her sister Sky, you see,\n        'Cause, though her robe of blue was bright,\n        'Twas plain as it could be.\n\n        And so she sent a skylark up\n        To trim the Sky robe right\n        With daisies from the Meadow\n        (You can see them best at night).\n\n        And every scrap of blue cut out\n        To make those daisies set\n        Came tumbling down upon the grass\n        And grew a violet.\n\n\nTALE 11\n\nCocoons\n\nEveryone loves to go a-hunting. Our forebears were hunters for so many\nages that the hunting spirit is strong in all of us, even though held in\ncheck by the horror of giving pain to a fellow being. But the pleasure\nof being outdoors, of seeking for hidden treasures, of finding something\nthat looks at first like old rubbish, and then turns out to be a\nprecious and beautiful thing, that is ours by right of the old\nlaw--finders, keepers. That is a kind of hunting that every healthy\nbeing loves, and there are many ways and chances for you to enjoy it.\n\nGo out any time between October and April, and look in all the low trees\nand high bushes for the little natural rag-bundles called \"cocoons.\"\nSome are bundle-shaped and fast to a twig their whole length. Some hang\nlike a Santa Claus bag on a Christmas tree; but all may be known by\ntheir hairiness or the strong, close cover of fine gray or brown fibre\nor silk, without seams and woven to keep out the wet.\n\n[Illustration: Cocoons]\n\nThey are so strongly fastened on, that you will have to break the twig\nto get the bundle down. If it seems very light, and rattled when you\nshake it, you will likely see one or more small, sharp, round holes in\nit. This means that an insect enemy has destroyed the little creature\nsleeping within. If the Cocoon is perfect and seems solid and heavy,\ntake it home, and put it in a cardboard, or wooden box, which has a wire\nscreen, or gauze cover. Keep it in a light place, not too dry, till the\nspringtime comes; then one day a miracle will take place. The case will\nbe cut open from within, and out will come a gorgeous Moth. It is like\nthe dull, dark grave opening up at the resurrection to let forth a\nnew-born, different being with wings to fly in the heavens above.\n\nIn the drawing I have shown five different kinds of bundle-baby, then at\nthe bottom have added the jug-handled bundle-baby of the Tomato worm; it\ndoes not make a Cocoon but buries itself in the ground when the time\ncomes for the Great Sleep. Kind Mother Earth protects it as she does the\nHickory Horn-Devil, so it does not need to make a Cocoon at all.\n\nThere is a wonderful story about each of these bundle-babies. You will\nnever get weary if you follow and learn them, for each one differs from\nthe last. Some of them I hope to tell you in this book, and before we\nbegin I want you to know some of the things that men of science have\nlearned, and why a Butterfly is not a Moth.\n\n\nTALE 12\n\nButterflies and Moths\n\nDo you remember the dear old fairy tale of Beauty and the Beast? How\nBeauty had to marry the Beast to save her father's life? But as soon as\nshe had bravely agreed to sacrifice herself--as soon as she gave the\nfateful \"Yes\" the Beast stood up on his hind legs, his horns, hoofs and\nhide rolled off, and he was turned back into his true shape, a splendid\nyoung Prince whom she could not help loving; and they lived happy ever\nafter.\n\nDo you know that just such transformations and happy weddings are going\non about us all the time? The Beast is an ugly Caterpillar, the Princess\nBeauty is the Butterfly or the Moth. And when the Beast is changed into\nthe Prince Charming and meets with Princess Beauty, they are just as\nmadly happy as they tell it in the fairy books. I know it, for I have\nseen the transformation, and I have seen the pair go off on their\nwedding flight.\n\nMen of science have been trying to explain these strange\ntransformations, and to discover why the Prince and Princess do not need\nto eat or drink, once they have won their highest form, their life of\nwings and joy. But they have not got much farther than giving names to\nthe things we have long loved and seen as children, dividing the winged\nwonders into two big families called Butterflies and Moths.\n\nDo you know the difference between a Butterfly and a Moth?\n\nTaken together they make a large group that are called Scale-wings,\nbecause they alone among insects, have scales or tiny feathers like dust\non the wings. Butterflies are Scale-wings that fly by day, and have\nclub-shaped feelers; they mostly fold one wing against the other when\nthey alight, and in the chrysalis, or bundle-baby stage, they are naked\nand look like an African ear-drop.\n\nMoths are Scale-wings that fly by night, and have switch or\nfeather-shaped feelers; they keep their wings spread open when they\nalight, and in the bundle-baby stage, they are wrapped in a cocoon.\nThere are some that do not keep to these rules, but they are rare, and\nthe shape of the feelers will tell whether it is a Moth or a Butterfly.\n\nAll of these Scale-wings are hatched from eggs, and come first, as a\nworm, grub, or caterpillar; next as a chrysalis pupa or bundle-baby;\nlast as the winged creature. That is, first a Beast and last a Beauty.\nEach of them must at one time be the ugly one, before the great change\ncomes. But I must tell you a truth that the Fairy Books left out, and\nwhich maybe you have guessed--Princess Beauty too was at one time forced\nto live and look like a Beast, till she had fought her own fight, had\nworked out her own high destiny, and won her way to wings.\n\n\nTALE 13\n\nThe Mourning-cloak Butterfly, or the Camberwell Beauty\n\nThere was once a lady who dwelt in Camberwell. She was so good to see\nthat people called her \"The Camberwell Beauty.\" She dressed so\nmagnificently that her robe was covered with gold, and spangled with\nprecious stones of most amazing colours. Especially proud was she, of\nthe row of big blue diamonds that formed the border; and she loved to go\nforth into the world to see and be seen; although she knew that the\ncountry was full of robbers who would be sure to steal her jewels if\nthey could. Then she made a clever plan, she kept on the beautiful\nthings that she loved to dress in, but over all she hung a black velvet\nmourning cloak which nobody could possibly want to steal. Then she went\nup and down the roads as much as she pleased.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[Illustration: Mourning-cloak Butterfly (3/4 life size)]\n\nWell, this story may be not quite true, but it is partly true, and the\nbeautiful lady is known to-day as the Mourning-cloak Butterfly. There it\nis, plain to be seen, the black mourning cloak, but peeping from under\nit, you can see the golden border and some of the blue diamonds too,\nif you look very carefully.\n\nIn the North Woods where I spent my young days, the first butterfly to\nbe seen in the springtime was the Mourning-cloak, and the reason we saw\nit so early in the season, yes, even in the snowtime, was because this\nis one of the Butterflies that sometimes sleep all winter, and so live\nin two different seasons.\n\nIts eggs are laid on the willows, elms, or poplars, in early springtime.\nThe young soon hatch, and eat so much, and grow so fast, that five weeks\nafter the eggs are laid, and three after they are hatched, the\ncaterpillar is full grown, and hangs itself up as a chrysalis under some\nsheltering board or rail. In two weeks more, the wonderful event takes\nplace, the perfect Butterfly comes forth; and there is another\nMourning-cloak to liven the roadside, and amaze us with its half-hidden\nbeauty.\n\n\nTALE 14\n\nThe Wandering Monarch\n\nDid you ever read the old Greek story of Ulysses, King of Ithaca, the\nWandering Monarch, who for twenty years roamed over sea and land away\nfrom home--always trying to get back, but doomed to keep on travelling,\nhomesick and weary, but still moving on; until his name became a byword\nfor wandering?\n\n[Illustration: MONARCH BUTTERFLY\n\n\"The Wanderer\" in Three Stages: Cocoon, Caterpillar, and Butterfly]\n\nIn our own woods and our own fields in America we have a Wandering\nMonarch--the \"Big Red Butterfly\" as we children called it--the \"Monarch\"\nas it is named by the butterfly catchers.\n\nIt is called the \"Wanderer\" chiefly because it is the only one of our\nButterflies that migrates like the birds. In the late summer it\ngathers in great swarms when the bright days are waning, and flies away\nto warmer lands. I have often seen it going, yet I do not remember that\nI ever saw it come back in the springtime; but it comes, though not in\ngreat flocks like those that went south.\n\nOne of the common names of this splendid creature is \"Milkweed\nButterfly\" because its grub or caterpillar is fond of feeding on the\nleaves of the common milkweed.\n\nThe drawing shows the size and style of the grub; in colour it is yellow\nor yellowish green with black bands.\n\nAs soon as it is grown big enough and fat enough, the grub hangs itself\nup as a \"chrysalis\" which is a Greek word that may be freely rendered\ninto \"golden jewel.\" The middle drawing shows its shape; in colour it is\nof a pale green with spots of gold, or as it has been described \"a green\nhouse with golden nails.\"\n\nAfter about two weeks the great change takes place, and the bundle-baby\nor chrysalis opens to let out the splendid red-brown Butterfly, of\nnearly the same red as a Cock Robin's breast in springtime, with lines\nand embroidery of black and its border set with pearls. Near the middle\nof the hind wing is a dark spot like a thickening of one rib. This has\nbeen called a \"sachet bag\" or \"scent-pocket,\" and though not very\nornamental to look at, is of more use to it than the most beautiful\nwhite pearl of the border. For this is the battery of its wireless\ntelegraph. We think our ships and aeroplanes very far advanced because\nthey can signal miles away, and yet the Wandering Monarch had an outfit\nfor sending messages long before it was ever dreamed of by man. Maybe it\nis not a very strong battery, but it certainly reaches for miles; and\nmaybe its messages are not very clear, but they serve at least to let\nthe Monarchs know where their wives are, and how to find them, which is\nsomething.\n\nThere is one other reason for calling this the Wanderer. Although it is\nan American by birth, it has travelled to England and the Philippines\nand is ever going farther over the world till at last no doubt it will\nhave seen all lands and possessed them.\n\nIt makes old Ulysses look like a very stay-at-home, for his farthest\ntravels never went beyond the blue Mediterranean, and his whole twenty\nyears of voyaging covered less than the states east of the\nMississippi--much less than our Red Wanderer covers in a single summer.\n\n\nTALE 15\n\nThe Bells of the Solomon Seal\n\nLet us go out into the woods, and look for the Solomon Seal. This is May\nand we should find it in some half open place, where it is neither wet\nnor dry. Here it is! See the string of bells that hangs from its curving\nstem. Dig out its roots, wash off the earth, and you will see the mark\nof King Solomon's Seal that gives its name to the plant. Now listen to\nthe story of it all.\n\nKing Solomon had the \"second sight\" that means the deeper sight, the\nmagic eyesight which made him see through a stone wall, or read men's\nthoughts. King Solomon had fayland ears; which means, he could hear all\nsounds from A to Z; while common ears, like yours and mine, hear only\nthe middle sounds from K to Q.\n\nEverything that lives and moves is giving out music; every flower that\nblooms is singing its song. We cannot hear, our ears are too dull; but\nKing Solomon could. And one day, as he walked through the woods, he\nheard a new flower-song that made him stop and listen. It had strange\nmusic with it, and part of that was a chime of golden bells.\n\n[Illustration: The Bells of the Solomon Seal]\n\nThe great King sat down on a bank. His fayland eyes could see right into\nthe ground. He saw the fat fleshy root like a little goblin, reaching\nits long white fingers down into the soil, picking out the magic\ncrystals to pack away in its pockets; and he could see the tall stem\nlike a wood-elf carrying them up, and spreading them upon its flat\nhands, so they could soak up the juices of the sun and air. He could see\nthem turning into a wonderful stuff like amber dew, with a tang like\nnew-cut timber. But it was not yet done, so he could not tell just what\nit might be good for. Now it was springtime, and it would be harvest red\nmoon before the little worker would have the magic healing stored in its\ntreasure bags underground. So to prevent any one harming or hindering\nthe plant till its work was done, the King took out his seal ring and\nstamped seal marks all along the root, where they are unto this day. And\nthen to make it sure he made the golden bell chimes become visible so\nevery one could see them. There they hang like a row of ringing bells.\n\nBut the King never came back to learn the rest of it, for he had to\nbuild the temple; and he had many wives who took up a great deal of his\ntime. So the world has never found out just what is the magic power of\nthe plant. But it is there, be sure of that, just as surely as the peal\nof golden bells is there, and the marks of the great King's Seal.\n\n\nTALE 16\n\nThe Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal\n\n[Illustration: The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal]\n\nOver a month later, the King suddenly remembered that he had not been\nout to see the plant whose root he had sealed. He was very busy at the\ntime, as he had the temple to build, and many wives to look after; so he\ncalled Djin, a good goblin, who does hard work and said, \"Go and see\nthat no one has harmed that plant,\" then told him how to find it.\n\nAway went the good goblin, like a flash. He was a very obedient servant,\nbut not very bright; and when he came to the woods, he looked all around\nfor the plant with the chime of bells, for King Solomon had forgotten to\nsay that the bells do not ring after June, and it was now July. So the\ngoblin looked about for a long time. He did not dare to go back and say\nhe could not find it--that would have been a terrible crime, so he\nlooked and looked. At last he heard a little tinkle of bells away off in\nthe woods. He flew to the place, and there was a plant like the one he\nsought but its bells were of silver, and all in a bunch instead of a\nlong string. The good goblin dug down to the big fat root in the ground\nand found that the seal marks had grown over--at least he thought they\nhad--for they were nowhere to be seen. So he looked around for something\nto help. His eye fell on an acorn cup. He took this, and using it for a\nseal, he stamped the root all over.\n\nThen he took a piece of the root and a sprig and flew back to show the\nKing. Solomon smiled and said: \"You did the best you could, but you have\nmarked the wrong root. Listen! This is not the golden chime, but the\nchime of silver bells.\"\n\nThat is the story of it and that is why it has ever since been called\nthe False Solomon Seal.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[A] Some, like the Turkey-buzzards, have not yet been heard to sing, but\nI believe they do.\n\n\n\n\nTHINGS TO SEE IN SUMMERTIME\n\n[Illustration: The Brownie and the Mouse-bird]\n\n\n\n\nThings to See in Summertime\n\n\nTALE 17\n\nHow the Mouse-bird Made Fun of the Brownie\n\nOnce there was a conceited Brownie, who thought he could do more things\nand do them better than any other of his people. He had not tried yet,\nfor he was very young, but he said he was going to do them some day!\n\nOne morning a sly old Brownie, really making fun of him, said: \"Why\ndon't you catch that Phoebe-bird? It is quite easy if you put a little\nsalt on his tail.\" Away went Smarty Brownie to try. But the Phoebe would\nnot sit still, and the Brownie came back saying: \"He bobbed his tail so,\nthe salt would not stay on.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the sly old Brownie, \"there is a little Mouse-bird whose\ntail never bobs. You can easily catch him, for you see, he does not even\nfly, but crawls like a mouse up the tree,\" and he pointed to a little\nbrown Creeper. By this time the young Brownie knew that the others were\nlaughing at him, so he said rather hotly, \"I'll just show you right\nnow.\"\n\nHe took an acorn cup full of salt, and went after the Mouse-bird. It was\nat the bottom of the big tree, creeping up, round and round, as if on a\nspiral staircase, and the Brownie began to climb in the same way. But\nevery little while the climber had to stop and rest. This had strange\nresults, for there is a law in Brownie land, that wherever one of the\nlittle people stops to sit down, or rest, a toadstool must spring up for\nhim to sit on. So the track of the Brownie up the trunk became one long\nstaircase of toadstool steps, some close, some far apart, but each\nshowing where the Brownie had rested. They came closer together toward\nthe top where the Brownie had got tired, but he was coming very near to\nthe Creeper now. He got his pinch of salt all ready, as his friends down\nbelow kept calling and jeering: \"Now you've got him, now is your\nchance.\" But just as he was going to leap forward and drop the salt on\nits tail, the Creeper gave a tiny little laugh like \"_Tee-tee-tee_,\"\nspread its wings, for it could fly very well, and sailed away to the\nbottom of the next tree to do the spiral staircase all over again, while\nSmarty Brownie was so mad that he jumped to the ground and hid away from\nhis friends for two days. When he came back he did not talk quite so\nmuch as he used to. But to this day you can see the staircase of\ntoadstools on the tree trunks where the Brownie went up.\n\n\nTALE 18\n\nThe Pot-herb that Sailed with the Pilgrims\n\n\"Come,\" said the Guide, \"to-day I am going to show you a Pot-herb that\ncame from England with the Pilgrim Fathers and spread over the whole of\nAmerica. There is a story about it that will keep it ever in your\nmemory.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Pilgrim's Pot-herb]\n\nThe Pilgrims had landed in Massachusetts, and slowly made farms for\nthemselves as they cleared off the forest. They had a very hard time at\nfirst, but the Indians helped them; sometimes with gifts of venison, and\nsometimes by showing them which things in the woods were good to eat.\n\nThere was a Squaw named Monapini, \"the Root-digger,\" who was very\nclever at finding forest foods. She became friendly with a white woman\nnamed Ruth Pilgrim, and so Ruth's family got the benefit of it, and\nalways had on the table many good things that came from the woods.\n\nOne day, long after the farms were cleared and doing well, the white\nwoman said, \"See, Mother Monapini, thou hast shown me many things, now I\nhave somewhat to show thee. There hath grown up in our wheat field a\nsmall herb that must have come from England with the wheat, for hitherto\nI have not seen it elsewhere. We call it lamb's-quarter, for the lamb\ndoth eat it by choice. Or maybe because we do eat it with a quarter of\nlamb. Nevertheless it maketh a good pot-herb when boiled.\"\n\nThe old Indian woman's eyes were fixed on the new plant that was good to\neat: and she said, \"Is it very good, oh white sister?\"\n\n\"Yes, and our medicine men do say that it driveth out the poison that\nmaketh itch and spots on the skin.\" After a moment Monapini said, \"It\nlooketh to me like the foot of a wild goose.\"\n\n\"Well found,\" chuckled Ruth, \"for sometimes our people do call it by\nthat very name.\"\n\n\"That tells me different,\" said the Indian.\n\n\"What mean you,\" said Ruth.\n\n\"Is not a goose foot very strong, so it never catcheth cold in the icy\nwater?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And this hath the shape of a goose foot?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then my Shaman tells that it is by such likeness that the Great Spirit\nshoweth the goose foot plant to be charged with the driving out of\ncolds.\"\n\n\"It may be so,\" said the white woman, \"but this I know. It is very good\nand helpeth the whole body.\"\n\nThe Indian picked a handful of the pot-herbs, then stared hard at the\nlast; a very tall and strong one.\n\n\"What hast thou now, Monapini?\" The red woman pointed to the stem of the\nlamb's-quarter, whereon were long red streaks, and said: \"This I see,\nthat, even as the white-man's herb came over the sea and was harmless\nand clean while it was weak, but grew strong and possessed this field,\nthen was streaked to midheight with blood, so also shall they be who\nbrought it--streaked at last to the very waist with blood--not the white\nmen's but the dark purple blood of the Indian. This the voices tell me\nis in the coming years, that this is what we shall get again for helping\nyou--destruction in return for kindness. Mine inner eyes have seen it.\"\nShe threw down the new pot-herb and glided away, to be seen no more in\nthe settlements of the white men.\n\nAnd Ruth, as she gazed after her, knew that it was true. Had she not\nheard her people talking and planning? For even as the weed seed came\nwith the wheat, so evil spirits came with the God-fearing Pilgrims, and\nalready these were planning to put the heathens to the sword, when the\nColony was strong enough.\n\nSo the Indian woman read the truth in the little pot-herb that sailed\nand landed with the Pilgrims; that stands in our fields to this day,\nstreaked with the blood of the passing race--standing, a thing of\nremembrance.\n\n\nTALE 19\n\nHow the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves\n\n[Illustration: How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves]\n\nOnce upon a time a Bee, a Bug, and a Cow went marching up to Mother\nCarey's palace in the hemlock grove, to tell her of their troubles. They\ncomplained that food was poor and scarce, and they were tired of the\nkinds that grew along the roadsides.\n\nMother Carey heard them patiently, then she said: \"Yes, you have some\nreason to complain, so I will send you a new food called Clover. Its\nflower shall be full of honey for the Bee, its leaves full of cowfood\nand its cellar shall be stocked with tiny pudding bags of meal for the\nBug, that is for good little Bug-folks who live underground.\"\n\nNow the tribes of the Bee, the Bug, and the Cow had a fine time\nfeasting, for the new food was everywhere.\n\nBut Cows are rather stupid you know. They found the new food so good\nthat they kept on munching everything that had three round leaves,\nthinking it was Clover, and very soon a lot of them were poisoned with\nstrange plants that no wise Cow would think of eating.\n\nSo Mother Carey called a Busy Brownie, and put him on guard to keep the\nCows from eating the poison plants by mistake.\n\nAt first it was good fun, and the Brownie enjoyed it because it made him\nfeel important. But he got very tired of his job and wanted to go to the\nball game.\n\nHe sat down on a toadstool, and looked very glum. He could hear the\nother Brownies shouting at the game, and that made him feel worse. Then\nhe heard a great uproar, and voices yelling \"A home run!\" \"A home run!\"\nThat drove him wild. He had been whittling the edge of the toadstool\nwith his knife, and now he slashed off a big piece of the cap, he was so\nmad.\n\nThen up he got and said to the Cows: \"See here, you fool Cows, I can't\nstay here for ever trying to keep you from eating poison, but I'll do\nthis much. I'll stamp all the good-to-eat leaves with a mark that will\nbe your guide.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Shamrock]\n\nSo he made a rubber stamp out of part of the toadstool he was sitting\non, and stamped every Clover leaf in that pasture, so the Cows could be\nsure, then skipped away to the ball game.\n\nWhen Mother Carey heard of his running away from his job, she was very\nangry. She said: \"Well, you Bad Brownie, you should be ashamed, but that\nwhite mark was a good idea so I'll forgive you, if you go round, and put\nit on every Clover leaf in the world.\"\n\nHe had to do it, though it looked like an endless task, and he never\nwould have finished it, had not the other Brownies all over the world\ncome to help him; so it was done at last. And that is the reason that\nevery Clover leaf to-day has on it the white mark like an arrowhead, the\nBrownie sign for \"good-to eat.\"\n\nThe Cows get along better now, but still they are very stupid; they go\nmunching ahead without thinking, and will even eat the blossoms which\nbelong to the Bees. And the Bees have to buzz very loudly and even sting\nthe Cows on their noses to keep them from stealing the bee-food. The\ngood little Bugs underground have the best time, for there the Cows can\nnot harm them, and the Bees never come near. They eat when they are\nhungry and sleep when they are cold, which is their idea of a good time;\nso except for some little quarrels between the Cows and the Bees they\nhave all gotten along very well ever since.\n\n\nTALE 20\n\nThe Shamrock and Her Three Sisters\n\n[Illustration: Yellow-haired Hob. Shamrock's blonde sister]\n\nThe Shamrock is really the White Clover. It is much the same shape as\nthe Red Clover, and has the same food bags in its cellar. It is just as\ngood for Cows and even better for Bees; so the Brownie stamped all its\nleaves with the white arrow mark, as you can plainly see. This plant,\nas you know, is the emblem of Ireland.\n\nThe story-tellers say that St. Patrick was preaching to Leary, the\nheathen King of Tara in Ireland hoping to turn him into a Christian. The\nking listened attentively, but he was puzzled by St. Patrick's account\nof the Trinity. \"Stop,\" said the king. \"How can there be three Gods in\none and only one God where there are three. That is impossible.\" St.\nPatrick stooped down and picking up a Shamrock leaf, said: \"See, there\nit is, growing in your own soil; there are three parts but only one\nleaf.\" The king was so much struck by this proof that he became a\nChristian and ever since the Shamrock has been the emblem of Ireland.\n\nNow to fill out the history of the Clovers, I should tell you of the\nother three. The next is called Alsike, or the Pink Clover.\n\nWhen you look at this Alsike or Alsatian Clover, you might think its\nmother was a red clover and its father a white one, for it is about half\nway between them in size, and its bloom is pink on the outside and white\nin the middle. Evidently, the Brownie didn't think much of it, for he\ndid not put his arrow mark on its leaves. Still the Cows think it is\ngood, the Bees think it is fine, and it always carried lots of food bags\nin its cellar. So also does the next sister--Melilot, the Yellow Clover\nor Honey-lotus--and the last and sweetest of them all, is the Sweet\nClover that spreads sweet smells in the old-fashioned garden.\n\n\nTALE 21\n\nThe Indian Basket-maker\n\n[Illustration: The Indian Basket]\n\n\"Come, little Nagami, my Bird-Singer, you are ten years old, it is time\nyou learned to make baskets. I made my first when I was but eight,\"\nsaid Mother Akoko proudly, for she was the best basket-maker on the\nriver.\n\nSo they took a sharp stick, and went into the woods. Akoko looked for\nspruce trees that had been blown down by the storm, but found none, so\nshe stopped under some standing spruce, at a place with no underbrush\nand said: \"See, Nagami, here we dig for wattap.\"\n\nThe spruce roots or \"wattap\" were near the surface and easily found, but\nnot easily got out, because they were long, tangled and criss-crossed.\nYet, by pulling up, and cutting under, they soon got a bundle of roots\nlike cords, and of different lengths, from two feet to a yard, or more.\n\n\"Good,\" said Akoko; \"this is enough and we need not soak them, for it is\nsummer, and the sap is running. If it were fall we should have to boil\nthem. Now you must scrape them clear of the brown bark.\" So Nagami took\nher knife and worked for an hour, then came with the bundle saying:\n\"See, Mother, they are smooth, and so white that they have not a brown\nspot left.\" \"Good,\" said Akoko, \"now you need some bark of the willow\nfor sewing cord. Let us look along the river bank.\"\n\nThere they found the round-leafed, or fish-net willow, and stripped off\nenough of its strong bark to make a bundle as big as one hand could\nhold.\n\nThis also had to be scraped clear of the brown skin, leaving only the\nstrong whitish inner bark, which, when split into strips, was good for\nsewing.\n\n\"See, my Nagami, when I was a little girl I had only a bone needle made\nfrom the leg of a deer, but you have easy work; here is a big steel\npacking needle, which I bought for you from a trader. This is how you\nmake your basket.\"\n\nSo Akoko began a flat coil with the spruce roots, and sewed it together\nwith the willow bark for thread, until it was a span wide. And whenever\na new root was to be added, she cut both old piece and new, to a long\npoint, so they would overlap without a bump.\n\nThen the next coil of the spruce roots was laid on, not flat and level,\nbut raised a little. Also the next, until the walls were as high as four\nfingers. Then Akoko said, \"Good, that is enough. It is a fine corn\nbasket. But we must give it a red rim for good luck.\"\n\nSo they sought in a sunny place along the shore, and found the fruit of\nthe squawberry or blitum. \"See,\" said Akoko, \"the miscawa. Gather a\nhandful, my Nagami. They make the red basket-dye.\"\n\nThey crushed the rich red berries, saving the red juice in a clam shell,\nand soaked a few strands of the white willow bark in the stain. When\nthey were dry, Nagami was taught to add a rim to her basket, by sewing\nit over and over as in the picture.\n\nThen Akoko said, \"Good, my little Bird-Singer, you have done well, you\nhave made some old black roots into a beautiful basket.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nN.B. The Guide will remember that rattan and raffia can be used for this\nwhen it is impossible to get spruce roots and willow bark. Good dyes may\nbe made from many different berries.\n\n\nTALE 22\n\nCrinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?\n\nIt has long been the custom of the Brownies to have a great feast on the\nfirst of the merry month of May, to celebrate the return of the spring.\n\n[Illustration: The Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?]\n\nOne springtime long ago, they got ready as usual. The King of the\nBrownies had invited all the leaders; the place for the dinner was\nchosen in a grove of mandrakes whose flat umbrellas made a perfect\nroof, rain or shine. The Bell Bird, whose other name is Wood Thrush, was\nringing his bell, and calling all the Chief Brownies by name.\n\n\"Ta-rool-ya! _ting-a-ling-ling-ling._\"\n\n\"Oka-lee! _ting-a-ling-ling-ling._\"\n\n\"Cherk! _ting-a-ling-ling-ling._\"\n\n\"Come to the feasting! _ting-a-ling-ling-ling._\"\n\nA hundred glow worms were told to hurry up with their lights and be\nready for that night, and busy Brownies gathered good things from woods\nand waters, for the feast.\n\nMay Day came bright and beautiful. The busy ones had all the \"eats\" in\nthe Mandrake Hall, the glowworms were sleeping soundly to fill their\nstorage batteries ready for the night. It made the salamanders' mouths\nwater to see so many good things; but they were not asked, so stayed\naway. There were dewdrops in acorn cups, and honey on the wax. There\nwere clam shells piled up with red checkerberries, and caddis worms on\nthe half shell, with spicebush nubbins. A huge white Mecha-meck was the\nchief dish, with bog nuts on the side. There were lovely long crinkle\nsalads. And last, there were gumdrops from the sweet birch, while at\neach place was a pussy willow to dust the food over with golden pollen\nthat gave it a pleasant peppery tang. All the guests were there, and the\nfeast was nearly over, when a terrible thing took place!\n\nOf all the dreaded happenings in the world of beauty there is nothing\nelse so feared as the forest fire. There is not much danger of it in\nspringtime, but it is possible at any season, after a long dry spell.\nWords cannot tell of the horror it spreads, as it comes raging through\nthe woods destroying all beautiful living things.\n\nAnd right in the middle of the feast, the dreadful news was carried by a\nflying Night-bird.\n\n\"Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire!\" he screamed, and almost at once the smoke came\ndrifting through the banquet hall, so they knew it was true.\n\nThere was mad haste to escape, and only two ways were open. One was to\nget across some big stream, and the other was to hide in a cave\nunderground. The birds took the first way, and the Brownies the second.\nEvery Woodchuck den was just packed with Brownies within a few minutes.\nBut the busy Brownie who was chief steward and had charge of the feast,\nhad no idea of leaving all the good things to burn up, if he could help\nit. First he sent six of his helpers to make a deep pit for the big\nMecha-meck, and while they did that he began hiding all the dishes in\nthe ground. Last he dug some deep holes and quickly buried all the\ncrinkle salads; then he ran for his life into a cave.\n\nThe raging fire came along. It is too horrible to tell about, for it was\nsent by the Evil One. The lovely woods were left black without a living\nthing. But the very next day, Mother Carey and Mother Earth and El Sol,\nset about saving the wreck, and in a marvellously short time actually\nhad made it green again. The mayflowers came up a second time that year,\nthe violets came back, and in each place where the Brownies had hid a\nsalad there came up a curious plant that never had been seen before. It\nhad three saw-edged leaves and a long wand, much like the one carried by\nthe Chief Steward. I never was able to find out his name for sure, but I\nthink it was Trileaf or Three-leaves. Anyway, if you dig under his sign\nand sceptre wand, you will surely find the salad, and very good indeed\nit is to eat; it was not hurt in the least by the fire.\n\n[Illustration: The Mecha-meck]\n\nBut from that day, the Brownies have been very shy of feasting during\ndry weather in the woods. They generally have their banquets now in some\nmeadow, and afterward you can tell the place of the feast by the circle\nof little toadstools called fairy rings. For you know that wherever a\nBrownie sits, a toadstool must spring up for him to sit on.\n\n\nTALE 23\n\nThe Mecha-meck\n\nThat fearful time when the forest fire set all the Brownies busy burying\ntheir food and dishes at the feast-hall, you remember it took six of\nthem to carry and hide the Mecha-meck. For it is a large fat white root\nas big as a baby, and sometimes it has arms or legs, so that when\nMonapini told Ruth Pilgrim about it she called it \"Man-of-the-earth.\"\n\nYou remember that the busy Brownie hid all the Crinkle salads, and so\nsaved them; and most of us have found the Crinkleroot and eaten it\nsince. But how many of us have found the Mecha-meck? I know only one man\nwho has. We call him the Wise Woodman. He found and dug out the one from\nwhich I made the picture. It was two and a half feet long and weighed\nfifteen pounds--fifteen pounds of good food. Think of it! Above it and\ngrowing out of its hiding place was a long trailing vine that looked\nlike a white morning-glory. There is always one of these over the\nMecha-meck. And by that you may find it, if you look along the sunny\nbanks outside of the woods. But still it is very hard to find. I never\nyet got one, though I have found many of the crinkle-root salads. Of\ncourse, that is easy to explain, for the busy Brownies buried hundreds\nof the salads, but only one of the big fat Mecha-meck.\n\n\nTALE 24\n\nDutchman's Breeches\n\n[Illustration: Dutchman's Dive\n\nDutchman's Breeches]\n\nOf course they are not, for no Dutchman I ever saw could wear such tiny\nthings. I will tell you what they really are and how that came to be.\n\nYou remember how the Brownies assembled for the feast on May Day when\nthe Glow worms were the lamps and the Wood Thrush rang the bell. Well,\nit so happened that day that a great crowd of the merrymakers gathered\nlong before the feast was ready, and while they were wondering what to\ndo someone shouted: \"See, how fine and warm the water is where the brook\nspreads out into the ditch. Let us have our first swim of the season\nright now!\"\n\nSo they all went with a whoop! stripped off their clothes, and into\ntheir swimming breeches with a perfect riot of glee.\n\nThen how they did splash! Some blind folks thought it must be a million\nearly pollywogs splashing. But the swim ended with another racket when\nthe dinner bell rang.\n\nEach splashing Brownie hopped out and hung up his breeches to dry as he\ngot into his clothes.\n\nThen you remember the fire came along and scared them away. Of course\nthe breeches were wet, so they didn't get singed; and there you can see\nthem hanging to this day on the first of May. That is what they really\nare--Brownies' Breeches. And because the Brownies often swim in a ditch,\nthey are called ditch-man's breeches; but believe me, they are not\nDutchman's breeches and never could be.\n\n[Illustration: The Seven Sour Sisters]\n\n\nTALE 25\n\nThe Seven Sour Sisters\n\nIf you look along any half-open bank in the edge of the woods, or even\nin the woods itself, you are sure to see one of the Seven Sorrel\nSisters, with leaves a little like Clover, only notched in the end and\nwithout the white marks, that the Brownie put on the Clover. There are\nseven of them, according to most doctors; five have yellow eyes, one\npurple, and one white streaked with blood. Their Latin name means\n\"vinegar\" and their Greek name means \"acid.\" \"Sorrel\" itself means\n\"Little sour one,\" so you see they have the reputation of a sour bunch.\nIf you eat one of the leaves, you will agree that the name was\nwell-chosen, and understand why the druggists get the tart \"salt of\nlemons\" from this family. The French use these Sour Sisters for their\nsour soup. But in spite of their unsweetness, they are among the pretty\nthings of the woods; their forms are delicate and graceful; their eyes\nare like jewels, and when the night comes down, they bow their heads,\ngracefully fold their hands, and sleep like a lot of tired children.\n\n\nTALE 26\n\nSelf-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass\n\n[Illustration: Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass]\n\nYou should know the history of the lowly little flower called\nBlue-curls; and you must remember that flowers have their troubles just\nas you have. For one thing, flowers must get their pollen or yellow\nflower-dust, carried to some other of their kind, or they cannot keep on\ngrowing good seed. And since the flower cannot walk about finding places\nfor its pollen, it generally makes a bargain with a bee. It says, \"If\nyou will carry my pollen to my cousins yonder, I will give you a sweet\nsip of nectar.\" That is where the bees get the stuff for all their\nhoney, and that is how the pollen is carried.\n\nWell, the modest little Blue-curls long had had a working agreement with\nthe Meadow Bees, and got on nicely. But one summer Blue-curls became\ndiscontented. She saw all the other plants with wonderful gifts that had\npower to cure pain and sickness; while she was doing nothing but live\nher own easy life, and she felt she was a nobody.\n\nSo one day as Mother Carey's slowest steed was swishing over the grass,\nBlue-curls cried out: \"Mother Carey, Mother Carey, won't you hear me and\ngrant me a gift?\"\n\n\"What is it, little one?\" said the All-mother.\n\n\"Oh, Mother Carey, the pansy cures heartache, the monkshood cures\ncanker-lip, the tansy cures colds, and all the others have some joy and\nhonour of service, but I am good for nothing, Mother Carey so the wise\nmen despise me. Won't you give me a job? Won't you give me some little\npower?\"\n\n\"Little one, such an asking never finds me deaf. I love those who would\nhelp. I will give you a little bit of _all healing_ so that you shall be\ngood medicine, if not the best, for all ills, and men shall call you\n'Self-heal' and 'All-heal' for you shall have all healing in yourself.\"\n\nAnd it has been so ever since. So that some who go by looks call the\nmodest little meadow flower, \"Blue-curls in the Grass,\" but the old\nherb-men who know her goodness call her \"All-heal\" or \"Self-heal.\"\n\n\nTALE 27\n\nThe Four Butterflies You See Every Summer\n\n[Illustration: Summer Butterflies (a little over life size)]\n\nThere are four Butterflies that you are sure to see every summer, on our\nfields; and remember that each of them goes through the same changes.\nFirst it is an egg, then a greedy grub, next a hanging bundle-baby,\nand last a beautiful winged fairy, living a life of freedom and joy.\n\nIn the picture I have shown the butterflies life size, but you must add\nthe colour as you get each one to copy.\n\nThe first is the _White_ or _Cabbage Butterfly_ that flits over our\ngardens all summer long.\n\nIt is not a true American, but came from Europe in 1860 and landed at\nQuebec, from whence it has spread all over the country. In the drawing I\nhave shown the female; the male is nearly the same but has only one\nround dark spot on the front wings. Its grub is a little naked green\ncaterpillar, that eats very nearly a million dollars' worth of cabbages\na year; so it is a pity it was ever allowed to land in this country.\nThere are moths that we should like to get rid of, but this is the only\nbutterfly that is a pest.\n\n2nd. The _Yellow_ or _Clouded Sulphur Butterfly_. You are sure to find\nit, as soon as you begin to look for butterflies. This is the one that\nis often seen in flocks about mud puddles.\n\nWhen I was a very small boy, I once caught a dozen of them, and made a\nlittle beehive to hold them, thinking that they would settle down and\nmake themselves at home, just like bees or pigeons. But the grown-ups\nmade me let them fly away, for the Sulphur is a kindly creature, and\ndoes little or no harm.\n\nOne of the most beautiful things I ever came across, was, when about ten\nyears old, I saw on a fence stake ahead of me a big bird that was red,\nwhite and blue, with a flaming yellow fan-crest. Then as I came closer,\nI knew that it was a red-headed woodpecker, with a Sulphur Butterfly in\nhis beak; this made the crest; what I thought was blue turned out to be\nhis glossy black back reflecting the blue sky.\n\n3rd. The next is the _Red Admiral_ or _Nettle Butterfly_. The \"red\" part\nof the name is right, but why \"Admiral\"? I never could see unless it was\nmisprint for \"Admirable.\"\n\n[Illustration: Red Admiral]\n\n[Illustration: Tiger Swallowtail (life size)]\n\nThis beautiful insect lays its eggs and raises its young on nettles, and\nwhere nettles are, there is the Red Admiral also. And that means over\nnearly all the world! Its caterpillar is not very well protected with\nbristles, not at all when compared with the Woolly-bear, but it lives in\nthe nettles, and, whether they like it or not, the hospitable nettles\nwith their stings protect the caterpillar. The crawler may be grateful,\nbut he shows it in a poor way, for he turns on the faithful nettle, and\neats it up. In fact the only food he cares about is nettle-salad, and he\nindulges in it several times a day, yes all day long, eating, growing\nand bursting his skin a number of times, till he is big enough to hang\nhimself up for the winter, probably in a nettle. Then next spring he\ncomes forth, in the full dress uniform of a Red Admiral, gold lace, red\nsash, silver braid and all.\n\n4th. The last of the four is the _Tiger Swallowtail_. You are sure to\nsee it some day--the big yellow butterfly that is striped like a tiger,\nwith peacock's feathers in its train, and two long prongs, like a\nswallow-tail, to finish off with. It is found in nearly all parts of the\nEastern States and Canada. I saw great flocks of them on the Slave River\nof the North.\n\nIt is remarkable in that there are both blondes and brunettes among its\nladies. The one shown in the drawing is a blonde. The brunettes are so\nmuch darker as to be nearly black; and so different that at one time\neveryone thought they were of a different kind altogether.\n\n\nTALE 28\n\nThe Beautiful Poison Caterpillar\n\n[Illustration: The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar (the moth is a little\nover life size)]\n\nThe lovely Io Moth is one that you will see early, and never forget, for\nit is common, and ranges over all the country from Canada to the Gulf.\nWhen you see it, you will be inclined to spell its name Eye-oh--for it\nhas on each wing a splendid eye like that on a peacock's tail-feather,\nwhile the rest of its dress is brown velvet and gold.\n\nThere is a strange chapter in the life of Io, which you should know\nbecause it shows that Mother Carey never gives any wonderful gift to her\ncreatures without also giving with it some equal burden of sorrow.\n\nThis is how it all came about.\n\nLong ago when the little ones of the Io Moth were small, they were, like\nmost caterpillars, very ugly little things. They felt very badly about\nit, and so they set out one day for the great Home Place of Mother Carey\nin the Whispering Grove of the Ages.\n\nThere they prayed, \"Dear Mother Carey, we are not of an ugly race, why\nshould we be so ugly as caterpillars? Will you not make us beautiful,\nfor beauty is one of the best things of all?\"\n\nMother Carey smiled and waved a finger toward a little Brownie, who came\nwith a tray on which were two cups; one full of bright sparkling pink\nstuff, and the other with something that looked like dark green oil. But\nthe glasses were joined at the top, there was but one place to drink,\nand that reached both.\n\nThen Mother Carey said, \"These are the goblets of life, one is balm and\nwill give you joy, the other is gall and will give you suffering. You\nmay drink little or much, but you must drink equally of both. Now what\nwould ye?\"\n\nThe little ugly creatures whispered together, then one said: \"Mother\nCarey, if we drink, will it give us beauty?\"\n\n\"Yes, my children, the red goblet of life will give you beauty, but with\nit the other will give you grief.\"\n\nThey whispered together, then all the little crawlers went silently\nforward, and each took a long drink of the double goblet.\n\nThen they crawled away, and at once became the most beautiful of all\ncaterpillars, brilliant jewel-green with stripes of pink, velvet, and\ngold. Never before were there seen such exquisite little crawlers.\n\nBut now a sad thing happened. They were so beautiful that many creatures\nbecame their enemies, and began to kill them and eat them one after\nanother. They crawled as fast as they could, and hid away, but many of\nthem were killed by birds and beasts of prey, as well as by big fierce\ninsects.\n\nThey did not know what to do, so next day the few that were left crawled\nback to the Grove of Ages, and once more stood before Mother Carey.\n\n\"Well, my Beauty-crawlers,\" she said, \"what would you?\"\n\n\"Oh, Mother Carey, it is fearful, everyone seeks to destroy us. Most of\nus are killed, and many of us wounded. Will you not protect us?\"\n\n\"You drank of the two goblets, my children. I warned you that your\nbeauty would bring terrible trouble with it.\"\n\nThey bowed their little heads in silent sorrow, for they knew that that\nwas true.\n\n\"Now,\" said the All-Mother, \"do you wish to go back and be ugly again?\"\n\nThey whispered together and said: \"No, Mother Carey, it is better to be\nbeautiful and die.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Splendid Silk-Moth (about 1/2 life size)]\n\nThen Mother Carey looked on them very kindly, and said: \"Little ones, I\nlove your brave spirit. You shall not die. Neither shall you lose your\nbeauty. I will give you a defence that will keep off all your enemies\nbut one, that is the Long-stinger Wasp, for you must in some way pay for\nyour loveliness.\" She waved her wand, and all over each of the\nBeauty-crawlers, there came out bunches of sharp stickers like porcupine\nquills, only they were worse than porcupine quills for each of the\nstickers was poisoned at the tip, so that no creature could touch the\nBeauty-crawlers without being stung.\n\nThe birds and beasts let them alone now, or suffer a terrible punishment\nfrom the poison spears. You children, too, must beware of them; touch\nthem not, they will give you festering wounds. There is only one\ncreature now that the Beauty-crawlers truly fear; that is the\nLong-stinger Wasp. He does indeed take toll of their race, but that is\nthe price they still must pay for their beauty. Did they not drink of\nthe double goblet?\n\n\nTALE 29\n\nThe Great Splendid Silk-Moth or _Samia Cecropia_\n\nWhen I was a very small boy, I saw my father bring in from the orchard a\nragged looking thing like parchment wrapped up with some tangled hair;\nit was really the bundle-baby of this Moth. He kept it all winter, and\nwhen the spring came, I saw for the first time the great miracle of the\ninsect world--the rag bundle was split open, and out came this glorious\ncreature with wings of red and brown velvet, embroidered with silver and\nspots that looked like precious stones. It seemed the rarest thing in\nthe world, but I have found out since, that it is one of our common\nmoths, and any of you can get one, if you take the trouble.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow listen, and you shall hear of what happened long ago to a green\ncrawler who was born to be a splendid Silk-Moth, but who spoiled it all\nby a bad temper.\n\nIt had been a very cold, wet summer, and one day, when the wind was\nwhispering, he cried out: \"Mother Carey, when I have done with my\nworking life, and go into the Great Sleep, grant that it may never rain\non me for I hate rain, and it has done nothing but pour all summer\nlong.\" And he shivered the red knobs on his head with peevishness.\n\n\"You silly little green crawler, don't you think I know better than you\nwhat is good for you? Would you like there to be no rain?\"\n\n\"Yes, I would,\" said the red-knobbed Samia rebelliously.\n\n\"Would _you_?\" said the All-Mother to another green crawler, who hung on\na near-by limb.\n\n\"Mother Carey, we have had a wet, cold summer, and the rain has been\nmiserable, but I know you will take care of us.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said the All-Mother: \"then, in this way it shall be. You little\nRed-Knobs shall have what you so much wish, you shall hang up in a dry\nloft where not a drop of dew even shall touch you in your bundle-baby\nsleep. And you little Yellow-Knobs shall hang under a limb where every\nrain that comes shall drench your outer skin.\" And she left them.\n\nWhen the time came to hang up, Red-Knobs was led to a place as dry as\ncould be, under a shed and swung his bundle-baby hammock from the\nrafters.\n\nYellow-Knobs hung up his hammock under a twig in the rose garden.\n\nThe winter passed, and the springtime came with the great awakening day.\nEach of the bundle-babies awoke from his hammock and broke his bonds.\nEach found his new wings, and set about shaking them out to full size\nand shape. Those of the rain-baby came quickly to their proper form, and\naway he flew to rejoice in perfect life. But though the other shook and\nshook, his wings would not fluff out. They seemed dried up; they were\nnumbed and of stunted growth.\n\nShake as he would, the wings stayed small and twisted. And as he\nstruggled, a Butcher-bird came by. His fierce eye was drawn by the\nfluttering purple thing. It had no power to escape. He tore its crumpled\nwings from its feathery form, and made of it a meal. But before dying it\nhad time to say, \"Oh, Mother Carey, now I know that your way was the\nbest.\"\n\n\nTALE 30\n\nThe Green Fairy with the Long Train\n\nSome fairies are Brownies and some are Greenies, and of all that really\nand truly dance in the moonlight right here in America, Luna Greenie\nseems the most wonderful; and this is her history:\n\nOnce upon a time there was a seed pearl that dropped from the robe of a\ngreen fairy. It stuck on the leaf of a butternut tree till one warm day\nMother Carey, who knows all the wild things and loves them all, touched\nit with her magic wand, called Hatch-awake, and out of the seed pearl\ncame an extraordinarily ugly little dwarf, crawling about on many legs.\nHe was just as greedy as he was ugly, and he ate leaf after leaf of the\nbutternut tree, and grew so fat that he burst his skin. Then a new skin\ngrew, and he kept on eating and bursting until he was quite big. But he\nhad also become wise and gentle; he had learned many things, and was not\nquite so greedy now.\n\n[Illustration: The Green Fairy With the Long Train (about 4/5 life\nsize)]\n\nMother Carey, the All-Mother, had been watching him, and knew that now\nhe was ready for the next step up. She told him to make himself a\nhammock of rags and leaves, in the butternut tree. When he had crawled\ninto it, she touched him with her wand, the very same as the one she\nused when she sent the Sleeping Beauty into her long sleep. Then that\nlittle dwarf went soundly to sleep, hanging in his hammock.\n\nSummer passed; autumn came; the leaves fell from the butternut tree,\ntaking the bundle-baby with them, exactly as in the old rhyme:\n\n        Rock-a-bye baby on the tree-top,\n        When the wind blows, your cradle will rock,\n        When the cold weather makes all the leaves fall,\n        Down tumbles baby and cradle and all.\n\nBut the hammock, with its sleeper, landed in a deep bed of leaves, and\nlay there all winter, quite safe and warm.\n\nThen when the springtime sun came over the hill, Mother Carey came\na-riding on the Warm Wind, and waving her wand. She stopped and kissed\nthe sleeping bundle-baby, just as the Prince kissed the Sleeping Beauty,\nand instantly the baby awoke. Then happened the strangest thing. Out of\nthat ragged old hammock there came the most wonderful and beautiful\nGreen Fairy ever seen, with wings and with two trains; and as it came\nout and looked shyly around, trembling with new life, Mother Carey\nwhispered, \"Go to the butternut grove and see what awaits you there.\"\n\nSo away she went. Oh, how easy and glorious it is to fly! She could\nremember how once she used to crawl everywhere. And through the soft\nsweet night she flew, as she was told, straight to the butternut grove.\nAs she came near she saw many green fairies--a great crowd of\nthem--gathered in the moonlight, and dancing round and round in\nfluttering circles, swooping about and chasing each other, or hiding in\nthe leaves. They did not feast, for these fairies never eat, and they\ndrink only honey from flowers. But there was a spirit of great joy over\nthem all. And there were some there with longer head plumes than those\nshe wore. They seemed stronger and one of them came with a glad greeting\nto the new Green Dancer and though she flew away, she was bursting with\njoy that he should single her out. He pursued her till he caught her,\nand hand in hand they danced together in the moonlight. She was happier\nthan she had known it was possible to be, and danced all night--that\nwonderful wedding dance. But she was very tired when morning was near,\nand high in the tree she slept so soundly that she never noticed that\nmany seed pearls that were clustered on the lining of her robe had got\nloose and rolled into the crevices of the trunk. There they lay until\nMother Carey came to touch them with her magic wand, so each became a\ncrawler-dwarf, then a bundle-baby, and at last a dancing fairy.\n\nBut the Green Dancer did not know that--she knew only that it was a\nglorious thing to be alive, and fly, and to dance in the moonlight.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYou must never fail to watch under the butternut tree on mid-summer\nnights, for it is quite possible that you may see the wedding dance of\nthe Luna Greenie and her sisters with the long-trained robes.\n\n\nTALE 31\n\nThe Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon\n\n[Illustration: The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon]\n\nOnce upon a time, there was a beautiful little Yellow Dragon, who lived\na happy and innocent life on the high banks of a prattling stream. The\nDragon himself was dumb but he loved a merry noise, and nothing\npleased him more than the prattling of the water. Sometimes this\npleasant little Dragon went up stream, where it was noisy, and sometimes\nhe went down stream, where it was very silent, and rested awhile in\nlittle pools. Here it was that he met with his first enemy, a warty\nHoptoad with jealous eyes. That Toad thought that he owned the pools\nbecause he bathed there every springtime, and though it was a kind\nlittle Dragon, the Toad hated him, and began to plot against him.\n\n\"Ho! little Yellow Dragon,\" he said, \"you are very wonderful to see, and\nyou must be very clever; but you haven't got everything you want, have\nyou?\"\n\nThe Dragon smiled, shook his head, and made silent signs with his lips.\nThen the Toad understood, for he said: \"Ho-ho, I understand that you\ncannot speak. But are you happy?\"\n\nThe Dragon smiled sweetly and nodded, then pointed to the stream.\n\nThat made the Toad madder than ever, for he thought it meant that the\nDragon was claiming the whole stream. So the Toad said: \"See, Dragon,\nthere is a wonderful food that you have never tasted, that is a poached\negg.\"\n\nThis he said with his heart full of guile, for he knew full well that\npoached eggs are deadly poison to Dragons.\n\nThe Dragon looked puzzled, and the Toad said, \"Have you?\"\n\nThe Dragon shook his head. \"Well,\" said the Toad, \"it is the most\ndelicious thing in the woods; now you wait and see.\"\n\nHe went hoppity-hop, to a sand-bank where he had seen a Turtle lay its\neggs that morning. He dug out one. He rolled it upon a stone, and split\nit open with the sharp spur on his heel. As soon as it was stiffened by\nthe sun heat, he said, \"Here now, Dragon, swallow it down, while I get\nanother for myself.\"\n\nThe poor innocent little Dragon did not know any better. He tried to\nswallow the poached egg. The moment he did, it stuck in his throat, and\npoisoned him. At once his toes sank into the ground. He turned green all\nover, and his head was changed into a strange new flower. There it is to\nthis day, standing silently where it can hear the brook a-prattling. Its\nbody is green all over, and its head is yellow and its jaws are wide\nopen with a poached egg stuck in its throat. And that is how it all came\nabout. Some call it Toad Flax, and some call it Butter and Eggs, but we\nwho know how it happened call it the Dragon and the Poached Egg.\n\nPoor dear little Yellow Dragon!\n\n\nTALE 32\n\nThe Fairy Bird or the Humming-bird Moth\n\nWhen I was a schoolboy, a number of my companions brought the news that\nthe strangest bird in the world had come that day to our garden and\nhovered over the flowers. It was no bigger than a bumble-bee. \"No! It\nwas not a humming-bird,\" they said, \"it was smaller by far, much more\nbeautiful, and it came and went so fast that no one could see it go.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Fairy Bird (1-1/2 life size)]\n\nEvery guess that I made seemed not to fit the wonderful bird, or help to\ngive it a name that would lead us to its history in the books. The\nsummer went by, several schoolmates saw the Wonderbird, and added\nstories of its marvellous smallness and mysterious habits. Its body,\nthey said, was of green velvet with a satin-white throat; it had a\nlong beak--at least an inch long--a fan-tail of many feathers, two long\nplumes from its head, \"the littlest feet you ever have seen,\" and large\nlustrous eyes that seemed filled with human intelligence. \"It jest\nlooked right at you, and seemed like a fairy looking at you.\"\n\nThe wonder grew. I made a sketch embodying all the points that my\ncompanions noted about the Fairy Bird. The first drawing shows what it\nlooked like, and also gives the exact size they said it was.\n\nIt seemed a cruel wrong that let so many of them see the thing that was\nof chief interest to me, yet left me out. It clearly promised a real\nfairy, an elfin bird, a wonderful messenger from the land I hungered to\nbelieve in.\n\nBut at last my turn came. One afternoon two of the boys ran toward me,\nshouting: \"Here it is, the little Fairy Bird, right in the garden over\nthe honeysuckle. C'mon, quick!\"\n\nI rushed to the place, more excited than I can tell. Yes, there it was,\nhovering over the open flowers--tiny, wonderful, humming as it swung on\nmisty wings. I made a quick sweep of my insect net and, marvellous to\nrelate, scooped up the Fairy Bird. I was trembling with excitement now,\nnot without a sense of wickedness that I should dare to net a\nfairy--practically an angel. But I had done it, and I gloated over my\ncaptive, in the meshes. Yes, the velvet body and snowy throat were\nthere, the fan-tail, the plumes and the big dark eyes, but the creature\nwas _not a bird_; it was an insect! Dimly now I remembered, and in a few\nhours, learned, as I had feared, that I had not captured a young angel\nor even a fairy--it was nothing but a Humming-bird Moth, a beautiful\ninsect--common in some regions, scarce in some, such as mine--but\nperfectly well known to men of science and never afterward forgotten by\nany of that eager schoolboy group.\n\n\nTALE 33\n\nRibgrass or Whiteman's-Foot\n\nIf you live in the country or in a small town, you will not have to go\nmany steps, in summer time, before you find the little plant known as\nRibgrass, Plantain, or Whiteman's-foot. If you live in a big city, you\nmay find it in any grassy place, but will surely see it, as soon as you\nreach the suburbs. It grows on the ground, wherever it can see the sun,\nand is easily known by the strong ribs, each with a string in it when\nyou pull the leaf apart. The Indians call it Whiteman's-foot, not\nbecause it is broad and flat, but because it came from Europe with the\nwhite man; it springs up wherever he sets his foot, and it has spread\nover all America. Gardeners think it a troublesome weed; but the birds\nlove its seed; canary birds delight in it; and each plant of the\nRibgrass may grow many thousands of seeds in a summer.\n\nHow many? Let us see! Take a seed-stalk of the Plantain and you will\nfind it thickly set with little cups, as in the drawing. Open one of\nthese cups, and you find in it five seeds. Count the cups; there are two\nhundred on this stalk, each with about five seeds, that is, one thousand\nseeds; but the plant has five or more seed-stalks, some have more (one\nbefore me now has seventeen), but suppose it has only ten; then there\nare 10,000 seeds each summer from one little plant. Each seed can grow\nup into a new plant; and, if each plant were as far from the next as you\ncan step, the little ones in a row the following summer would reach for\nnearly six miles; that is, from the City Hall to the end of Central\nPark, New York.[B]\n\n[Illustration: The Ribgrass]\n\n[Illustration: Jack-in-the-Pulpit]\n\nOn the third year if all had the full number of seed, and all the seed\ngrew into plants, there would be enough to go more than twice round the\nworld. No wonder it has spread all over the country.\n\n\nTALE 34\n\nJack-in-the-Pulpit\n\nOnce upon a time there was a missionary named the Rev. John T. Arum, who\nset out to preach to the Indians. He had a good heart but a bitter,\nbiting tongue. He had no respect for the laws of the Indians, so they\nkilled him, and buried him in the woods. But out of his grave came a new\nand wonderful plant, shaped like a pulpit, and right in the middle of\nit, as usual, was the Reverend Jack hard at it, preaching away.\n\nIf you dig down under the pulpit you will find the preacher's body, or\nhis heart, in the form of a round root. Taste it and you will believe\nthat the preacher had a terribly biting tongue, but treat it properly,\nthat is boil it, and you will find out that after all he had a good\nlittle heart inside. Even the Indians have discovered his good qualities\nand have become very fond of him.\n\n\nTALE 35\n\nHow the Indian Pipe Came\n\n[Illustration: How the Indian Pipe Came]\n\nIn the last tale you learned the fate of the Rev. John T. Arum, and the\norigin of Jack-in-the-Pulpit. But you must not suppose for a moment that\nthe Indians decided in a hurry to kill the missionary. No, they had too\nmuch sense of fair play for that. They held a great many councils first\nto find some way of curbing his tongue, and making him mind his own\nbusiness. In fact, they got into the habit of holding a council every\nfew minutes to discuss the question, no matter where they were or what\nelse they were doing. So that pretty nearly every part of the woods was\nin time used for a council ring to discuss the fate of the Rev. John T.\nArum.\n\nOf course, you know that no Indian can hold a council without smoking\nthe Peace Pipe, and when the council is over, he empties out the ashes\nof the pipe. So that when all those councils were over, when the matter\nwas settled, when the missionary was buried, and when the warrior had\ngone to the ghost land, there came solemnly poking its white bowl and\nstem from under the leaves an Indian pipe, at the very spot where the\nCouncillors had emptied the ashes. It is a beautifully shaped pipe, with\na curved and feathered stem, but it has none of the bright colours of\nthe old Peace Pipe. It cannot have them for this is only a ghost Pipe to\nshow where the council used to be; and one pipe there is for each\ncouncil held on that spot, so you see how many, many councils the\nIndians had, before they killed the troublesome preacher. And sometimes\nyou can find a pipe that has the bowl still filled with ghost tobacco or\neven a little red ghost fire, showing that the warriors had to hurry\naway before that council was finished. Whenever you find the ghost pipe\nin the woods, you are sure to see close by either a log, a bank or a\nrock on which the Councillors sat to talk it over.\n\n\nTALE 36\n\nThe Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella\n\nThe Indians had Brownies, only they called them Pukwudjies, and I am\ngoing to tell you a story of an Indian Brownie.\n\n[Illustration: The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella]\n\nWhenever the Indians got together for a council, the Brownies did the\nsame thing, in the woods near by. It was a kind of Brownie Fair, and\nsome of the little people used to have stands and sell refreshments.\nBerries were scarce in the springtime, but the Brownies were very fond\nof cucumber. So there were always one or two Cucumber Brownies, who set\nup their little umbrellas, and sold slices of Cucumber to the others.\n\nWhen it was time to go home, or when the sun got so hot that the\ncucumbers were likely to spoil, they would bury them in the ground, but\nleave the umbrella to mark the place. And there they are yet; many a\ntime have I found the umbrella, and dug under it to find the cucumber.\nIt is delicious eating; everything that Brownies like is. You can find\nit, and try it. It is one of the things that Monapini taught Ruth\nPilgrim to eat. (Tale 18).\n\nOf course, the Brownies do not like you to dig up their treasure or\ngood-to-eats, but there are plenty more, far more than they ever need.\n\"Yet what about it,\" you say, \"if the Brownie happens to be there?\"\n\nHe may be sitting right under the umbrella, but remember the little\npeople are invisible to our eyes. You will not see him; at least I never\ndid.\n\n\nTALE 37\n\nThe Hickory Horn-devil\n\nHush, whisper! Did you ever meet a Hickory Horn-devil? No! Well I did,\nand I tell you he is a terror. Look at this picture of him. It is true,\nonly he is not quite so big as that, though he looks as if he might be.\nAnd I was not quite so small as that, only I felt as if I were! And\neverything about him looked horribly strong, poisonous and ugly. He was\na real devil.\n\n[Illustration: The Hickory Horn-devil (1/2 life size)]\n\nI did not know his history then; I did not learn it for a long time\nafter, but I can tell it to you now.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a little, greenish, blackish worm. He loved\npretty things, and he hated to be ugly, as he was. No one wanted him,\nand he was left all alone, a miserable little outcast. He complained\nbitterly to Mother Carey, and asked if she would not bless him with some\ngrace, to help him in his troubles.\n\nMother Carey said: \"Little ugly worm; you are having a hard time,\nbecause in your other life, before you came into this shape, you had an\nugly, hateful spirit. You must go through this one as you are, until the\nGreat Sleep comes; after that, you will be exactly what you have made of\nyourself.\"\n\nThen the little ugly worm said: \"Oh Mother Carey, I am as miserable as I\ncan be; let me be twice as ugly, if, in the end, I may be twice as\nbeautiful.\"\n\nMother Carey said gravely, \"Do you think you could stand it, little\nworm? We shall see.\"\n\nFrom that time the worm got bigger and uglier, no creature would even\ntalk to him. The birds seemed to fear him, and the Squirrels puffed out\nlittle horror-snorts, when they saw him coming, even the other worms\nkept away from him.\n\nSo he went on his lonely life, uglier and more hated than ever. He lived\nchiefly on a big hickory tree, so men called him the Hickory Horn-devil.\n\nOne day as he was crawling on a fence, a hen with chickens came running\nafter him, to eat him. But when she saw how ugly he was she cried: \"Oh,\nLawk, lawk! Come away, children, at once!\"\n\nAt another time he saw a Chipmunk teaching its little ones to play tag.\nThey looked so bright and happy, he longed, not to join them because he\ncould only crawl, but to have the happiness of looking on. But when he\ncame slowly forward, and the old Chipmunk saw him waving his horns and\nlooking like a green poisonous reptile, she screamed, \"Run, my\nchildren!\" and all darted into their hole while Mother Chipmunk stuffed\nup the doorway with earth.\n\nBut the most thrilling thing of all that he saw was one day as the sun\nwent down, a winged being of dazzling beauty alighted for a moment on\nhis hickory tree. Never had the Horn-devil seen such a dream of\nloveliness. Her slender body was clad in rose velvet, and her wings were\nshining with gold. The very sight of her made him hate himself, yet he\ncould not resist the impulse to crawl nearer, to gaze at her beauty.\n\nBut her eyes rested a moment on his horrible shape, and she fled in\nfear, while a voice near by said: \"The Spangled Queen does not love\npoisonous reptiles.\" Then the poor little Horn-devil wished he were\ndead. He hid away from sight for three days. Hunger however forced him\nout, and as he was crawling across a pathway, a man who came along was\ngoing to crush him underfoot, but Mother Carey whispered, \"No, don't do\nit.\" So the man let him live, but roughly kicked the worm aside, and\nbruised him fearfully.\n\nThen came Mother Carey and said: \"Well, little ugly worm! Is your spirit\nstrong, or angry?\"\n\nThe worm said bravely, though feebly: \"Mother, Mother Carey, I am trying\nto be strong. I want to win.\"\n\nThe breezes were losing their gentle warmth when Mother Carey came to\nhim one day, and said: \"Little one, your trial has been long, but it is\nnearly over.\n\n\"Prepare to sleep now, my little horny one, you have fought a brave\nfight; your reward is coming. Because your soul has been made beautiful\nby your suffering, I will give you a body blazing with such beauty as\nshall make all stand in adoration when you pass.\" Then Mother Earth\nsaid, \"Our little one shall have extra care because he has had extra\ntrials.\" So the tired little Horn-devil did not even have to make\nhimself a hammock, for Mother Earth received him and he snuggled into\nher bosom. As Mother Carey waved her wand, he dropped off asleep. And he\nslept for two hundred days.\n\nThen came the great Awakening Day, the resurrection day of the woods.\nMany new birds arrived. Many new flowers appeared. Sleepers woke from\nunderground, as Mother Carey's silent trumpeters went bugling ahead of\nher, and her winged horse, the Warm Wind, came sweeping across the\nmeadows, with the white world greening as he came.\n\nThe bundle-baby of the Horn-devil woke up. He was cramped and sleepy,\nbut soon awake. Then he knew that he was a prisoner, bound up in silken\ncords of strength. But new powers were his now, he was able to break the\ncords and crawl out of his hole. He put up his feelers to find those\nhorrible horns, but they were gone, and his devil form fell off him like\na mask. He had wings, jewelled wings! on his back now. Out he came to\nfluff the newfound wings awhile, and when they were spread and supple he\nflew into the joyful night, one of the noblest of all the things that\nfly, gorgeous in gold and velvet, body and wings; filled with the joy of\nlife and flight, he went careering through the soft splendour of the\ncoming night. And as he flew, he glimpsed a radiant form ahead, a being\nlike himself, with wings of velvet and gold. At first he thought it was\nthe Princess of the Hickory Tree, but now his eyes were perfect, and he\ncould see that this was a younger and more beautiful Spangled Princess\nthan the one of his bygone life, and all his heart was filled with the\nblazing fire of love. Fearlessly now he flew to overtake her; for was\nshe not of his own kind? She sped away, very fast at first, but maybe\nshe did not go as fast as she could, for soon he was sailing by her\nside. At first she turned away a little, but she was not cross or\nfrightened now. She was indeed inclined to play and tease. Then in their\nown language, he asked her to marry him, and in their own language she\nsaid, \"yes.\" Away they flew and flew on their wedding flight, high in\nthe trees in the purple night, glorious in velvet and gold, more happy\nthan these printed words can tell.\n\nThe wise men who saw them said, \"There go the Royal Citheronia and his\nbride.\" And Mother Carey smiled as she saw their bliss, and remembered\nthe Hickory Horn-devil.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[B] Let the Guide illustrate with some local measure.\n\n\n\n\nTHINGS TO SEE IN AUTUMNTIME\n\n[Illustration: The Purple and Gold of Autumn]\n\n\n\n\nThings to See in Autumntime\n\n\nTALE 38\n\nThe Purple and Gold of Autumn\n\nThere was once an old gentleman named Father Time, and he had four\nbeautiful daughters.\n\nThe eldest was called Winter Time. She was tall and pale. She dressed\nchiefly in white wool trimmed with wonderful lacework. She was much\nadmired by some, but others considered her very cold and distant. And\nmost agreed that she was the least winsome of the sisters.\n\nThe second one was called Spring Time, and she was dressed in beautiful\ngolden-green satin. She had a gentle, sunny disposition; some thought\nher the loveliest.\n\nThe third was Summer Time, and her robe was dark-green velvet. She was\nwarm-hearted and most attractive, full of life and energy, and as unlike\nthe eldest sister as possible.\n\nThe youngest was Autumn Time. She certainly was a wonderful creature,\nwith red rosy cheeks, plump form, and riotous good spirits. Her robes\nwere gorgeous and a little extravagant, for she wore a new one every\nday, and of all that she had, the one that she loved the best and wore\nthe latest was of purple and gold. We can go out in October and see the\npurple and gold, and gather some scraps of the robe, for it is on every\nwayside and every hillside.\n\n\nTALE 39\n\nWhy the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year\n\nA long time ago, when it was always summer in our woods, the Chicadees\nlived merrily with their cousins, and frolicked the whole year round.\nBut one day Mother Carey sent the small birds a warning that they must\nmove to the South, when the leaves fell from the trees, for hard frost\nand snow were coming, and maybe starvation too.\n\nAll the cousins of the Chicadees listened to the warning and got ready\nto go; but Tomtit, their leader, only laughed and turned a dozen wheels\naround a twig that served him for a bar.\n\n\"Go to the South?\" said he. \"Not I; I am too happy here; and as for\nfrost and snow, I never saw any, and I don't believe there are such\nthings.\"\n\nVery soon the leaves fell from the trees and the Nut-hatches and the\nKing-wrens were so busy getting ready to go that the Chicadees left off\nplay for a minute, to ask questions. They were not pleased with the\nanswer they got, for the messenger had said that all of them were to\ntake a long, long journey that would last for days, and the little\nKing-wrens had actually to go as far as the Gulf of Mexico. Besides,\nthey were to fly by night, to avoid their enemies, the Hawks, and the\nweather at this season was sure to be stormy. So the Chicadees said it\nwas all nonsense, and went off, singing and chasing one another through\nthe woods, led by Tomtit singing a new song in which he made fun of the\ntravellers.\n\n        Tom Tom Tiddy-Mouse!\n        Hid away in our house,\n        Hid his brother in the cellar,\n        Wasn't he a silly feller?\n\nBut their cousins were quite serious. They picked out wise leaders and\nformed themselves into bands. They learned that they must follow their\nleader, they must twitter as they flew in the darkness, so as to let\nthose behind know where\\he leaders were; they must follow the great\nrivers southward; they must wait for a full moon before starting, and\nnever travel by day.\n\nThe noisy, rollicking Chicadees continued to make fun of their cousins\nas they saw them now gathering in the woods along the river; and at\nlength, when the moon was big, bright, and full, the cousins arose to\nthe call of the leaders and all flew away in the gloom. The Chicadees\nsaid that all the cousins were crazy, made some good jokes about the\nGulf of Mexico, and then dashed away on their favourite game of tag and\ntumble through the woods, which, however, did seem rather quiet now, and\nbare of leaves; while the weather, too, was certainly turning\nuncomfortably cool.\n\nAt length the frost and snow really did come, and the Chicadees were in\na bad way. Indeed, they were frightened out of their wits, and dashed\nhither and thither, seeking in vain for some one to set them aright on\nthe way to the warm land. They flew wildly about the woods, till they\nwere truly crazy. I suppose there was not a squirrel-hole or a hollow\nlog in the neighbourhood that some Chicadee did not enter to inquire if\nthis was the Gulf of Mexico. But no one could tell anything about it, no\none was going that way, and the great river was hidden under ice and\nsnow.\n\nAbout this time a messenger from Mother Carey was passing with a message\nto the Caribou in the Far North; but all he could tell the Chicadees was\nthat he could not be their guide, as he had other business. \"Besides,\"\nhe said, \"you had the same notice as your cousins whom you called\n'crazy.' And from what I know of Mother Carey, you will probably have to\nstick it out here all through the snow, not only now, but in every\nwinter after this; so you may as well make the best of it.\"\n\nThis was sad news for the Chicadee Tomtits; but they were brave little\nfellows, and seeing they could not help themselves, they went about\nmaking the best of it. Before a week had gone by they were in their\nusual good spirits again, scrambling about the snowy twigs, or chasing\none another as before.\n\nThey were glad to remember now that Mother Carey said that winter would\nend. They told each other about it so much that even at its beginning,\nwhen a fresh blizzard came on, they would gleefully remark to one\nanother that it was a \"sign of spring,\" and one or another of the flock\nwould lift his voice in the sweet little chant that we all know so well:\n\n[Illustration: Spring soon]\n\nAnother would take it up and answer back:\n\n[Illustration: Spring com-ing]\n\nand they would keep on repeating the song until the dreary woods rang\nagain with the good news, and the wood-people learned to love the brave\nlittle bird that sets his face so cheerfully, to meet so hard a case.\n\nAnd winter did end. Spring did come at last. And the sign of its coming\nwas when the ice broke on the stream and the pussy willow came purring\nout above it. The air was full of the good news. The Chicadees felt it,\nand knew it through and through. They went mad with joy, chasing each\nother round and round the trees and through the hollow logs, shouting\n\"The spring is here, the spring is here, Hurree, Hurree, Hurree,\" and in\nanother week their joyous lives were going on as before the trouble\ncame.\n\nBut to this day, when the chill wind blows through the deserted woods,\nthe Chicadees seem to lose their wits for a few days, and dart into all\nsorts of queer places. They may then be found in great cities, or open\nprairies, cellars, chimneys, and hollow logs; and the next time you find\none of the wanderers in any out-of-the-way corner, be sure to remember\nthat the Chicadee goes crazy twice a year, in the fall and in the\nspring, and probably went into his strange hole or town in search of the\nGulf of Mexico.\n\n\nTALE 40\n\nThe Story of the Quaking Aspen or Poplar\n\nThe leaf of the Quaking Asp is like the one marked \"a\" in the drawing.\nIts trunk is smooth, greenish, or whitish, with black knots of bark like\n\"c\". All the farmers know it as Popple, or White Poplar; but the hunters\ncall it Quaking Asp or Aspen.\n\n[Illustration: The Story of the Quaking Aspen]\n\nThe name \"quaking\" was given because it is for ever shaking its leaves;\nthe slightest wind sets them all rustling. They move so easily because\neach leaf-stem is like a thin, flat strap set on edge; while the\nleaf-stem of such as the oak is nearly round and scarcely rustles at\nall. Why does the Quaking Asp do this? No doubt, because it lives in\nplaces where the hot dust falls thick on the leaves at times, and if it\ndid not have some trick of shaking it off, the leaf would be choked and\nbent so that the tree could scarcely breathe; for the leaves are the\nlungs of the trees. So remember, when the Poplar rustles loudly, it is\ncoughing to clear its lungs of the dust.\n\nSome trees try to hide their troubles, and quickly cover up their\nwounds; but the Aspen has a very touchy skin and, once it is wounded, it\nshows the scar as long as it lives. We can, therefore, go to any Aspen\ntree, and have it tell us the story of its life. Here is the picture of\none. The black marks at the forks (c) are scars of growth; the belts of\ndots (d) were wounds given by a sapsucker to rob it of its sap; the flat\nplaces (e) show where a Red Squirrel gnawed off the outer bark.\n\nIf a Raccoon climbed the tree (f), or an insect bored into the trunk, we\nare sure to see a record of it in this sensitive bark.\n\nNow, last of all, the paper on which this story is printed was likely\nmade out of Aspen wood.\n\n\nTALE 41\n\nThe Witch-hazel\n\n[Illustration: Witch-hazel]\n\nThese are the things to make you remember the Witch-hazel; its forked\ntwig was used--nay, still is used--as a magic rod to show where there is\nrunning water underground; that is, where it is possible to find water\nby sinking a well. Its nuts are explosive, and go off with a _snap_,\nshooting the seeds that are inside, ten or twenty feet away, when the\ncold dry days of autumn come. Third, its curious golden-thread flowers\nappear in the fall.\n\nAs Cracked Jimmy used to sing:-\n\n        Witch-hazel blossoms in the fall,\n        To cure the chills and fevers all.\n                      --_Two Little Savages._\n\nOn November 16, 1919, after a sharp frost, I went out in the morning to\nget some Witch-hazel flowers for this drawing, and found them blooming\naway in the cold air, vigorously as ever. Imagine a flower that can\nbloom while it is freezing. In the drawing I have shown the flower, like\na 4-lipped cup with four yellow snakes coiling out of it.\n\nBut these are not the deadly snakes one hears about. They are rather\nsymbols of old AEsculapius, the famous healer of the long ago, whose\nemblem was the cup of life with curling snakes of wisdom about it. In\nthe Witch-hazel has been found a soothing balm for many an ache and\npain. The Witch-hazel you buy in the drugstores, is made out of the bark\nof this tree. If you chew one of the little branches you will know it by\nthe taste.\n\nNear the top is a flower that is finished, its snakes have fled; and at\nthe top of all is a bud for next year. That is, they are--_is_,\n_has-been_ and _going-to-be_. The nuts are shown in the corner.\n\nNote, last of all, that it is a sociable little tree; it always goes\nwith a crowd. There are generally three or four Witch-hazels from one\nroot, and there is always a family of cousins not far away.\n\n\nTALE 42\n\nHow the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs\n\nIn the woods of Poconic there once roamed a very discontented Porcupine.\nShe was forever fretting. She complained that everything was wrong, till\nit was perfectly scandalous, and Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, getting\ntired of her grumbling, said:\n\n\"You and the world I have made don't seem to fit; one or the other must\nbe wrong. It is easier to change you. You don't like the trees, you are\nunhappy on the ground, and think everything is upside down, therefore\nI'll turn you inside out, and put you in the water.\" And so the\nPorcupine was turned into a new creature, a fish, called the Shad. That\nis why he is so full of little sharp bones.\n\nThen after the old Porcupine had been turned into a Shad, the young ones\nmissed their mother, and crawled up into a high Chestnut tree to look\nfor her coming. Wahkonda happened to pass that way, and they all\nchattered their teeth at him, thinking themselves safe. They were not\nwicked, but at heart quite good, only badly brought up; oh, so\nill-trained, and some of them chattered and groaned as Wahkonda came\nnearer. Then Wahkonda was sorry for them, remembering that he had taken\ntheir mother from them, and said: \"You look very well up there, you\nlittle Porkys, so you had better stay there for always, and be part of\nthe Chestnut tree.\" And he touched each one with his magic wand and\nturned it into a burr that grew tight to the tree. That is how it came\nabout. There they hang like a lot of little Porcupines on the twigs of\nthe tree. They are spiney and dangerous, utterly without manners, and\nyet most of them have a good little heart inside.\n\n\nTALE 43\n\nHow the Littlest Owl Came\n\nAfter the Great Spirit had made the world and the creatures in it, he\nmade the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo. This was like an Owl, but bigger than\nanything else alive, and his voice was like a river plunging over a\nrocky ledge. He was so big that he thought he had done it all himself,\nand he became puffed up. He forgot the Great Spirit, who decided to\nteach him a lesson in this wise:\n\nHe called the Blue-jay, the mischief-maker of the woods, and told him\nwhat to do. Away went the Blue-jay to the mountain at the top of which\nwas the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo making thunder in his throat. The Blue-jay\nflew up to his ear, and said: \"Pooh, Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, you don't call\nthat a big noise! You should hear Niagara; then you would never twitter\nagain.\"\n\nThe Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo was so mad at hearing his big wonderful song\ncalled a twitter, that he said: \"Niagara, Niagara! I'm sick of hearing\nabout Niagara. I will go and silence Niagara with my voice.\" So he flew\nto Niagara while the Blue-jay snickered and followed to see the fun.\n\nNow when Niagara Falls was made the Great Spirit said to it, \"Flow on\nfor ever.\" That last word of the Great Spirit it took up as it rushed\non, and never ceases to thunder out \"For ever! For ever! For ever!\"\n\nWhen they came to Niagara the mighty cataract, the Blue-jay said, \"Now,\nGitchee, you can beat that I am sure.\" So Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo began\nbawling to drown the noise of it, but could not make himself heard.\n\n\"Wa-wa-wa,\" said the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, with great effort and only for\na few heart beats.\n\n\"_For ever, For ever, For ever_,\" thundered the river, steadily, easily,\nceaselessly.\n\n\"Wa-wa-wa--!\" shrieked Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo; but his voice was so utterly\nlost that he could not hear it himself, and he began to feel small, and\nsmaller; and as he began to feel small, a strange thing happened--he\nbegan to get small and smaller, until he was no bigger than a Sparrow;\nand his voice, instead of being like a great cataract, became like the\ndropping of water, just a little\n\n        Tink-tank-tink,\n        Tink-tank-tink.\n\nAnd this is why the Indians give to this smallest of the Owls the name\nof \"The Water-dropping Bird,\" who was once the greatest of all\ncreatures, but is now shrunk to be the littlest of the Owls, because he\nbecame proud and forgot the Great Spirit.\n\n\nTALE 44\n\nThe Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts\n\nOnce upon a time there was a rich boy, who knew all about the city, and\nnothing about the woods. He went for an outing into the wilderness, and\ngot lost. He wandered all day until he was very tired and hungry. The\nsun was low when he came to a little pathway. He followed it, and it led\nto a small log cabin. When he knocked, an old woman opened the door. He\nsaid, \"Please, Ma'am, I am lost and very hungry, will you give me\nsomething to eat?\"\n\n[Illustration: The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts]\n\nThe old woman looked sharply at his clothes, and knew that he was\nrich, so she said: \"Poor people are wise, they can take care of\nthemselves in the woods. They don't get lost. But you rich people are\nfools, and I wish you would go away.\"\n\n\"I will, if you'll give me something to eat,\" he answered.\n\nThen the old woman said: \"Listen, foolish rich boy, in the woods beside\nyou right now is a friend who feeds the poor people, maybe she will feed\nyou. She is tall and slim, her eyes are brownish purple and her hair is\ngreen, and by this you may know her--she has five fingers on one hand\nand seven on the other. Her house is in the brier thicket; she climbs to\nthe roof and stands there all day waving her hands, and shouting out in\nwood-talk, 'There are cocoanuts in my cellar.'\n\n\"Now go and find her, maybe she will feed you. She always feeds us poor\nfolks,\" and the witch slammed the door.\n\nThe boy was puzzled. As he stood in doubt, there was a loud noise, and\nhis friends arrived. They brought him the food and comfort that he\nneeded.\n\nThen he said: \"I wish to know what that old wood-witch meant by the lady\nwith the purple eyes and green hair.\" So he went again to the log cabin\nand knocked.\n\nWhen the old woman came, and saw a lot of people about, she was\nfrightened for she knew she had been unkind. But the boy said: \"Now\nGranny, you needn't be afraid, I want you to show me the friend that has\nseven fingers and a cellar full of cocoanuts.\"\n\n\"I'll show you, if you promise to do me no harm,\" she answered.\n\n\"Of course, I'll promise,\" replied the boy.\n\nThen Granny Wood-witch went hobbling to the nearest thicket and cackled\nout loud, as she pointed out a trailing vine that had sometimes five\nleaflets on a stalk and sometimes seven. \"See, see, that's the lady.\nSee seven fingers on that hand and five on this. Now follow her feet\ndown and dig in the ground.\"\n\nThey dug and found strings of lovely brown nuts as big as walnuts.\n\n\"See, see,\" chuckled the wood-witch. \"See the cocoanuts in the cellar.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGo forth and look for it, ye Woodcrafters. You will find it throughout\nEastern America on the edge of every wood. Its flower is like a\npurple-brown sweet-pea, and is in bloom all summer long. Follow down its\nvine, dig out a few of the potatoes or nuts, and try them, raw, boiled,\nor if ye wish to eat them as Indian Cake, clean them, cut them in\nslices, dry till hard, pound them up into meal, and make a cake the same\nas you would of oatmeal.\n\nThe wild things love them, the Indians love them, and this was the bread\nof the wood-witch. The books call it Bog Potato and Ground Nuts. It is\nthe third secret of the woods.\n\n\nTALE 45\n\nThe Mud-dauber Wasp\n\nIf you look under the roof of any wooden barn in Eastern America you are\nlikely to see the nest of the common Mud-wasp.\n\n[Illustration: The Mud-dauber Wasp (life size)]\n\nIf you look on warm sunny days along the edge of some mud puddle you are\nsure to see a curious steel-blue wasp, with a very thin waist, working\naway at a lump of mud. She seems to be breathing hard with her body, as\nshe works with her yellow legs, but she finally goes off laden with a\ngob of mud. This is the Mud-wasp at work, building a strong mud-nest for\nher family. The nest is the one we have seen hung under the roof of\nthe shed, always put where no rain can reach it.\n\nIn the drawing are two of these nests.\n\nOnce the cradle is ready, the mother Wasp goes spider-hunting. Whenever\nshe can find a spider, she pounces on it, and with her sting, she stabs\nit in the body, so as to paralyze it, but not kill it. Then she carries\nit to the mud cell and packs it in, at the far end. Many spiders are\ncaught and preserved this way, for they do not usually die though they\ncannot move.\n\nWhen the cell is full, the Wasp lays an egg on the last spider, and\nseals up the opening with a mud lid.\n\nVery soon the egg hatches out a little white grub which begins on the\nspider next to him, eating the legs first, and the body last, so as to\nkeep it alive as long as possible, though of course the spider has no\nfeeling. Then he eats the next spider, and the next, growing as he eats,\nuntil he nearly fills the cell, and the spiders are all eaten up.\n\nNow the grub goes to sleep, and next spring comes out as a full-grown\nMud-wasp to do exactly as the mother did, though it never saw that\nMother or had a lesson from any one in the many strange things it must\ndo to live.\n\nI went into my boat-house to-day, November 20, 1919, to get a mud nest\nfor this drawing. There were 86 on the roof; some of them with 20 or 30\ncells, and besides there was a lot of paper nests by other Wasps. The\nnest I took had two cells, one open and empty, and the other with a mud\nlid on tight. This held a long, shiny brown transparent case, in which\nwas a white grub much too small for the big coat he was wearing. The\ngrub was sound asleep, and would have come out next spring, as a big\nsteel-blue Mud-wasp had I let him alone. But there are plenty of\nMud-wasps so I fed him to the Chicadees, which likely is what Mother\nCarey would have done.\n\n[Illustration: The Cicada and the Katydid (life size)]\n\n\nTALE 46\n\nThe Cicada and the Katydid\n\nOnce upon a time, long, long ago, the birds whose job it was to make the\nwoods merry with their songs, decided to go on strike. They said, \"We\nhave sung all day, all springtime, and half way through the summer, but\nnow we are moulting, the weather is frightfully hot; we need a rest, and\nwe are going to stop singing, to take a holiday.\"\n\nThen Dame Nature, who is sometimes called the All-mother, or Mother\nCarey, said: \"Dear me, this will never do! No songbirds, woods silent\nall through the dog-days. Now who will be strike-breakers and volunteer\nto supply the music till the birds get once more in a good humour?\"\n\nThen up at that question got a long-winged insect like a big fly, and a\nlong-legged insect like a green grasshopper, and both said at once, \"I\nwill.\" Amid low murmurs of \"Scab! Scab!\" from many of the Wood-birds.\n\n\"You. I forgot that you two had any voices at all!\" said Mother Carey.\n\nThen the long-winged creature, whose name is Cicada, began, \"True, my\nvoice isn't much, but I have invented a most successful musical\nCastanet. Listen!\"\n\nThen he began an extraordinary racket like an alarm clock, a threshing\nmachine, and a buzz-saw all going together. He filled the grove with his\nnoise, and set all the woodfolk laughing with his funny performance.\nThough, of course, he didn't mean to be funny; he thought it was fine.\n\nThen as the Cicada ceased, Mother Carey said to the Green Hopper, whose\nname was Katy, \"Now, Katy, what can you do?\"\n\n\"I do not brag of my voice, dear Mother,\" said she, \"but I am a\nthrilling performer on the violin.\"\n\nThen she humped herself up over a green fiddle that she had under her\ncloak, and nearly deafened them with its hoarse screechings.\n\nThere was no doubt that these two could make as much noise as a wood\nfull of birds; both were eager to take sole charge, and a bitter dispute\narose as to whose idea it was first.\n\nBut Mother Carey settled it by dividing the time. \"You,\" she said to\nCicada, \"can take charge of the music by day, and you,\" she said to the\nGreen one, \"must take it up at sundown in place of the nightingale, and\nkeep it up, till the night breaks, and both of you continue till the\nfrost comes, or until the birds are back on the job.\"\n\nThat is how it all came about.\n\nBut there is considerable feeling yet among the Katies, that they should\nget all the night work, and never be seen performing. They think that\ntheir ancestor was the original inventor of this cheap substitute for\nbird song. And it is made all the worse by a division among themselves.\nSome say \"she did\" and some say \"she didn't.\" If you notice in early\nAugust, they are nearly all shouting, \"Katy-did.\" Then by the end of the\nmonth, \"Katy-didn't\" is stronger. In September it is still mixed. In\nOctober their work is over, the chorus ended, but you hear an occasional\n\"Katy-did\" and finally as late as Indian Summer, which is Hallowe'en, I\nhave heard the last of the fiddlers rasp out \"she did\"; and do it in\ndaytime, too, as though to flout the followers of Cicada. And, if the\nlast word be truth, as they say, we may consider it settled, that Katy\nreally and truly _did_. And yet I believe next year the same dispute\nwill arise, and we shall have the noisy argument all over again.\n\nIf you look at the portraits of Cicada, the Hotweather-bug or Locust,\nand of the Katydid, you will not see their musical instruments very\nplainly, but believe me they have them; and you can hear them any late\nsummer hot-weather time, in any part of the Eastern States and some\nparts of southern Canada.\n\nAnd now let me finish with a secret. Katy is not a lady at all, but a\nhe-one disguised in green silk stockings, and a green satin dress.\n\n\nTALE 47\n\nThe Digger Wasp that Killed the Cicada\n\nStrange things are done in the realm of Mother Carey; strange things and\ncruel. At least so they seem to us, for we do not know the plan that is\nbehind them. We know only that sometimes love must be cruel. I am going\nto tell you of a strange happening, that you may see any hot day in\nAugust. And this is how it came about.\n\nAt that meeting in the woods when the Cicada and the Katydid undertook\nto be musicians, while the birds were on strike, there was one strong\ninsect who gave off an angry \"_Bizz, Bizz_\" that sounded like \"_Scab,\nScab_.\" That was the big yellow-and-black Digger Wasp, the biggest of\nthe wasps, with a sting that is as bad as that of a baby rattlesnake.\nAnd that very day she declared war on the Cicada and his kind. The\nKatydids she could not touch, because the Wasp cannot see at night.\n\nBut the Cicada was easy to find. As soon as the day got hot, and that\nawful buzzing began in the trees, the Big Digger got her sting ready,\nand went booming along in the direction of the sound.\n\n[Illustration: The Digger Wasp (life size)]\n\nNow Mother Carey had given the Cicada bright eyes and strong wings, and\nit was his own business to take care of himself; but he was so pleased\nwith his music that he never saw the fierce Digger Wasp, till she\ncharged on him. And before he could spread his wings, she had stabbed\nhim through.\n\nHis song died away in a few shrieks, and then the Cicada lay still. But\nnot dead, for the Digger had stuck her poison dagger into the nerve\ncentre, so that he was paralyzed and helpless, but still living.\n\nNow the Digger set about a plan. She wanted to get that Cicada body into\nher den, to feed her young ones with it. But the Cicada was bigger and\nheavier than she was, so that she could not carry it. However, she was\nbent on doing it, she got all ready, took tight hold with her claws,\nthen swooped from the tree, flying as strongly as she could, till the\nweight of the Cicada brought her to the ground within fifty feet, while\nthe den was fully a hundred feet away. But the Wasp dragged the Cicada\nup the trunk of another tree, then took another long sloping flight as\nbefore. One more climb and skid down, brought her to her den--a hole in\na bank that she had dug out; that is why she is called the Digger Wasp.\nThe passage was a foot long and had a crook in the middle. At the end\nwas a round room an inch and a half high. Here the Digger left her\nvictim's body and right on its breast, to one side, laid an egg.\n\nThis hatched in two or three days, and began to feed on the Cicada. In a\nweek it had eaten the Cicada and grown to be a big fat grub. Then it\nspun a cocoon, and made itself into a bundle-baby, resting all autumn\nand all winter in that dark den.\n\nBut when the spring came with its glorious wakening up, great changes\ncame over the bundle-baby of the Digger. It threw off the cocoon and its\nouter skin, and came forth from the gloom into the sunshine, a big\nstrong Digger Wasp with a sting of its own, and a deadly feud with all\nscreaming Cicadas. Although it never saw its mother, or got any lessons\nfrom her, it goes after the buzzing hotweather-bugs, when August comes,\nand treats them exactly as she did.\n\n\nTALE 48\n\nHow the Indian Summer Came\n\nWahkonda, the Great Spirit, the Ruler of the World, had found pleasure\nthe whole summer long in making mountains, lakes, and forests. Then when\nthe autumn came, and the leaves fell from the trees, He lighted His pipe\nand sat down to look over the things He had made.\n\nAs He did so, the north wind arose for Cold Time was coming, and blew\nthe smoke and ashes of the pipe into His face. Then He said: \"Cease your\nblowing, all ye winds, until I have finished smoking.\" So, of course,\nthere was dead calm.\n\nWahkonda smoked for ten days, and during all that time there were no\nclouds in the sky, for there was no wind to bring them; there was\nunbroken, calm sunny weather. But neither was there any wind to carry\noff the smoke, so it hung, as the teepee smoke hangs at sunrise, and it\ndrifted over the valleys and forests in a blue haze.\n\nThen at last when the Great Spirit finished His smoke and His\nmeditation, He emptied out His pipe. That was the signal, the north wind\nbroke loose, and came howling down from the hills, driving the leaves\nbefore it, and warning all wild things to be ready, for soon there would\nbe winter in the woods.\n\nAnd it hath been so ever since. When the leaves have fallen and before\nyet the Ice-king is here, there come, for a little while, the calm\ndreamy days, when the Great Spirit is smoking His pipe, and the smoke is\non the land. The Red-men call them the Smoking Days, but we call it\nIndian Summer.\n\n\n\n\nTHINGS TO SEE IN WINTERTIME\n\n[Illustration: The North Star or Home Star]\n\n\n\n\nThings to See in Wintertime\n\n\nTALE 49\n\nThe North Star, or the Home Star\n\nIf you are going to be a Woodcrafter, you must begin by knowing the\nNorth Star, because that is the star which will show you the way home,\nif you get lost in the woods at night. That is why the Indians call it\nthe \"Home Star.\"\n\nBut first, I must tell you how it came to be, and the story begins a\nlong, long time ago.\n\nIn those far-off days, we are told, there were two wonderful hunters,\none named Orion, and the other named Booetes (Bo-o-tees). Orion hunted\neverything and I shall have to leave him for another story. Booetes was\nan ox-driver and only hunted bears to save his cattle. One day he went\nafter a Mother Bear, that had one little cub.\n\n[Illustration: The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back]\n\nHe chased them up to the top of a mountain so high, that they leaped off\ninto the sky, and just as they were going, Booetes shot his arrows after\nthem. His very first arrow hit the Little Bear in the tail--they had\nlong tails in those days--and pinned him to the sky. There he has hung\never since, swinging round and round, on the arrow in his tail, while\nhis mother runs bawling around him, with Booetes and his dogs chasing\nher. He shot arrows into her tail, which was long and curved, into her\nbody, and into her shoulder. Seven big arrows he shot, and there they\nare yet, in the form of a dipper pointing always to the cub who is\ncalled the \"Little Bear.\" The shining head of the big arrow in the end\nof the Little Bear's tail is called the North Star or Pole Star. You can\nalways tell which is the North Star, by the two Pointers; these are the\ntwo bright stars that make the outer side of the Dipper on the Big\nBear's shoulder. A line drawn through them, points out the North Star.\n\nThe Dipper, that is the Big Bear, goes round and round the Pole\nStar, once in about twenty-four hours; so that sometimes the Pointers are\nover, sometimes under, to left or to right; but always pointing out the\nPole Star or North Star.\n\nThis star shows nearly the true north; and, knowing that, a traveller\ncan find his way in any strange country, so long as he can see this\nfriendly Home Star.\n\n\nTALE 50\n\nThe Pappoose on the Squaw's Back\n\nNow that you know how the Bears and the Big Dipper came, you should know\nthe Indian story of the Old Squaw.\n\nFirst find the bright star that is at the bend of the Dipper handle.\nThis is called the \"Old Squaw\"; on her back is a tiny star that they\ncall \"The Pappoose.\"\n\nAs soon as an Indian boy is old enough to understand, his mother takes\nhim out into the night when it is calm and clear, and without any moon\nor any bright lights near, and says, \"My child, yonder is the Old Squaw,\nthe second of the seven stars; she is going over the top of the hill; on\nher back she carries her pappoose. Tell me, my child, can you see the\npappoose?\"\n\n[Illustration: Orion Fighting the Bull]\n\nThen the little redskin gazes, and from his mother's hand he takes two\npebbles, a big one and a little one, and he sets them together on her\npalm, to show how the two stars seem to him. When the mother is sure\nthat he did see them clearly, she rejoices. She goes to the fire and\ndrops a pinch of tobacco into it, for incense to carry her message, then\nlooking toward the sky she says: \"Great Spirit, I thank Thee that my\nchild has the eyes of a hunter.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThese things are not new, O Woodcrafter. The wise men of our race call\nthe Big Star \"Mizar\" one of the chariot horses, and the little star\n\"Alcor\" or the Rider. In all ages it has been considered proof of\nfirst-class eyes, to see this little star. Can you see it? Have you the\neyes of a hunter?\n\n\nTALE 51\n\nOrion the Hunter, and His Fight With the Bull\n\nIn the 49th Tale I told you there were two giants among the mighty\nhunters in the sky, Booetes, whose adventure with the Bears you have\nalready heard, and Orion. (O-ry'-on).\n\nOrion was the most famous of all. In his day men had no guns; they had\nnothing but clubs, spears, and arrows to fight with, and the beasts were\nvery big and fierce as well as plentiful, yet Orion went whenever he was\nneeded, armed chiefly with his club, fought the wild beasts, all alone,\nkilling them or driving them out, and saving the people, for the joy of\ndoing it. Once he killed a lion with his club, and ever afterward wore\nthe lion's skin on his arm. Bears were as nothing to him; he killed them\nas easily as most hunters would rabbits, but he found his match, when he\nwent after a ferocious wild Bull as big as a young elephant.\n\nAs soon as the Bull saw him, it came rushing at him. It happened to be\non the other side of a stream, and as it plunged in, Orion drew his bow\nand fired seven quick shots at the Bull's heart. But the monster was\ncoming head on, and the seven arrows all stuck in its shoulder, making\nit madder than ever. So Orion waved his lion skin in his left hand, and\nwith his club in the right, ran to meet the Bull, as it was scrambling\nup the bank from the water.\n\nThe first whack of the club tumbled the Bull back into the water, but it\nturned aside, went to another place, and charged again. And again Orion\nlanded a fearful blow with the club on the monster's curly forehead.\n\nBy this time, all the animals had gathered around to see the big fight,\nand the gods in heaven got so interested that they shouted out, \"Hold\non, that is good enough for us to see. Come up here.\"\n\nSo they moved the mighty Hunter and the Bull, and the River and all the\nanimals, up to heaven, and the fight has gone on there ever since.\n\nIn the picture I have shown a lot of animals besides Orion and the Bull,\nbut the only things I want you to look now in the sky, are Orion's belt\nwith the three stars on it, and the Pleiades on the Bull's shoulder, the\nseven spots where the seven arrows struck.\n\nAnd remember these stars cannot be seen in summer, they pass over us in\nwinter time. You can find Orion by drawing a straight line across the\nrim of the Dipper, beginning at the inner or handle side, passing\nthrough the outer or Pointers side, and continued for twice the length\nof the Dipper, handle and all, this will bring you to Betelgeuze, the\nbig star in the Giant's right shoulder, below that are the three stars\nof his belt, sometimes called the \"Three Kings.\"\n\n\nTALE 52\n\nThe Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull\n\n[Illustration: The Pleiades]\n\nWhen late autumn comes the Pleiades (Ply'-a-dees) appear in the evening\nsky to the eastward. These are the seven shots in the Bull's shoulder,\nthe seven arrows from Orion's bow. The Guide can locate them by\ncontinuing the line of Orion's belt, eight times the length of the belt\nto the right, as one faces the Hunter, so Orion must have been very\nclose indeed. At first they look like a faint light with a few bright\npin-points scattered through. Tennyson described them as:\n\n        Glittering like a swarm of fireflies\n        Tangled in a silver braid.\n\nThe best time to see them is some clear night about Christmas, when\nthere is no moon, and the Pleiades are nearly overhead, above the mist\nand smoke of the horizon, and there are no electric lights near by.\n\nStudy them attentively. Make a tube of your two hands and look through.\nLook on the ground, then look back again; look not straight at them, but\na little to one side; and at last, mark down on paper how many you can\nclearly see, putting a big spot for the big one, and little spots for\nthe little ones. Poor eyes see nothing but a haze; fairly good eyes see\nfour of the pin-points; good eyes see five; the best of eyes see seven.\nI can see seven on a clear winter night when there are no clouds and no\nmoon. This is as high as you need expect to get, although it is said\nthat some men in clear air on a mountain top have seen ten, while the\ntelescope shows that there are 2,000.\n\nIn taking these eyesight tests you may use your spectacles if you\nusually wear them.\n\n\nTALE 53\n\nThe Twin Stars\n\n        Two-Bright-Eyes went wandering out\n        To chase the Whippoorwill;\n        Two-Bright-Eyes got lost and left\n        Our teepee--oh, so still!\n\n        Two-Bright-Eyes was carried up\n        To sparkle in the skies\n        And look like stars--but we know well\n        That that's our lost Bright-Eyes.\n\n        She is looking for the camp,\n        She would come back if she could;\n        She still peeps thro' the tree-tops\n        For the teepee in the wood.\n\n\nTALE 54\n\nStoutheart and His Black Cravat\n\nDo you know the bird that wears a black cravat, which he changes once a\nyear? It is the English Sparrow, the commonest of all our birds. His\nhair is gray, but he must have been red-headed once, for just back of\nhis ears there is still a band of red; and his collar, maybe, was white\nonce, but it is very dingy now. His shirt and vest are gray; his coat is\nbrown with black streaks--a sort of sporting tweed. The new cravat comes\nwhen the new feathers grow in late summer; and, at first, it is barred\nwith gray as if in half mourning for his sins. As the gray tips wear\noff, it becomes solid black; that is, in March or April. In summer, it\ngets rusty and worn out; so every year he puts on a new one in late\nAugust.\n\nThe hen sparrow is quite different and wears no cravat. She has a\nblack-and-brown cape of the sporting pattern, but her dress is\neverywhere of brownish Quaker gray.\n\nThe song of the English Sparrow is loud and short; but he tries to make\nup, by singing it over and over again, for many minutes.\n\nHe eats many bad bugs, and would be well liked, if he did not steal the\nnests and the food of Bluebirds, Woodpeckers, Swallows, and others that\nare prettier and more useful birds, as well as far better singers than\nhe is.\n\nBut there is much to admire in the Sparrow. I do not know of any bird\nthat is braver, or more ready to find a way out of trouble; and if he\ncannot find a way, he cheerfully makes the best of it.\n\nSome years ago I was at Duluth during a bitterly cold spell of weather.\nThe thermometer registered 20 deg. or 30 deg. below zero, and the blizzard wind\nwas blowing. Oh my, it was cold. But out in the street were dozens of\nEnglish Sparrows chirruping and feeding; thriving just as they do in\nwarmer lands and in fine weather.\n\nWhen black night came down, colder yet, I wondered what the little\nstout-hearts would do. Crawl into some hole or bird-house, maybe? or\ndive into a snowdrift? as many native birds do.\n\nI found out; and the answer was most unexpected.\n\nIn front of the hotel was a long row of electric lights. At nine\no'clock, when I chanced to open the window for a breath of air, my eye\nfell on these; on every bulb was an English Sparrow sound asleep with\nthe overarching reflector to turn the storm, and the electric bulb below\nhim to warm his toes. My hat is off. Our Department of Agriculture may\ndeclare war on the Sparrow; but what is the use? Don't you think that a\ncreature who is not afraid of blizzard or darkness, and knows how to use\nelectric lights, is going to win its life-battle, and that he surely is\nhere to stay?\n\n\nTALE 55\n\nTracks, and the Stories They Tell\n\n[Illustration: Tracks, and the Stories They Tell]\n\nSometimes, in town, just after rain, when the gutters are wet, and the\npavement dry, look for the tracks of some Dog that walked with wet\nfeet on the pavement. You will find that they are like \"a\" in the\ndrawing. A Dog has five toes on his front feet, but only four touch the\npavement as he walks. The claws also touch, and make each a little mark.\n\nNow look for the track of a Cat; it is somewhat like that of the Dog,\nbut it is smaller, softer, and the claws do not show (b). They are too\ngood to be wasted on a pavement; she keeps them pulled in, so they are\nsharp when she has use for them.\n\nMake a drawing of each of these, and make it life size.\n\nWhen there is dust on the road, or snow, look for Sparrow tracks; they\nare like \"c.\"\n\nNote how close together the front three toes are. The inner two are\nreally fast together, so they cannot be separated far and the hind toe\nis very large. Last of all, note that the tracks go two and two, because\nthe Sparrow goes \"hop hop, hop.\" These things mean that the Sparrow is\nreally a tree bird; and you will see that, though often on the ground he\ngets up into a tree when he wishes to feel safe.\n\nLook for some Chicken tracks in the dust; they are like \"d\" in the\ndrawing because the Chicken does not go \"hop, hop, hop\" like the\nSparrow, but \"walk, walk, walk.\" The Chicken is a ground bird. Most of\nthe song birds hop like the Sparrow, and most of the game birds walk\nlike a Chicken. But the Robin (e) goes sometimes hopping and sometimes\nrunning, because part of his life is in the trees, and part on the\nground.\n\n\nTALE 56\n\nA Rabbit's Story of His Life, Written by Himself\n\nYes, the Rabbit wrote it himself and about himself in the oldest writing\non earth, that is the tracks of his feet.\n\n[Illustration: A WOODCRAFT TRAGEDY\n\nAs shown by the Tracks and Signs in the Snow]\n\nIn February of 1885, one morning after a light snowfall, I went tramping\nthrough the woods north of Toronto, when I came on something that always\nmakes me stop and look--the fresh tracks of an animal. This was the\ntrack of a Cottontail Rabbit and I followed its windings with thrills of\ninterest. There it began under a little brush pile (a); the bed of brown\nleaves showing that he settled there, before the snow-fall began. Now\nhere (b) he leaped out after the snow ceased, for the tracks are sharp,\nand sat looking around. See the two long marks of his hind feet and in\nfront the two smaller prints of his front feet; behind is the mark made\nby his tail, showing that he was sitting on it.\n\nThen he had taken alarm at something and dashed off at speed (c), for\nnow his hind feet are tracking ahead of the front feet, as in most\nbounding forefoots, and the faster he goes, the farther ahead those hind\nfeet get.\n\nSee now how he dodged about here and there, this way and that, among the\ntrees, as though trying to escape some dreaded enemy (c, d, e, f).\n\nBut what enemy? There are no other tracks, and still the wild jumping\nwent on.\n\nI began to think that the Rabbit was crazy, flying from an imaginary\nfoe; possibly that I was on the track of a March Hare. But at \"g\" I\nfound on the trail for the first time a few drops of blood. That told me\nthat the Rabbit was in real danger but gave no clue to its source.\n\nAt \"h\" I found more blood and at \"j\" I got a new thrill, for there,\nplain enough on each side of the Rabbit track, were finger-like marks,\nand the truth dawned on me that these were the prints of great wings.\nThe Rabbit was fleeing from an eagle, a hawk, or an owl. Some twenty\nyards farther \"k\" I found in the snow the remains of the luckless Rabbit\npartly devoured. Then I knew that the eagle had not done it, for he\nwould have taken the Rabbit's body away, not eaten him up there. So it\nmust have been a hawk or an owl. I looked for something to tell me\nwhich, and I got it. Right by the Rabbit's remains was the large\ntwin-toed track (l) that told me that an owl had been there, and that\ntherefore he was the criminal. Had it been a hawk the mark would have\nbeen as shown in the left lower corner, three toes forward and one back,\nwhereas the owl usually sets his foot with two toes forward and two\nbackward, as in the sketch. This, then, I felt sure was the work of an\nowl. But which owl? There were two, maybe three kinds in that valley. I\nwished to know exactly and, looking for further evidence, I found on a\nsapling near by a big soft, downy, owlish feather (m) with three brown\nbars across it; which told me plainly that a Barred Owl or Hoot Owl had\nbeen there recently, and that he was almost certainly the killer of the\nCottontail.\n\nThis may sound like a story of Sherlock Holmes among the animals--a\nflimsy tale of circumstantial evidence. But while I was making my notes,\nwhat should come flying through the woods but the Owl himself, back to\nmake another meal, no doubt. He alighted on a branch just above my head,\nbarely ten feet up, and there gave me the best of proof, next to eye\nwitness of the deed, that all I had gathered from the tracks and signs\nin the snow was quite true.\n\nI had no camera in those days, but had my sketch book, and as he sat, I\nmade a drawing which hangs to-day among my pictures that are beyond\nprice.\n\nHere, then, is a chapter of wild life which no man saw, which man could\nnot have seen, for the presence of a man would have prevented it. And\nyet we know it was true, for it was written by the Rabbit himself.\n\nIf you have the seeing eye, you will be able to read many strange and\nthrilling happenings written for you thus in the snow, the mud, and even\nthe sand and the dust.\n\n\nTALE 57\n\nThe Singing Hawk\n\nListen, Guide and young folk, I want to add another bird to your list\nto-day; another secret of the woods to your learning.\n\nI want you to know the Singing Hawk. Our nature writers nearly always\nmake their hawks scream, but I want you to know a wonderful Hawk, right\nin your own woods, that really and truly sings, and loves to do it.\n\nIt is a long time ago since I first met him. I was going past a little\nravine north of Toronto, on a bright warm mid-winter day, when a loud\ncall came ringing down the valley and the bird that made it, a large\nhawk, appeared, sailing and singing, _kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o,\nkee-ye-o, ky-ye-o, ky-oodle, ky-oodle, kee-o, kee-o_ and on; over and\nover again, in a wild-wood tone that thrilled me. He sailed with set\nwings to a near-by tree, and ceased not his stirring call; there was no\nanswer from the woods, but there was a vibrant response in my heart. It\nmoved me through and through. How could it do so much, when it was so\nsimple? I did not know how to tell it in words, but I felt it in my\nboyish soul. It expressed all the wild-wood life and spirit, the joy of\nliving, the happy brightness of the day, the thrill of the coming\nspring, the glory of flight; all, all it seemed to voice in its simple\nringing, \"_kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-yi-o_\"; never before had I seen a\nbird so evidently rejoicing in his flight; then singing, it sailed away\nfrom sight; but the song has lingered ever since in the blessed part of\nmy memory. I often heard it afterward, and many times caught the\nBlue-jay in a feeble imitation of its trumpet note. I never forgot the\nexact timbre of that woodland call; so when at length, long after, I\ntraced it to what is known in books as the \"Red-shouldered Hawk,\" it was\na little triumph and a little disappointment. The books made it all so\ncommonplace. They say it has a loud call like \"kee-o\"; but they do not\nsay that it has a bugle note that can stir your very soul if you love\nthe wild things, and voices more than any other thing on wings the glory\nof flight, the blessedness of being alive.\n\nTo-day, as I write, is December 2, 1917; and this morning as I walked in\nmy homeland, a sailing, splendid hawk came pouring out the old refrain,\n\"_kee-yi-o, kee-yi-o, kee-oh_.\" Oh, it was glorious! I felt little\nprickles in the roots of my hair as he went over; and I rejoiced above\nall things to realize that he sang just as well as, yes maybe a little\nbetter than that first one did, that I heard in the winter woods some\nforty years ago.\n\n\nTALE 58\n\nThe Fingerboard Goldenrod\n\n\"Oh, Mother Carey! All-mother! Lover of us little plants as well as the\nbig trees! Listen to us little slender Goldenrods.\n\n\"We want to be famous, Mother Carey, but our stems are so little and our\ngold is so small, that we cannot count in the great golden show of\nautumn, for that is the glory of our tall cousins. They do not need us,\nand they do not want us. Won't you give us a little job all our own, our\nvery own, for we long to be doing something?\"\n\n[Illustration: The Compass Goldenrod Pointing Toward the North]\n\nThen Mother Carey smiled so softly and sweetly and said: \"Little slender\nGoldenrods, I am going to give you something to do that will win you\ngreat honour among all who understand. In the thick woods the moss on\nthe trunk shows the north side; when the tree is alone and in the open,\nthe north side is known by its few branches; but on the open prairie,\nthere is no plant that stands up like a finger post to point the north\nfor travellers, while the sun is hid.\"\n\n\"This, then do, little slender Goldenrods; face the noon sun, and as you\nstand, throw back your heads proudly, for you are in service now. Throw\nback your heads till your golden plumes are pointing backward to the\nnorth--so shall you have an honourable calling and travellers will be\nglad that I have made you a fingerboard on the plains.\"\n\nSo the slender Goldenrod and his brothers rejoiced and they stood up\nstraight, facing the noon sun, and bent backward, throwing out their\nchests till their golden caps and plumes were pointed to the north.\n\nAnd many a traveller, on cloudy days and dark nights, has been cheered\nby the sight of the Compass Goldenrod, pointing to the north and helping\nhim to get home.\n\nThis does not mean that every one of them points to the north all the\ntime. They do their best but there are always some a little wrong. Yet\nyou can tell the direction at night or on dark days if you look at a bed\nof them that grew out in full sunlight.\n\n\"Yon is the north,\" they keep on singing, all summer long, and even when\nwinter comes to kill the plant, and end its bloom, the brave little\nstalk stands up there, in snow to its waist, bravely pointing out the\nnorth, to those who have learned its secret. And not only in winter\nstorms, but I have even found them still on guard after the battle, when\nthe snow melted in springtime. Once when I was a boy, I found a whole\nbank of them by a fence, when the snow went off in April, and I wrote\nin their honour this verse:\n\n        Some of them bowed are, and broken\n          And battered and lying low\n        But the few that are left stand like spearmen staunch\n          Each pointing his pike at the foe.\n\n\nTALE 59\n\nWoodchuck Day, February Second Sixth Secret of the Woods\n\n[Illustration: WOODCHUCK DAY: COLD WEATHER\n\n\"To be, or not to be\"]\n\nIt was Monapini that told Ruth Pilgrim, and Ruth Pilgrim told the little\nPilgrims, and the little Pilgrims told the little Dutchmen, and the\nlittle Dutchmen told it to all the little Rumours, and the grandchild of\none of these little Rumours told it to me, so you see I have it straight\nand on good authority, this Sixth Secret of the Woods.\n\nThe story runs that every year the wise Woodchuck retires to sleep in\nhis cozy home off the subway that he made, when the leaves begin to\nfall, and he has heard the warning. Mother Carey has sung the death-song\nof the red leaves; sung in a soft voice that yet reaches the farthest\nhills:\n\n        \"Gone are the summer birds.\n         Hide, hide, ye slow-foots.\n         Hide, for the blizzard comes.\"\n\nAnd Mother Earth, who is Maka Ina, cries to her own: \"Come, hide in my\nbosom, my little ones.\" And the wise Woodchuck waits not till the\nblizzard comes, but hides while he may make good housing, and sleeps for\nthree long moons.\n\nBut ever on the second sun of the Hunger-moon (and this is the Sixth\nSecret) he rouses up and ventures forth. And if so be that the sun is\nin the sky, and the snow on the bosom of his Mother Earth, so that his\nshadow shall appear on it, he goeth back to sleep again for one and a\nhalf moons more--for six long weeks. But if the sky be dark with clouds\nand the earth all bared of snow so that no shadow shows, he says, \"The\nblizzard time is over, there is food when the ground is bare,\" and ends\nhis sleep.\n\nThis is the tale and this much I know is true: In the North, if he\nventure forth on Woodchuck Day, he sees both sun and snow, so sleeps\nagain; in the South there is no snow that day, and he sleeps no more;\nand in the land between, he sleeps in a cold winter, and in an open\nwinter rouses to live his life.\n\nThese things I have seen, and they fit with the story of Monapini, so\nyou see the little Rumour told me true.\n\n\n\n\nTHINGS TO KNOW\n\n[Illustration: How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story]\n\n\n\n\nThings to Know\n\n\nTALE 60\n\nHow the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story\n\nSuppose you are in the woods, and your woods in Canada, or the Northern\nStates; you would see at once two kinds of trees: Pines and Hardwoods.\n\nPines, or Evergreens, have leaves like needles, and are green all the\nyear round; they bear cones and have soft wood.\n\nThe Hardwoods, or Broadleaves, sometimes called Shedders, have broad\nleaves that are shed in the fall; they bear nuts or berries and have\nhard wood.\n\nRemember this, every tree that grows has flowers and seeds; and the tree\ncan always be told by its seeds, that is, its fruit. If you find a tree\nwith cones on it, you know it belongs to the Pine family. If you find\none with broad leaves and nuts or berries, it belongs to the\nHardwoods.[C]\n\nOf these the Pines always seem to me more interesting.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn September, 1002, I had a good chance to study Pine trees in the\nmountains of Idaho. There was a small one that had to be cut down, so I\nmade careful drawings of it. It was fourteen years old, and across the\nstump it showed one ring of wood for each year of growth, and a circle\nof branches on the trunk for each year. Notice that between the\nbranches, the trunk did _not_ taper; it was an even cylinder, but got\nsuddenly smaller at each knot by the same amount of wood as was needed\nby those branches for their wood.\n\nIf we begin in the centre of the stump, and at the bottom of the trunk,\nwe find that the little tree tells us its own story of its life and\ntroubles. Its first year, judging by the bottom section of the trunk\n(No. 1) and by the inmost ring, was just ordinary. Next year according\nto section 2 and ring 2, it had a fine season and grew nearly twice as\nmuch as the first year. The third year the baby Pine had a very hard\ntime, and nearly died. Maybe it was a dry summer, so the little tree\ngrew only 2-1/2 inches higher while the ring of wood it added was no\nthicker than a sheet of paper. Next year, the fourth, it did better. And\nthe next was about its best year, for it grew 7-1/2 inches higher, and\nput on a fine fat ring of wood, as you see.\n\nIn its eleventh year, it had some new troubles; either the season was\ndry, or the trees about too shady, or maybe disease attacked it. For it\ngrew but a poor shoot on the top, and the ring of wood on the stump is\nabout the thinnest of all.\n\nOf course, a saw-cut along the second joint showed but thirteen rings,\nand the third but twelve while one through the top joint, the one which\ngrew this year, showed but a single ring.\n\nThus the Pine tree has in itself a record of its whole life; and this is\neasy to read when the tree is small; but in later life the lower limbs\ndisappear, and the only complete record is in the rings of growth that\nshow on the stump. These never fail to tell the truth.\n\nOf course, you are not to go around cutting down trees merely to count\ntheir rings and read their history, but you should look at the rings\nwhenever a new stump gives you a good chance. Then Hardwoods as well as\nPines will spread before you the chapters of their life; one ring for\neach year that they have lived.\n\n\nTALE 61\n\nBlazes\n\nAll hunters and Indians have signs to let their people know the way.\nSome of these signs are on trees, and are called \"Blazes.\" One of those\nmuch used is a little piece of bark chipped off to show the white wood;\nit means: \"This is the way, or the place.\" Another sign is like an\narrow, and means: \"Over there,\" or \"Go in that direction.\" No matter\nwhat language they speak, the blazes tell everyone alike. So a blaze is\na simple mark that tells us something without using words or letters,\nand it depends on where it is placed for part of its meaning.\n\nOn the following page are some blazes used in our towns to-day. You will\nfind many more if you look, some in books; some on the adjoining page.\n\n\nTALE 62\n\nTotems[D]\n\n[Illustration: BLAZES.]\n\nA Totem is a simple form used as the emblem or symbol of a man, a group\nof men, an animal, or an idea; it does not use or refer to words or\nletters, so it is the same in all languages. Unlike the blaze it does\nnot depend on its position for part of its meaning.\n\n[Illustration: Some well known TOTEMS]\n\nAmong peoples that cannot read or write, each leading man had a Totem\nthat he used, instead of writing his name. He put this mark on his\nproperty, and at length put it on his shield and armour to distinguish\nhim in battle. Out of this grew heraldry.\n\n[Illustration: Indian Symbols]\n\nModern trade-marks are Totems though often spoiled by words or letters\nadded. The Totem continues in use because it is so easy to see a long\nway off, and can be understood by all, no matter what their language.\nMost of the great railway companies have a Totem and the use of such\nthings is increasing to-day.\n\nHere in the drawing are some Totems seen daily in our towns. Doubtless\nyou can add to the number.\n\n\nTALE 63\n\nSymbols\n\nIf you have thought much about it, O Guide! you will surely find that,\nfor decoration, it is better to use a beautiful symbol of anything,\nrather than a good photograph of it. For the symbol lets the imagination\nloose, and the other chains it to the ground; the one is the spirit, and\nthe other the corpse. These things you cannot tell to the little folks,\nbut you can prove them to yourself, and you will see why I wish to give\nsome symbols here for use.\n\nThere is another reason, one which you _can_ give to them. It is this:\nOnly the highly trained artist can make a good portrait drawing, while\nthe smallest child, if it sticks to symbols, is sure, in some degree, of\na pleasant success in its very first effort.\n\nThese that I give, are copied from Indian art, and whether in colour, in\nraised modelling, or in black lines, can be used successfully to\ndecorate anything that you are likely to make.\n\n[Illustration: Seventeen Gestures Currently Used in the Sign Language]\n\n\nTALE 64\n\nSign Language\n\nAll men, especially wild men, and some animals have a language of signs.\nThat is, they talk to each other without making any sounds; using\ninstead, the movements of parts of the body. This is \"eye talk,\" while\nwords are \"ear talk.\"\n\nAmong the animals, horses bob their heads when they are hungry and paw\nwith a front foot when thirsty or eager to be off. Dogs wag their tails\nwhen pleased, and cows shake their heads when angry.\n\nPolicemen, firemen, railway men, and others use signs because there is\ntoo much noise to be heard. School children use signs because they are\nnot allowed to talk in school. Most children know the signs for \"yes\"\nand \"no,\" \"come here,\" \"go away,\" \"hurry up,\" \"you can't touch me,\"\n\"hush!\", \"shame on you!\", \"up,\" \"down,\" \"word of honour,\" \"swimming,\"\netc.\n\nThe traffic policeman is using signs all day long. By a movement of the\nhand he signals:--stop, go on, come here, hurry up, wait, turn around,\ngo by, stay back, over there, you look out, right here, and one or two\nothers.\n\nHow many signs can you add to these two lists?\n\n\nTALE 65\n\nThe Language of Hens\n\nYes; Hens talk somewhat as we do; only they haven't so many words, and\ndon't depend on them as we have to.\n\nThere are only ten words in ordinary hen-talk.\n\nThe _cluck, cluck_ of the mother means \"Come along, kiddies.\"\n\nThe low _kawk_ of warning, usually for a hawk.\n\nThe _chuck, chuck_ of invitation means, \"Good food.\"\n\nThe _tuk-ut-e-ah-tuk_ means, \"Bless my soul, what is that?\"\n\nThe _cut, cut, get your hair cut_, of a Hen that has just laid and is\nfeeling greatly relieved; no doubt, saying, \"Thank goodness, that's\ndone!\" or maybe it is a notice to her mate or friend that \"Business is\nover, let's have some fun. Where are you?\"\n\nThe soft, long-drawn _tawk--tawk--tawk_, that is uttered as the Hen\nstrolls about, corresponds to the whistling of the small boy; that is,\nit is a mere pastime, expressing freedom from fear or annoyance.\n\nThe long, harsh, _crauk, crauk_ of fear when captured.\n\nThe quick _clack, clack, clatter_ when springing up in fear of capture.\n\nThe _put, put_ of hunger.\n\nAnd, of course, the _peep, peep_ of chickens and the\n_cock-a-doodle-doo_, which is the song of the Rooster.\n\nSome Hens may have more; but these given here are hen-talk for\nmother-love, warning, invitation, surprise, exultation, cheerfulness,\nfear, astonishment, and hunger. Not a bad beginning in the way of\nlanguage.\n\n\nTALE 66\n\nWhy the Squirrel Wears a Bushy Tail\n\n\"Oh, Mother, look at that Gray Squirrel!\" shouted Billie. \"What a\nbeautiful bushy tail he has!\" Then, after a pause he added, \"Mother,\nwhat is its tail for? Why is it so big and fluffy? I know a 'Possum has\na tail to hang on a limb with, and a Fish can swim with his tail, but\nwhy is a Gray Squirrel's tail so bushy and soft?\"\n\nAlas! Mother didn't know, and couldn't tell where to find out. It was\nlong after, that little Billie got the answer to his childish, but\nreally important question. The Alligator may use his tail as a club, the\nHorse, his tail as a fly-flapper, the Porcupine his tail as a spiked\nwar-club, the 'Possum his as a hooked hanger, the Fox his as a muffler,\nthe Fish his as a paddle; but the Gray Squirrel's tail is a parachute, a\nlandeasy. I have seen a Gray Squirrel fall fifty feet to the ground, but\nhis tail was in good condition; he spread it to the utmost and it landed\nhim safely right side up.\n\nI remember also a story of a Squirrel that lost his tail by an accident.\nIt didn't seem to matter much for a while. The stump healed up, and the\nSquirrel was pert as ever; but one day he missed his hold in jumping,\nand fell to the ground. Ordinarily, that would have been a small matter;\nbut without his tail he was jarred so severely that a dog, who saw him\nfall, ran up and killed him before he could recover and climb a tree.\n\n\nTALE 67\n\nWhy a Dog Wags His Tail\n\nThere is an old story that the Dog said to the Cat: \"Cat, you are a\nfool; you growl when you are pleased and wag your tail when you are\nangry.\" Which happens to be true; and makes us ask: Why does a Dog wag\nhis tail to mean friendship?\n\nThe fact is, it is part of a wig-wag code, which is doubly interesting\nnow that all our boys are learning wig-wagging with a white flag. We\nthink that our army people invented this method; but Woodcraft men know\nbetter.\n\nFirst, notice that any Dog that has any white on his body has at least a\nlittle white on the end of his tail. This is well known; and the reason\nis that the wild ancestor had a white brush on the end of his tail; a\nwhite flag, indeed; and this was the flag of his signal code.\n\nSuppose, then, that a wild Dog, prowling through the woods, sights some\nother animal. Instantly he crouches; for it is good woodcraft to avoid\nbeing seen and then watch from your hiding-place. As the stranger comes\nnear, the crouching Dog sees that it is one of his own kind, and that it\nis needless to hide any longer; indeed, that it is impossible to remain\nhidden. So the moment the stranger stops and looks at the crouching Dog,\nthe latter stands straight up on all fours, raises his tail up high, and\nwags the white tip from side to side in the sign which means, \"Let's be\nfriends.\"\n\nEvery Dog knows the sign, every Dog in every town does it yet; every boy\nhas seen it a thousand times. We flatter ourselves that we invented the\nwig-wag code with our little white flag. Maybe so; but the Dog had it\nlong before we did.\n\n\nTALE 68\n\nWhy the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before Lying Down\n\nYes, they all do it; the big St. Bernard, the foolish littlest lap Dog,\nthe ragged street Dog; give them bare boards, or a silken cushion, or\nsnow, three turns around and down they go.\n\nWhy? Not so hard to answer as some simple questions. Long, long ago, the\nwild great-great-grandfather of the Dog--a yellow creature with black\nhair sprinkled on his back, sharp ears, light spots over his eyes, and a\nwhite tail-tip--used to live in the woods, or on the prairies. He did\nnot have a home to which he might return every time he wanted to rest\nor sleep; so he camped wherever he found himself, on the plains, in a\nthicket, or even in some hole in a rock; and he carried his bedclothes\non his back. But he always found it worth while to add a little comfort\nby smoothing the grass, the leaves, the twigs, or the pebbles before\nlying down; and the simplest way to do this was by curling up, and\nturning round three times, with the body brushing the high grass or\npebbles into a comfortable shape for a bed.\n\nYes, and they all do it to-day just the same, big and little, which is\nonly one of the many proofs that they are descended from the same\nwild-wood great-grandfather, and still remember his habits.\n\n\nTALE 69\n\nThe Deathcup of Diablo\n\n[Illustration: The Deathcup Toadstool]\n\nThe world went very well in those bright days of the long ago, when the\nwedding of El Sol and Maka Ina set all living things rejoicing. Green\nyouth and sparkling happiness were everywhere. Only one there\nwas--Diablo--who found in it poor comfort. He had no pleasure in the\ngrowing grass. The buttercups annoyed him with the gayness of their\ngold. It was at this time he chewed their stalks, so that many ever\nsince have been flattened and mangled. And the cherry with its fragrant\nbloom he breathed on with his poison breath, so its limbs were burnt and\nblackened into horrid canker bumps. And poisonous froth he blew on the\nsprouting rose leaves, so they blackened and withered away. The jewel\nweed, friend of the humming birds, he trampled down, but it rose so many\ntimes and so bravely, that he left the yellow dodder like an herb-worm,\nor a root-born leech to suck its blood all summer long, and break it\ndown. Then to trail over the trunks of trees and suck their life, he\nleft the demon vine, the Poison Ivy with its touch of burning fire. He\nput the Snapping Turtle in the beautiful lakes to destroy its harmless\ncreatures and the Yellow-eyed Whizz he sent, and the Witherbloom with\nits breath of flame.\n\nAnd last he made the Deathcup Toadstool, and sowed it in the woods.\n\nHe saw the Squirrels eating and storing up the sweet red russula. He saw\nit furnish food to mice and deer, so he fashioned the Deathcup Amanita\nto be like it; and scattered it wherever good mushrooms grew, a trap for\nthe unwary.\n\nTall and shapely is the Deathcup; beautiful to look upon and smelling\nlike a mushroom. But beware of it, a very little is enough, a morsel of\nthe cup; the next night or maybe a day later the poison pangs set in.\nToo late perhaps for medicine to help, and Amanita, the Deathcup, the\nchild of Diablo, has claimed another victim.\n\nHow shall we know the deadly Amanita among its kindly cousins, the good\nmushrooms? Wise men say by these:--The poison cup from which its\nsprings; the white kid collar on its neck; the white or yellow gills;\nand the white spores that fall from its gills if the cup, without the\nstem, be laid gills down on a black paper for an hour.\n\nBy these things we may know the wan Demon of the woods, but the wisest\nGuides say to their tribe:--\"Because death lurks in that shapely\nmushroom, though there are a hundred good for food, they are much alike,\nand safety bids you shun them; let them all alone.\"\n\nSo Diablo went on his way rejoicing because he had spoiled so much good\nfood for good folk.\n\nThis, the danger of the Deathcup, is the Seventh Secret of the Woods.\n\n[Illustration: The Poison Ivy]\n\n\nTALE 70\n\nPoison Ivy or the Three-Fingered Demon of the Woods\n\nYou have been hearing about good fairies and good old Mother Carey and\nMedicine in the Sky. Now I am going to warn you against the\nthree-fingered Demon, the wicked snakevine that basks on stone walls and\nclimbs up the tree trunk, and does more harm than all the other plants,\nvines, trees, and bushes put together; for it is not like the Deathcup,\neasy to see and easy to let alone.\n\nThis is the Poison Ivy. Does it not look poisonous as it crawls\nsnake-like up some trunk, sending suckers out into the tree to suck the\nsap; and oozing all over its limbs with poison in tiny wicked little\ndrops? Sometimes it does not climb but crawls on the ground, but by this\nye may always know it: It has only three fingers on its hand; that is,\nonly three leaflets on each stalk.\n\nThe one thing that looks like it, is the Boston Ivy, but that does not\ngrow in the woods, and the Poison Ivy leaf always has the little bump\nand bite out on the side of the leaf as you see in the drawing.\n\nIt is known and feared for its power to sting and blister the skin when\nit is handled or even touched. The sting begins with an unpleasant\nitching which gets worse, especially if rubbed, until it blisters and\nbreaks open with sores which are very hard to heal.\n\nThe cause of the sting is a blistering oil, which is found in tiny drops\non all parts of the leaf and branches; it is a fixed oil; that is, it\nwill not dry up, and as long as it is on the skin, it keeps on burning\nand blistering, worse and worse.\n\n\nTHE CURE\n\nAnd this is the cure for the sting of the Demon Vine:--\n\nAnything that will dissolve and remove oil without injuring the skin:--\n\nHot water, as hot as you can stand it, is good; a little salt in it\nhelps.\n\nHot soapy water is good.\n\nHot water with washing soda is good.\n\nA wash of alcohol is good.\n\nBut best of all is a wash of strong alcohol in which is a little sugar\nof lead as an antiseptic.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Guide should remember that three persons out of five are immune from\nPoison Ivy, while a few are so sensitive that they are poisoned by flies\ncarrying it to them on their feet. It can be easily cured if treated at\nonce; if neglected it often becomes very bad and may need the help of a\ndoctor.\n\nThis is the Eighth Secret of the Woods.\n\n\nTALE 71\n\nThe Medicine in the Sky\n\nThis is one of the greatest and best secrets of Woodcraft--The Medicine\nin the Sky.\n\nLet me tell you a story about it. There was once an Indian who left his\nown people, to live with the white man, in the East. But the Great\nSpirit was displeased, for he did not mean the Indian to live in houses\nor cities. After a year, the red man came back very thin and sick,\ncoughing nearly all night, instead of sleeping. He believed himself\ndying.\n\nThe wise old Medicine Man of his tribe said, \"You need the Medicine of\nthe Sky.\" He took it and got quite well and strong.\n\nAnother Indian, who had gone to visit with a distant tribe of red men,\ncame back with some sickness on his skin that made it very sore. It was\nfar worse than Poison Ivy, for it began to eat into his flesh. The\nMedicine Man said, \"Sky Medicine will cure you.\" And it did.\n\nOne day a white man, a trader, came with chest protectors to sell to the\nIndians. He was sure they needed them, because he did; and, although so\nwell wrapped up, he was always cold. He suffered whenever the wind blew.\nThe old Medicine Man said, \"We don't need your chest pads, and you would\nnot if you took the Sky Medicine.\" So the trader tried it, and by and\nby, to his surprise and joy, no matter whether it was hot or cold\noutdoors, he was comfortable.\n\nThis man had a friend who was a learned professor in a college, and he\ntold him about the great thing he had learned from the old Indian. The\nprofessor was not old, but he was very sick and feeble in body. He could\nnot sleep nights. His hair was falling out, and his mind filled with\ngloomy thoughts. The whole world seemed dark to him. He knew it was a\nkind of disease, and he went away out West to see his friend. Then he\nmet the Medicine Man and said to him, \"Can you help me?\"\n\nThe wise old Indian said, \"Oh, white man, where do you spend your days?\"\n\n\"I spend them at my desk, in my study, or in the classroom.\"\n\n\"Yes, and your nights?\"\n\n\"In my study among my books.\"\n\n\"And where do you sleep?\"\n\n\"I don't sleep much, though I have a comfortable bed.\"\n\n\"In the house?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course.\"\n\n\"Listen, then, O foolish white man. The Great Spirit set Big Medicine in\nthe sky to cure our ills. And you hide from it day and night. What do\nyou expect but evil? This do and be saved. Take the Sky Medicine in\nmeasure of your strength.\"\n\nHe did so and it saved him. His strength came back. His cheeks grew\nruddy, his hands grew steady, his hair ceased falling out, he slept like\na baby. He was happy.\n\nNow what is the Sky Medicine? It is the glorious sunlight, that cures so\nmany human ills. We ask every Woodcrafter to hold on to its blessings.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd in this wise, O Guide, you must give it to the little ones. Make it\nan honourable exploit to be sunburnt to the elbows without blistering;\nanother to be sunburnt to the shoulders; another to the waist; and\ngreatest of all, when sunburnt all over. How are they to get this? Let\nthem go to some quiet place for the last, and let the glory fall on\ntheir naked bodies, for ten minutes each day. Some more, and some less,\naccording to their strength, and this is the measure--so long as it is\npleasant, it is good.\n\nIn this way they will inherit one of the good things of the woods and be\nstrong and hardened, for there is no greater medicine than the Sun in\nthe sky.\n\n\nTALE 72\n\nThe Angel of the Night\n\nO Guide of the young Tribe! Know you the Twelfth Secret of the Woods?\nKnow you what walked around your tent on that thirtieth night of your\ncamp out? No! I think you knew, if you continued for thirty nights, but\nyou knew not that you knew. These things, then, you should have in\nheart, and give to those you are leading.\n\nThe Great Spirit does not put out good air in the daytime and poison air\nat night. It is the same pure air at night, only cooler. Therefore use\nmore clothing while you sleep. But while the outdoor air is pure, the\nindoor may be foul. Therefore sleep out of doors, and you will learn the\nblessedness of the night, and the night air, with its cooling kindly\ninfluence laden.\n\nThose who come here to our Camp from life in town and sleeping in close\nrooms, are unaccustomed, and nervous it may be, so that they sleep\nlittle at first. But each night brings its balm of rest. Strength comes.\nSome know it in a week. The town-worn and nerve-weary find it at\nfarthest in half a moon. And in one full moon be sure of this, when the\nnight comes down you will find the blessed balm that the Great Spirit\nmeant for all of us. You will sleep, a calm sweet vitalizing sleep.\n\nYou will know this the twelfth secret of the woods: What walked around\nyour tent that thirtieth night? You know not, you heard nothing, for you\nslept. Yet when the morning comes you feel and know that round your\ncouch, with wings and hands upraised in blessed soothing influence,\nthere passed the Angel of the Night, with healing under her wings, and\npeace. You saw her not, you heard her not, but the sweet healing of her\npresence will be with you for many after moons.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[C] The Guide will note that there are rare exceptions to these rules.\n\n[D] The Guide will remember that Totemism and Tabuism were ideas which\ngrew up long after the use of Totems began.\n\n\n\n\nTHINGS TO DO\n\n[Illustration: Nests of Kingbird, Oriole, Vireo, Robin, Goldfinch,\nPhoebe (1/4 life size)]\n\n\n\n\nThings to Do\n\n\nTALE 73\n\nBird-nesting in Winter\n\nWhat good are old bird-nests? These are some of the ends they serve. A\nDeermouse seeking the safety of a bramble thicket and a warm house, will\nmake his own nest in the forsaken home of a Cat-bird. A Gray Squirrel\nwill roof over the open nest of a Crow or Hawk and so make it a castle\nin the air for himself. But one of the strangest uses is this: The\nSolitary Sandpiper is a bird that cannot build a tree nest for itself\nand yet loves to give to its eggs the safety of a high place; so it lays\nin the old nest of a Robin, or other tree bird, and there its young are\nhatched. But this is only in the Far North. There are plenty of old\nbird-nests left for other uses, and for you.\n\nBird-nesting in summer is wicked, cruel, and against the law. But\nbird-nesting in winter is good fun and harms no one, if we take only the\nlittle nests that are built in forked twigs, or on rock ledges. For most\nlittle birds prefer to make a new nest for themselves each season.\n\nIf you get: A Goldfinch, floss nest;\n\nA Phoebe, moss nest;\n\nA Robin, mud nest;\n\nA Vireo, good nest;\n\nA Kingbird, rag nest;\n\nAn Oriole, bag nest;\n\nyou have six different kinds of beautiful nests that are easily kept\nfor the museum, and you do no harm in taking them.\n\n\nTALE 74\n\nThe Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite\n\n[Illustration: The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite]\n\nDo you know that \"Daisy\" means \"day's eye,\" because the old country\nDaisy opens its eyes when day comes, and shuts them every night. But our\nDaisy is different and much bigger, so we have got into the way of\ncalling it \"Ox-eye.\" Some of our young people call it \"Love-me;\nlove-me-not,\" because they think it can tell if one is loved. They pull\nout the white rays of the flower one by one, saying, \"He loves me; he\nloves me not; he loves me; he loves me not.\" Then what they are saying\nas the last is pulled, settles the question. If the Daisy says \"He loves\nme,\" they take a second Daisy and ask the next question, \"Will he marry\nme?\" Then, pulling the rays as before, \"This year, next year, some time,\nnever.\" And in this way they learn all that the Daisies know about these\nimportant matters.\n\nWe call it \"our Daisy,\" but it is not a true native of America. Its home\nis Europe. The settlers of New England, missing the flower of their\nhomeland, brought it over and planted it in their gardens. It spread\nwidely in the North; but it did not reach the South until the time of\nthe Civil War, when it is said to have gone in with the hay for\nSherman's Army, to become a troublesome weed in the fields.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThis scrap of history is recorded in a popular ballad.\n\n        There's a story told in Georgia\n          'Tis in everybody's mouth,\n        That 'twas old Tecumseh Sherman\n          Brought the Daisy to the South.\n        Ne'er that little blossom stranger\n          In our land was known to be,\n        Till he marched his blue-coat army\n          From Atlanta to the sea.\n\n[Illustration: The Monkeys in the Tree Tops]\n\n\nTALE 75\n\nA Monkey-hunt\n\nWe all love to go a-hunting; every one of us in some way; and it is only\nthe dislike of cruelty and destruction that keeps most of us from\nhunting animals continually, as our forebears did.\n\nSome of my best days were spent in hunting. The Arabs say, \"Allah\nreckons not against a man's allotted span the days he spends in the\nchase.\"\n\nI hope that I may help many of you to go a-hunting, and to get the good\nthings of it, with the bad things left out.\n\nCome! Now it is the spring of the year, and just the right time for a\nMonkey-hunt. We are going prowling along the brookside where we are\npretty sure of finding our game. \"See, there is a Monkey tree and it is\nfull of the big Monkeys!\"\n\n\"What! That pussy-willow?\"\n\nYes, you think they are only pussy-willows, but wait until you see. We\nshall take home a band of the Monkeys, tree and all, and you will learn\nthat a pussy-willow is only a baby Monkey half done.\n\nNow let us get a branch of live elderberry and one or two limbs of the\nlow red sumac. It is best to use sumac because it is the only handy wood\nthat one can easily stick a pin through, or cut. The pieces should be\nfive or six inches long and about half an inch to an inch thick. They\nshould have as many odd features as possible, knots, bumps, fungus,\nmoss, etc.; all of which add interest to the picture.\n\nTo these we must add a lot of odd bits of dry cane, dry grasses, old\nflower-stalks, moss, and gravel, etc., to use for background and\nforeground in the little jungle we are to make for our Monkeys to play\nin. It is delightful to find the new interest that all sorts of queer\nweeds take on, when we view them as canes or palms for our little\njungle.\n\nNow with the spoils of our hunt, let us go home and preserve the\ntrophies.\n\nCut off about three inches of the elderberry wood and have it clear of\nknots; cut a flat ended ramrod so as just to fit the bore, and force out\nthe pith with one clean sharp push: or else whittle away the surrounding\nwood. The latter way gives a better quality of pith.\n\nNow take a piece of the pith about one-third the size of a big\npussy-willow, use a very sharp knife and you will find it easy to\nwhittle it into a Monkey's head about the shape of \"a\" and \"b.\"\n\nUse a very sharp-pointed, soft black pencil to make the eyes, nose, the\nline for the mouth and the shape of the ears; or else wait till the pith\nis _quite dry_, then use a fine pen with ink.\n\nIf you are skilful with the knife you may cut the ears so that they hang\nas in \"d.\"\n\nStick an ordinary pin right down through the crown of the head into a\nbig pussy-willow that will serve as a body (e). If you glue the head on\nit is harder to do, but it keeps the body from being mussed up. Cut two\narms of the pith (ff) and two feet (gg), drawing the lines for the\nfingers and toes, with the sharp black pencil, or else ink as before.\n\nCut a long, straight pointed piece of pith for a tail, dip it in boiling\nwater, then bend it to the right shape \"h.\"\n\nCut a branch of the sumac so that it is about four inches high, and of\nthe style for a tree; nail this on a block of wood to make it stand.\nSometimes it is easier to bore a hole in the stand and wedge the branch\ninto that.\n\nSet the Monkey on the limb by driving the pin into it as at \"i,\" or else\nglueing it on; and glue on the limbs and tail. Sometimes a little wad\nof willow-down on the Monkey's crown is a great help. It hides the pin.\n\nNow set this away for the glue to harden.\n\nMeanwhile take an ordinary cigar box about two inches deep, line it with\nwhite paper pasted in; or else paint it with water colour in Chinese\nwhite. Colour the upper part sky colour; the lower, shaded into green,\ngetting very dark on the bottom. Lay a piece of glass or else a scrap of\nan old motor-car window-isinglass on the bottom, and set in a couple of\ntacks alongside to hold it; this is for a pool.\n\nMake a mixture of liquid glue, one part; water, five parts; then stir in\nenough old plaster of Paris, whitening, or even fine loam to make a soft\npaste. Build banks of this paste around the pool and higher toward the\nback sides. Stick the tree, with its stand and its Monkeys, in this, to\none side; dust powder or rotten wood over the ground to hide its\nwhiteness; or paint it with water colours.\n\nUse all the various dry grasses, etc., to form a jungle; sticking them\nin the paste, or glueing them on.\n\nAnd your jungle with its Monkeys is complete.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany other things may be used for Monkeys. I have seen good ones made of\npeanuts, with the features inked on, and a very young black birch catkin\nfor tail. Beautiful birds also can be made by using a pith body and\nbright feathers or silks glued on for plumes. The pith itself is easily\ncoloured with water colours.\n\nYou will be delighted to see what beautiful effects you can get by use\nof these simple wild materials, helped with a little imagination.\n\nAnd the end of the Monkey-hunt will be that you have learned a new kind\nof hunting, with nothing but pleasant memories in it, and trophies to\nshow for proof.\n\n[Illustration: The Horsetail and the Jungle]\n\n\nTALE 76\n\nThe Horsetail and the Jungle\n\nLong, long ago, millions of years ago, this world was much hotter than\nit is now. Yes, in mid-winter it was hotter than it is now in\nmid-summer. Over all Pennsylvania there were huge forests of things that\nlooked a little like palms, but some looked like pipes with joints, and\nhad wheels of branches or limb wheels at every joint. They were as tall\nas some palms, and grew in swamps.\n\nWhen one of those big joint-wheels fell over, it sank into the mud and\nwas forgotten. So at last the swamp was filled up solid with their\ntrunks.\n\nThen for some unknown reason all the big joint-trees died, and the sand,\nmud, and gravel levelled off the swamp. There they lay, and slowly\nbecome blacker and harder under the mud, until they turned into coal.\n\nThat is what we burn to-day, the trunks of the wheel-jointed swamp\ntrees. But their youngest great-grandchild is still with us, and shows,\nin its small way, what its great ancestors were like.\n\nYou will find it along some railway bank, or in any damp woods. Country\npeople who know it, call it Joint Grass or Horsetails; the books call it\nEquisetum. The drawing will show you what to look for.\n\nGather a handful and take them home. Then get some of the moss known as\nground-pine, a small piece of glass (the Guide should see that the edges\nof the glass are well rubbed with a stone, to prevent cutting the\nfingers), a cigar box, and white paste or putty, as in the Monkey-hunt.\n\nMake a pool with the glass, and banks around it of the paste. Now cover\nthese banks with the ground pine; using a little glue on the under side\nof each piece, but leave an open space without moss at the back, near\nthe pool. Take a pointed stick and make holes through the moss into the\nclay or putty, and in each hole put one of the Horsetails, cutting it\noff with scissors if too tall for the top, till you have a thicket of\nthese stems on each side; only make more on one side than on the other.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow for the grand finish. You must make an extinct monster. Get half a\nwalnut shell; cut a notch at one end where the neck will be; fill the\nshell with putty; stick in wooden pegs for legs, tail, and head. The\ncentral stalk of a tulip-tree fruit makes a wonderful sculptured tail;\nthe unopened buds of dogwood do for legs, also cloves have been used.\nAny nobby stick serves for head if you make eyes and teeth on it.\n\nWhen dry this makes a good extinct monster. Set it on the far bank of\nthe water, and you have a jungle, the old Pennsylvania jungle of the\ndays when the coal was packed away.\n\n\nTALE 77\n\nThe Woods in Winter\n\nGo out to the nearest chestnut tree, and get half a small burr; trim it\nneatly. Fill it with putty; set four wooden pegs in this for legs, a\nlarge peg for a head and a long thin one for a tail. On the head put two\nlittle black pins for eyes. Now rub glue on the wooden pegs and sprinkle\nthem with powdered rotten wood, or fine sand, and you have a Burr\nPorcupine. Sometimes carpet tacks are used for legs. You will have to\nwear strong leather gloves in making this, it is so much like a real\nPorcupine.\n\nNow go into your woods and get a handful of common red cedar twigs with\nleaves on, or other picturesque branches, some creeping moss of the\nkind used by flower dealers to pack plants, various dried grasses, and a\nfew flat or sharp-cornered pebbles. Take these home. Get a cigar box or\na candy-box, some paper, clay or putty and glass, as already described\nfor the Monkey-hunt. Make a pond with the glass and a bank with the clay\nand pebbles. Paint the top of the clay, and tops of the pebbles with the\nthin glue, and also part of the glass; then sprinkle all with powdered\nchalk, whitening, plaster of Paris or talcum powder for snow. Put the\nPorcupine in the middle, and you have the \"Woods in Winter.\"\n\n\nTALE 78\n\nThe Fish and the Pond\n\n[Illustration: The Fish and the Pond--and the Cone]\n\nGo out and get the cone of a Norway Spruce tree, or a White Spruce; this\nis the body of your Fish. Cut two round spots of white paper for eyes,\nglue them on, and when dry, put a black ink spot in the middle of each.\nAdd a curved piece of paper on each side for gills. Then with an awl or\nwith the point of the scissors make holes in the sides, in which put\nfins cut out of brown paper, fixing them in with glue. Then, with the\nknife blade, make a long cut in the back, and split the tail, and in\neach cut glue a thick piece of brown paper cut fin shape. When dry, draw\nlines on these with ink. Now you have a good Fish.\n\nFor the pond, take a cigar-box, paint the lower quarter of it dark\ngreen, and the upper part shaded into light blue, for sky. Glue a piece\nof glass or else carwindow celluloid level across this near the bottom.\nThis is for water. Hide all the back and side edges of the glass with\nclay banks as described in the Monkey-hunt, or with moss glued on. Put a\nfine black thread to the Fish's back, another to his tail, and hang\nhim level above the water by fastening the threads to the top of the\nbox. Label it \"Pond Life\" or the \"Fish at Home.\"\n\n\nTALE 79\n\nSmoke Prints of Leaves\n\n[Illustration: Smoke Prints of Leaves]\n\nCollect one or two leaves that have strongly marked ribs; elm and\nraspberry are good ones. Take a piece of paper that is strong, but\nrather soft, and about as big as this page. Grease, or oil it all over\nwith paint-oil, butter, or lard. Then hold it, grease-side down, in the\nsmoke of a candle, close to the flame, moving it about quickly so that\nthe paper won't burn, until it is everywhere black with soot.\n\nLay the paper flat on a table, soot-side up, on a piece of blotting\npaper. Lay the leaf on this; then, over that, a sheet of paper. Press\nthis down over all the leaf. Lift the leaf and lay it on a piece of\nsoft, white paper; press it down as before, with a paper over it, on\nwhich you rub with one hand while the other keeps it from slipping; lift\nthe leaf, and on the lower paper you will find a beautiful line-drawing\nof the leaf, done in black ink; which, once it is dry, will never rub\nout or fade away.\n\nAt one corner write down the date and the name of the leaf.\n\n\nTALE 80\n\nBird-boxes\n\n[Illustration: Bird-boxes]\n\nYou can win honours in Woodcraft if you make a successful bird-box. That\nis one made by yourself, and used by some bird to raise its brood in.\n\nThere are three kinds of birds that are very ready to use the nesting\nplaces you make. These are the Robin, Wren, and Phoebe. But each\nbird wants its own kind exactly right, or will not use it.\n\nFirst the Robin wants a shelf, as in the picture. It should be hung\nagainst a tree or a building, about ten feet up, and not much exposed to\nthe wind. It should also be in a shady place or at least not where it\ngets much sun.\n\nThe nails sticking up on the floor are to hold the nest so the wind will\nnot blow it away. The Phoebe-shelf is much the same only smaller.\n\nThe Wren-box should be about four or five inches wide and six inches\nhigh inside, with a hole exactly seven eighths inch wide. If any bigger,\nthe Wren does not like it so well, and other birds may drive the Wren\naway. Many Wren-boxes are made of tomato tins, but these are hard to cut\na hole in. The Wren-box should be hung where the sun never shines on it\nall summer, as that would make it too hot inside.\n\n\nTALE 81\n\nA Hunter's Lamp\n\n[Illustration: A Hunter's Lamp]\n\nIn the old pioneer days, every hunter used to make himself a lamp, for\nit was much easier to make than a candle. It is a good stunt in\nWoodcraft to make one. Each woodcrafter should have one of his own\nhandiwork. There are four things needed in it: The bowl, the wick, the\nwick-holder and some fat, grease, or oil.\n\nFor the bowl a big clam shell does well.\n\nFor wick a strip of cotton rag rolled into a cord as thick as a slate\npencil, and about two inches long; a cotton cord will do, or perhaps the\nfibrous bark of milkweed or other native stuff is the truly woodcraft\nthing.\n\nFor wick-holder get a piece of brick, stone, or a small clam shell about\nas big as a half dollar. Bore a hole through the middle to hold the\nwick. It is not easy to get the hole through without splitting the\nstone, but sometimes one can find a flat pebble already bored. Sometimes\none can make a disc of clay with a hole in it, then burn this hard in a\nfierce fire, but the most primitive way is to rub the bump of a small\nclam shell on a flat stone till it is worn through.\n\nFor oil use the fat, grease, lard, or butter of any animal, if it is\nfresh, that is without salt in it.\n\nFill the bowl with the grease, soak the wick in grease and set it in the\nholder so that half an inch sticks up; the rest is in the grease. The\nholder rests on the bottom of the bowl.\n\nLight the end that sticks up. It will burn with a clear, steady light\ntill all the oil is used up.\n\nTo have made a lamp that will burn for half an hour is counted an\n\"honour\" in Woodcraft, and may win you a badge if you belong to a\nWoodcraft Tribe.\n\n\nTALE 82\n\nThe Coon Hunt\n\nTake a little bundle of white rags, or paper, as large as a walnut; call\nthis the \"Coon.\" While all the young folks hide their eyes or go out of\nthe room, the Guide puts the Coon on some place, high or low, but in\nplain view; then, going away from it, shouts \"Coon!\"\n\nNow the young scouts have to find that Coon, each looking about for\nhimself. As soon as one sees it, he says nothing, but sits down. Each\nmust find it for himself, then sit down silently, until all are down.\nLast down is the \"booby\"; first down is the winner; and the winner has\nthe right to place the Coon the second time, if the Guide does not wish\nto do it.\n\nThis is often played indoors and sometimes a thimble is used for the\nCoon.\n\n\nTALE 83\n\nThe Indian Pot\n\nThis is something everyone can make, no matter how young, and each,\nincluding the Guide, should make one.\n\nGet a lump of good stiff clay; yellow is better than blue, only because\nit is a better colour when finished.\n\nWork the clay up with water till soft, pick out all stones, lumps, and\nstraws. Then roll it out like a pancake; use a knife to cut this into\nlaces a foot long and about as thick as a pencil.\n\nDip your fingers in water, take one of these laces and coil it round and\nround as in \"a,\" soldering it together with water rubbed on and into the\njoints. Keep on adding, shaping and rubbing, till you have a saucer\nabout three inches across and a quarter of an inch thick. Put this away\nin some shady place to set, or harden a little; otherwise it would fall\ndown of its own weight.\n\nAfter about an hour, wet the rim, and build up on that round and round\nwith laces as before, until you have turned the saucer into a cup, about\nfour inches across, and, maybe three inches high. Set this away to\nstiffen. Then finish the shape, by adding more coils, and drawing it in\na little. When this has stiffened, make a \"slip\" or cream of clay and\nwater, rub this all over the pot inside and out; use your fingers and a\nknife to make it smooth and even. When this is done, use a sharp point,\nand draw on the pot any of the Indian designs show in the sketches,\nusing lines and dots for the shading.\n\n[Illustration: The Indian Pot]\n\nNow set the pot in some shady place to dry. High above the stove in the\nkitchen is a good place, so long as it is not too near the stove-pipe.\nAfter one day bring it nearer the heat. Then about the second day, put\nit in the oven. Last of all, and this is the hardest part to do, let\nthe Guide put the bone-dry pot right into the fire, deep down into the\nred coals at night, and leave it there till next day. In the morning\nwhen the fire is dead, the pot should be carefully lifted out, and, if\nall is well, it will be of hard ringing red terra cotta.\n\nThe final firing is always the hardest thing to do, because the pots are\nso easily cracked. If they be drawn out of the fire while they are yet\nhot, the sudden touch of cold air usually breaks them into pieces.\n\nNow remember, O Guide! A pot is made of the earth, and holds the things\nthat come out of the earth to make life, that feed us and keep us. So on\nit, you should draw the symbols that stand for these things. At the foot\nof preceding page you see some of them.\n\n\nTALE 84\n\nSnowflakes, the Sixfold Gems of Snowroba\n\n[Illustration: Snowflakes]\n\nYou have heard of the lovely Snowroba, white calm beautiful Snowroba,\nthe daughter of King Jackfrost the Winter King, whose sad history was\ntold in the first Tale. You remember how her robe was trimmed with white\nlace and crystal gems, each gem with six points and six facets and six\nangles, for that is one of the strange laws of the white Kingdom, the\nsixfold rule of gems. I did not give a good portrait of the White\nPrincess, but I can show you how to make the Jewels which sparkled on\nher robe.\n\nTake a square of thin white paper three or four inches wide (a). Fold it\nacross (b), and again, until it is a square (c), half as wide as \"a.\"\nMark on it the lines as in \"d,\" and fold it in three equal parts as in\n\"e.\" Now with pencil draw the heavy black lines as in \"f, g, h.\" Cut\nalong these lines with scissors, open out the central piece, and you\nhave your snow-gems as on facing page.\n\nYou can see for yourself that these are true to the gem-law of the White\nKingdom, if, when next the snow comes down, you look for the biggest\nflakes as they lie on some dark surface. You will find many patterns all\nof them beautiful, and all of them fashioned in accordance with the law.\n\n\nAre You Alive?\n\nLittle boy or girl, are you all alive? Just as alive as an Indian? Can\nyou see like a hawk, feel like a blind man, hear like an owl? Are you\nquick as a cat? You do not know! Well, let us find out in the next eight\ntales. In these tests 100 is kept in view as a perfect score in each\ndepartment, although it is possible in some cases to go over that.\n\n\nTALE 85\n\nFarsight\n\n1. Hold up a page of this book, and see how far off you can read it. If\nat 60 inches, measured with a tapeline from your eye to the book, then\nyour eye number is 60, which is remarkably good. Very few get as high as\n70.\n\n2. Now go out at night and see how many Pleiades you can count; see Tale\n52. If you see a mere haze, your star number is 0; if you see 4 little\npin points in the haze, your number is 8; if you see 6, your number is\n12. If you see 7 your number is 14; and you will not get beyond that.\n\n3. Now look for the Pappoose on the Squaw's back, as in Tale 50. If you\ndo not see it, you score nothing. If you can see it, and prove that you\nsee it, your number is 14 more.\n\nNow add up these, thus: 60 plus 14 plus 14; this gives 88 as your\n_farsight_ number. Anything over 60 means you can see like a hawk.\n\n\nTALE 86\n\nQuicksight\n\nTake two boards, cards or papers, each about half a foot square; divide\nthem with black lines into 25 squares each, i. e. 5 each way; get 6 nuts\nand 4 pebbles, or 6 pennies and 4 beans; or any other set of two things\ndiffering in size and shape.\n\nLet the one to be tested turn his back, while the Guide places 3 nuts\nand 2 pebbles on one of the boards, in any pattern he pleases, except\nthat there must be only one on a square.\n\nNow, let the player see them for 5 seconds by the watch; then cover it\nup.\n\nFrom memory, the player must place the other 3 nuts and 2 pebbles on the\nother board, in exactly the same pattern. Counting one for every one\nthat was right. Note that a piece exactly on the line does not count;\nbut one chiefly in a square is reckoned to be in that square.\n\nDo this 4 times. Then multiply the total result by 5. This gives his\n_quicksight_ number, to be added to his _aliveness_ score.\n\n\nTALE 87\n\nHearing\n\nCan you hear like an owl? An owl can find his prey by hearing after\ndark. His ears are wonderful. Let us try if yours are.\n\n1. _Watch-test._ First, you must be blindfolded, and in some perfectly\nquiet place indoors. Now have the Guide hold a man's watch (open if\nhunting-cased), near your head; if you can hear it at 40 inches,\nmeasured on a tapeline, and prove that you do, by telling exactly where\nit is, in several tries, your hearing number is 40, which is high. If at\n20 inches, it is low (20 pts.); if at 60 inches (60 pts.), it is\nremarkable. Anything over 50 points means you can hear like an owl. In\nthis you go by your best ear.\n\n2. _Pindrop-test._ Sometimes it is difficult to get a good watch-test.\nThen the trial may be made with an ordinary, silvered brass stick-pin,\n1-1/8 inches long, with small head. Lay the pin on a block of wood that\nis exactly half an inch thick. Set this on a smooth polished board, or\ntable top of hardwood, not more than an inch thick, and with open space\nunder it. Set it away from the edge of the table so as to be clear of\nthe frame and legs. After the warning \"ready,\" let the Guide tip the\nblock of wood, so the pin drops from the block to the table top (half an\ninch). If you hear it at 35 feet in a perfectly still room, your hearing\nis normal, and your hearing number is 35. If 20 feet is your farthest\nlimit of hearing it, your number is 20, which is low. If you can hear it\nat 70 feet, your number is 70, which is remarkable.\n\nYou can use either the watch-test or the pin-test. If you use both, you\nadd the totals together, and divide by 2, to get your _hearing_ number.\n\n\nTALE 88\n\nFeeling\n\n1. Have you got wise fingers like a blind man?\n\nPut 10 nickels, 10 coppers and 10 dimes in a hat or in one hand if you\nlike. Then, while blindfolded, separate them into three separate piles,\nall of each kind in a separate pile, within 2 minutes. If it takes you\nthe full 2 minutes (120 seconds), you are slow, and your feel number is\n0. If you do it without a mistake in 1 minute and 20 seconds, your feel\nnumber is 40, one point for each second you are less than 2 minutes. But\nyou must take off 3 points for every one wrongly placed, so 3 wrongly\nplaced would reduce your 40 to 31. I have known some little boys on the\nEast Side of New York to do it in 50 seconds without a mistake, so their\nfeel-number by coins was 70. That is, 120 seconds minus 50 seconds\nequals 70. This is the best so far.\n\n2. Now get a quart of corn or beans. Then when blindfolded, and using\nbut one hand, lay out the corn or beans in \"threes\"; that is, three at a\ntime laid on the table for 2 minutes. The Guide may move the piles aside\nas they are made. Then stop and count all that are exactly three in a\npile (those with more or less do not count at all). If there are 40\npiles with 3 in each, 40 is your number, by corn.\n\n3. The last test is: Can you lace your shoes in the dark, or\nblind-folded, finishing with a neat double bow knot?\n\nArrange it so your two shoes together have a total of at least 20 holes\nor hooks to be used in the test, i. e., which do not have the lace in\nthem when you begin. Allow 1 point for each hole or hook, i. e., 20\npoints, finish the lacing in 2 minutes, in any case stop when the 2\nminutes is up; then take off 2 points for each one that is wrongly\nlaced, or not laced. Thus: Supposing 4 are wrong, take off 4 times 2\nfrom 20, and your blindfold lacing number is 12; if the number wrong was\n10 or more, your lacing number is 0; if you had 3 wrong, your number is\n14.\n\nSuppose by these three tests--coins, corn, and laces--you scored 40,\n30, and 14; add these together and they give your _feel_ number; 84.\n\n\nTALE 89\n\nQuickness\n\nPut down 12 potatoes (or other round things) in a row, each one exactly\n6 feet from the last, and the last 12 feet from a box with a hole in it,\njust large enough to take in one potato. Now at the word \"go,\" run and\nget the first potato, put it through the hole into the box; then get the\nsecond, bring it to the box, and so on, one at each trip. After one\nminute, stop. Now multiply the number of potatoes in the box by 10, and\nyou have your _quickness_ number. If you have 8 in the box, you score 80\npoints, you are as quick as a cat. Very few get over 80. No one so far\nhas made 100 points.\n\n\nTALE 90\n\nGuessing Length\n\nTake two common nails, or other thin bits of metal, and lay them on a\ntable or board, at what you guess to be exactly one yard (36 inches)\napart. Then let the Guide lay the tape-line on it, and, allowing 20\npoints for exactly right, take off 1 point for each half inch you are\nwrong, over or under. Do not count quarter inches, but go by the nearest\nhalf-inch mark. Do this 5 times, add up the totals, that will give your\n_guessing-length_ number.\n\nThus, if your first guess turns out to be 37 inches, that is, 2\nhalf-inches too much, 2 from 20 gives 18 points. Your next guess was 34\ninches, that is 4 half-inches too little, 4 from 20 gives 16 points.\nYour next guess gave 12 points, your next 17, and your last 19. The\ntotal, 18 plus 16 plus 12 plus 17 plus 19, equals your number of\n_guessing length_ or 82.\n\n\nTALE 91\n\nAim or Limb-control\n\nTake 25 medium-sized potatoes, and set up a bucket or bag whose mouth is\nround and exactly one foot across. Draw a line exactly 10 feet from the\nbucket or bag. Toe that line, and throw the potatoes, one by one, into\nthe bag. Those that go in, then bounce out, are counted as in. Do it\nfour times, then add up all the four totals of those that went in; that\ngives your _aim_ or _control_ number.\n\nFor example, suppose that in the 4 tries you got 10 in the first time,\n15 in the second, 20 in the third, 19 in the fourth. Add these together,\nit gives your arm-control or _aim_ number as 64.\n\nNow add up all these high numbers:\n\n        Farsight                   88\n        Quicksight                 50\n        Hearing                    50\n        Feeling                    84\n        Quickness                  80\n        Guessing Length            82\n        Aim                        64\n\n        Your aliveness number is  498\n\nBut very few can score so high. If you can score 400 you are surely\nalive; you can see like a hawk, you can take in at a glance, you can\nhear like an owl, you can feel like a blind man, you are quick as a cat,\nyou are a good judge of size, and you can aim true; That is, you are as\n_alive as an Indian_.\n\n\nTALE 92\n\nA Treasure Hunt\n\nMake 24 little white sticks, each about three inches long, and as thick\nas a pencil. They are easy to make of willow shoots, after the bark is\npeeled off. While the young folk hide their eyes, the Guide walks off in\nthe woods, ties a white rag on a tall stake or limb, for the point of\nbeginning. Then, one step apart and in a very crooked line, sets each of\nthe little white sticks in the ground, standing straight up. Under the\nlast stick should be buried the treasure; usually a stick of chocolate.\nThis the players are to find by following the sticks.\n\nWhen the young folk get used to it, the line should be longer, the\nsticks farther apart, and the last one may be ten steps from the last\nbut one.\n\nWhen they are well trained at it, scraps of paper, white beans, corn, or\neven chalk marks on trees, instead of sticks, will serve for trail; and\nstill later holes prodded in the ground with a sharp pointed cane will\ndo.\n\nThis game can be played in the snow; in which case, the track of the\nGuide, when he hides the treasure, takes the place of the sticks.\n\nFinally it makes a good game for indoors on a rainy day. In which case\nwe use buttons, corn, or scraps of white cotton for trail sticks. Of\ncourse the trail now should be upstairs and down, and as long and\ncrooked as possible.\n\n\nTALE 93\n\nMoving Pictures\n\nOne of the best developers of imagination is the Moving Picture.\nSometimes called Pantomime, or Dumb-show which means all signs without\nsounds.\n\nThe one who is to put on the \"movie\" is given a subject and must then\nstand out on the stage or Council Ring, and carry all the story to the\nspectators, without using any sound and with as few accessories as\npossible.\n\nThe \"print between the reels\" is supplied by the Guide who simply\nannounces what is needed to explain.\n\nThe following subjects have been used successfully (unless otherwise\nstated they are for one actor each):\n\n    Miss Muffet and the Spider--the well-known\n      Nursery Rhyme\n    Old Mother Hubbard\n    Little Jack Horner\n    Mary and her Little Lamb\n    Red Ridinghood--walk through the woods,\n      meeting the wolf, etc.\n    Robinson Crusoe--finding the track of a man\n      in the sand\n    A Barber Shop--shaving a customer (two actors)\n    The Man's First Speech at a Dinner\n    The Politician who was rotten-egged after vainly\n      trying to control a meeting\n    Joyride in a Ford Car--ending in a bad upset\n      (two actors)\n    The Operation--a scene in a hospital following\n      the accident (two or more)\n    The Professor of Hypnotism and His Subject (two actors)\n    The Man who Found a Hair in His Soup\n    The Young Lady Finds a Purse, on opening it a mouse\n      jumps out and she remembers that it is 1st of April\n    A Young Man Telephoning to His Best Girl\n    A Man Meeting and Killing a Rattlesnake\n    Lighting a Lamp\n    Drawing a Cork\n    Looking for a Lost Coin--finding it in one pocket or\n      shoe\n    A Musician Playing His Own Composition\n    The Sleeping Beauty and the Prince (two actors)\n    Goldilocks and the Three Bears\n    William Tell and the Apple (best rendered in caricature\n      with a pumpkin and two actors)\n    Eliza Crossing the Ice\n    The Kaiser Signing His Abdication\n    The Judgment of Solomon (three actors)\n    Brutus Condemning His Two Sons to Death.\n\n\nTALE 94\n\nA Natural Autograph Album\n\nIf you live in the country, I can show you an old Woodcraft trick. Look\nfor a hollow tree. Sometimes you can pick one out afar, by the dead top,\nand sometimes by noting a tree that had lost one of the biggest limbs\nyears ago. In any case, basswoods, old oaks and chestnuts are apt to be\nhollow; while hickories and elms are seldom so, for once they yield to\ndecay at all, they go down.\n\nRemember that every hollow tree is a tenement house of the woods. It may\nbe the home of a score of different families. Some of these, like Birds\nand Bats, are hard to observe, except at nesting time. But the fourfoots\nare easier to get at. For them, we will arrange a visitors' book at the\nfoot of the tree, so that every little creature in fur will write his\nname, and some passing thought, as he comes to the tree.\n\nHow?\n\nOh, it is simple; I have often done it. First clear and level the ground\naround the tree for three or four feet; then cover it with a coat of\ndust, ashes, or sand--whichever is easiest to get; rake and brush it\nsmooth; then wait over one night.\n\nNext morning--most quadrupeds are night-walkers--come back; and you\nwill find that every creature on four feet that went to the tree\ntenement-house has left us its trail; that is its track or trace.\n\nNo two animals make the same trail, so that every Squirrel that climbed,\nevery 'Coon or 'Possum, every Tree-mouse, and every Cottontail that went\nby, has clearly put himself on record without meaning to do so; and we\nwho study Woodcraft can read the record, and tell just who passed by in\nthe night.\n\n\nTALE 95\n\nThe Crooked Stick\n\nOnce upon a time there was a girl who was very anxious to know what sort\nof a husband she should get; so, of course, she went to the old\nwood-witch.\n\nThe witch asked a few questions, then said to the girl: \"You walk\nstraight through that woods, turn neither to right nor left, and never\nturn back an inch, and pick me out a straight stick, the straighter the\nbetter; but pick only one, and bring it back.\"\n\nSo the girl set out. Soon she saw a fine-looking stick close at hand;\nbut it had a slight blemish near one end, so she said: \"No; I can do\nbetter than that.\" Then she saw another that was perfect but for a\nlittle curve in the middle, so she passed it by.\n\nThus she went, seeing many that were nearly perfect; but walking on,\nseeking one better, till she was quite through the woods. Then she\nrealized her chances were nearly gone; so she had to take the only stick\nshe could find, a very crooked one indeed, and brought it to the witch,\nsaying that she \"could have got a much better one had she been more\neasily satisfied at the beginning.\"\n\nThe witch took the stick, waved it at the girl and said: \"then this is\nyour fortune; _through the woods and through the woods and out with a\ncrooked stick_. If you were less hard to please, you would have better\nluck; but you will pass many a good man by, and come out with a crooked\nstick.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMaybe some of our Woodcraft girls can find an initiation in this. Put it\njust as the witch did it, but let it be considered a success if the\nstick is two feet long and nowhere half an inch out of true line. Let me\nadd a Woodcraft proverb which should also have its mead of comfort--The\nGreat Spirit can draw a straight line with a crooked stick.\n\n\nTALE 96\n\nThe Animal Dance of Nana-bo-jou\n\nFor this we need a Nana-bo-jou; that is, a grown-up who can drum and\nsing. He has a drum and drumstick, and a straw or paper club; also two\ngoblins, these are good-sized boys or girls wearing ugly masks, or at\nleast black hoods with two eyeholes, made as hideous as possible; and\nany number of children, from three or four up, for animals. If each has\nthe marks, colours, etc., of some bird or beast, so much the better.\n\nFirst, Nana-bo-jou is seen chasing the children around the outside of\nthe circle, trying to catch one to eat; but failing, thinks he'll try a\ntrick and he says: \"Stop, stop, my brothers. Why should we quarrel?\nCome, let's hold a council together and I will teach you a new dance.\"\n\nThe animals whisper together and the Coyote comes forward, barks, then\nsays:\n\n\"Nana-bo-jou, I am the Coyote. The animals say that they will come to\ncouncil if you will really make peace and play no tricks.\"\n\n\"Tricks!\" says Nana-bo-jou, \"I only want to teach you the new songs from\nthe South.\"\n\nThen all the animals troop in and sit in a circle. Nana-bo-jou takes his\ndrum and begins to sing:\n\n        \"New songs from the South, my brothers,\n         Dance to the new songs.\"\n\nTurning to one, he says: \"Who are you and what can you dance?\"\n\nThe answers are, \"I am the Beaver [or whatever it is] and I can dance\nthe Beaver Dance.\"\n\n\"Good! Come and show me how.\"\n\nSo the Beaver dances to the music, slapping the back of his flat right\nhand, up and under his left hand for a tail, holding up a stick in both\npaws to gnaw it, and lumbering along in time to the music, at the same\ntime imitating the Beaver's waddle.\n\nNana-bo-jou shouts: \"Fine! That is the best Beaver Dance I ever saw. You\nare wonderful; all you need to be perfect is wings. Wouldn't you like to\nhave wings so you could fly over the tree-tops, like the Eagle?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" says the Beaver.\n\n\"I can make strong medicine and give you wings, if all the animals will\nhelp me,\" says Nana-bo-jou. \"Will you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" they all cry.\n\n\"Then all close your eyes tight and cover them with your paws. Don't\nlook until I tell you. Beaver, close your eyes and dance very fast and I\nwill make magic to give you wings.\"\n\nAll close and cover their eyes. Nana-bo-jou sings very loudly and,\nrushing on the Beaver, hits him on the head with the straw club. The\nBeaver falls dead. The two goblins run in from one side and drag off the\nbody.\n\nThen Nana-bo-jou shouts: \"Look, look, now! See how he flies away! See,\nthere goes the Beaver over the tree-tops.\" All look as he points and\nseem to see the Beaver going.\n\nDifferent animals and birds are brought out to dance their dances and\nare killed as before. Then the Crow comes out, hopping, flopping,\ncawing. Nana-bo-jou looks at him and says: \"You are too thin. You are no\ngood. You don't need any more wings,\" and so sends him to sit down.\n\nThen the Coyote comes out to do the Coyote Dance, imitating Coyote,\netc.; but he is very suspicious and, in answer to the questions, says:\n\"No; I don't want wings. The Great Spirit gave me good legs, so I am\nsatisfied\"; then goes back to his seat.\n\nNext the Deer, the Sheep, etc., come out and are killed; while all the\nrest are persuaded that the victims flew away. But the Coyote and the\nLoon have their doubts. They danced in their turns, but said they didn't\nwant any change. They are satisfied as the Great Spirit made them. They\nare slow about hiding their eyes. At last, they peek and realize that it\nis all a trap and the Loon shouts: \"Nana-bo-jou is killing us! It is all\na trick! Fly for your lives!\"\n\nAs they all run away, Nana-bo-jou pursues the Loon, hitting him behind\nwith the club, which is the reason that the Loon has no tail and has\nbeen lame behind ever since.\n\nThe Loon shouts the Loon battle-cry, a high-pitched quavering\nLUL-L-L-O-O-O and faces Nana-bo-jou; the animals rally around the Loon\nand the Coyote to attack the magician. All point their fingers at him\nshouting \"Wakan Seecha\" (or Black Magic). He falls dead in the circle.\nThey bury him with branches, leaves, or a blanket, and all the animals\ndo their dances around him.\n\nBefore beginning, the story of the dance should be told to the\naudience.\n\n\nTALE 97\n\nThe Caribou Dance\n\n[Illustration: Horns for the Caribou Dance]\n\nThe easiest of our campfire dances to learn, and the best for quick\npresentation, is the Caribou Dance. It has been put on for public\nperformance after twenty minutes' rehearsing, with those who never saw\nit before, because it is all controlled and called off by the Chief. It\ndoes equally well for indoor gymnasium or for campfire in the woods.\n\nIn the way of fixings for this, you need only four pairs of horns and\nfour cheap bows. Real deer horns may be used, but they are scarce and\nheavy. It is better to go out where you can get a few crooked limbs of\noak, cedar, hickory or apple tree; and cut eight pairs, as near like\nthose in the cut as possible, each about two feet long and one inch\nthick at the butt. Peel these, for they should be white; round off all\nsharp points of the branches, then lash them in pairs, as shown. A pair,\nof course, is needed for each Caribou. These are held in the hand and\nabove the head, or in the hand resting on the head.\n\nThe four Caribou look best in white. Three or four hunters are needed.\nThey should have bows, but no arrows. The Chief should have a drum and\nbe able to sing the Muje Mukesin, or other Indian dance tune. One or two\npersons who can howl like Wolves should be sent off to one side, and\nanother that can yell like a Lynx or a Panther on the other side, well\naway from the ring. Otherwise the Chief or leader can do the imitations.\nNow we are ready for\n\n\nTHE DANCE OF THE WHITE CARIBOU\n\nThe Chief begins by giving three thumps on his drum to call attention;\nthen says in a loud, singing voice: \"The Caribou have not come on our\nhunting grounds for three snows. We need meat. Thus only can we bring\nthem back, by the big medicine of the Caribou Dance, by the power of the\nWhite Caribou.\"\n\nHe rolls his drum, then in turn faces each of the winds, beckoning,\nremonstrating, and calling them by name; Kitchi-nodin (West); Keeway-din\n(North); Wabani-nodin (East); Shawani-nodin (South). Calling last to the\nquarter whence the Caribou are to come, finishing the call with a long\nKO-KEE-NA. Then as he thumps a slow single beat the four Caribou come in\nin single file, at a stately pace timed to the drum. Their heads are\nhigh, and they hold the horns on their heads, with one hand, as they\nproudly march around. The Chief shouts: \"The Caribou, The Caribou!\"\nAfter going round once in a sun circle (same way as the sun), they go\neach to a corner. The Chief says: \"They honour the symbol of the Great\nSpirit.\" The drum stops; all four march to the fire. They bow to it\ntogether, heads low, and utter a long bellow.\n\nThen the Chief shouts: \"They honour the four Winds, the Messengers.\"\n\nThen the Caribou back up four paces each, turn suddenly and make a short\nbow, with a short bellow, then turn and again face the fire.\n\nThe Chief shouts: \"Now they live their wild free lives on the plain.\" He\nbegins any good dance song and beats double time. The Caribou dance\naround once in a circle.\n\nThe Chief shouts: \"Full of life they fight among themselves.\"\n\nThe first and second Caribou, and third and fourth, close in combat.\nThey lower their heads, lock horns held safely away from the head,\nsnort, kick up the dust, and dance around each other two or three\ntimes.\n\nThe music begins again, and they cease fighting and dance in a circle\nonce more.\n\nThe music stops. The Chief shouts: \"They fight again.\" Now the first and\nfourth and second and third lock horns and fight.\n\nAfter a round or so the music begins again and they cease fighting and\nagain circle, dancing as before.\n\nThe Chief calls out: \"The Wolves are on their track.\"\n\nNow the howling of Wolves is heard in the distance, from the fellows\nalready posted.\n\nThe Caribou rush toward that side and face it in a row, threatening,\nwith horns low, as they snort, stamp, and kick up the dust.\n\nThe Wolf-howling ceases. The Caribou are victorious. The Chief shouts:\n\"They have driven off the Wolves.\" They turn away and circle once to the\nmusic, holding their heads high.\n\nNow Panther-yelling (or other menacing sound) is heard in the other\ndirection. The Chief shouts: \"But now the Panthers have found them out.\"\n\nAgain the Caribou line up and show fight. When it ceases, the Chief\ncries out: \"They have driven off the Panther.\" Now they dance proudly\naround, heads up, chests out as they step, for they have conquered every\nfoe.\n\nThen the Chief calls out: \"But another, a deadlier enemy comes. The\nhunters are on their trail.\" The hunters appear, crawling very low and\ncarrying bows. They go half around the ring, each telling those behind\nby signs, \"Here they are; we have found them,\" \"Four big fellows,\" \"Come\non,\" etc. When they come opposite the Caribou, the first hunter lets off\na short \"yelp.\" The Caribou spring to the opposite side of the ring, and\nthen line up to defy this new noise; but do not understand it, so gaze\nas they prance about in fear. The hunters draw their bows together, and\nmake as though each lets fly an arrow. The first Caribou drops, the\nothers turn in fear and run around about half of the ring, heads low,\nand not dancing; then they dash for the timber. The hunters run forward\nwith yells. The leader holds up the horns. All dance and yell around the\nfallen Caribou and then drag it off the scene.\n\nThe Chief then says: \"Behold, it never fails; the Caribou dance brings\nthe Caribou. It is great medicine. Now there is meat in the lodge and\nthe children cry no longer.\"\n\n\nTALE 98\n\nThe Council Robe\n\nThe Woodcraft Council Robe is something which every one may have, and\nshould make for himself. It may be of any shade, of gray, buff, orange,\nor scarlet. The best ones are of a bright buff. In size they are about\nfive feet by six feet, and the stuff may be wool, cotton, silk, or a\nmixture. My own is of soft or blanket cotton.\n\nThe robe is used as a wall banner, a personal robe, or a bed spread, and\nhas for the first purpose two or more tag-loops sewn on the top. For the\nsecond, it has a head-hole or poncho-hole, an upright slit near one end\n(hh), and for the last, there are one or two buttons or tie-strings to\nclose the poncho-hole. These are the useful features of the robe.\n\nThe ornamental features are the records on it. While these vary with\neach owner, the following usually appear: The Fourfold fire, near the\nmiddle; the Woodcraft shield, the owner's totem, the symbols of each\ncoup and each degree won by the owner.\n\nTo this many add a pictographic record of great events or of camps they\nhave visited.\n\n[Illustration: The Council Robe]\n\nThe easiest way to make the robe is to use paints on the cotton fabric.\n\nThe favourite way and more beautiful way, is to use appliques of\ncoloured cloths for the design.\n\nThe most beautiful is to embroider in silk or mercerized cotton. But the\nlast is very slow, and calls for much labour as well as some money.\n\nOn the preceding page are shown four different styles of robe; you may\nchoose or adapt which you please, except that only a Sagamore may use\nthe one with the 24 feathers in the centre.\n\n\n\n\nTHINGS TO REMEMBER\n\n\n\n\nThings to Remember\n\n\nTALE 99\n\nHow the Wren Became King of the Birds\n\nThe story is very old, and it may not be true, but this is how they tell\nit in many countries.\n\nThe animals had chosen the lion for their King because his looks and his\npowers seemed to fit him best of all for the place. So the birds made up\ntheir minds that they also would have a royal leader.\n\nAfter a long council it was decided that, in spite of strong opposition\nfrom the Ostrich and his followers, the one with the greatest powers of\nflight should be King. And away all flew to see which could go the\nhighest.\n\nOne by one they came down tired out, till only two were to be seen in\nthe air: the Eagle and the Turkey-buzzard still going up. At last they\ngot so high that the Turkey-buzzard froze his ears off for they were\nnaked. Then he gave it up. The Eagle went still higher to show how\nstrong he was, then sailed downward to claim the royal honours.\n\nBut just as they were about to give him the crown, the Wren hopped off\nthe top of the Eagle's head, where he had been hiding in the long\nfeathers, and squeaked out, \"No matter how high he was, I was a little\nbit higher, so I am King.\"\n\n\"You,\" said the Eagle; \"Why I carried you up.\"\n\n\"Nothing to do with it,\" said the Wren.\n\n\"Then let's try it over,\" said the Eagle.\n\n\"No, no,\" said the Wren, \"one try was agreed on, and it's settled now, I\nwas higher than you.\"\n\nAnd they have been disputing over it ever since. The lawyers take the\nWren's side and the soldiers take the Eagle's side.\n\nThe peasants in Europe sometimes speak of the Eagle as \"the King of the\nBirds,\" but they always call the Wren the \"Little King.\" And that is why\nwe call our gold-crowned Wrens, Kinglets, or Kingwrens and I suppose\nthat is why they wear a crown of gold.\n\n\nTALE 100\n\nThe Snowstorm\n\nIt was at the great winter Carnival of Montreal not long ago. Looking\nout of a window on a stormy day were five children of different races:\nan Eskimo, a Dane, a Russian, an Indian, and a Yankee. The managers of\nthe Carnival had brought the first four with their parents; but the\nYankee was the son of a rich visitor.\n\n\"Look,\" cried the little Eskimo from Alaska, as he pointed to the\ndriving snow. \"Look at the ivory chips falling! El Sol is surely carving\na big Walrus tusk into a fine dagger for himself. See how he whittles,\nand sends the white dust flying.\"\n\nOf course he didn't say \"El Sol,\" but used the Eskimo name for him.\n\nThen the Dane said: \"No, that isn't what makes it. That is Mother Earth\ngetting ready for sleep. Those are the goose feathers of her feather\nbed, shaken up by her servants before she lies down and is covered with\nher white mantle.\"\n\nThe little Indian, with his eyes fixed on the storm, shook his head\ngravely and said: \"My father taught me that these are the ashes from\nNana-bo-jou's pipe; he has finished his smoke and is wrapping his\nblanket about him to rest. And my father always spake true.\"\n\n\"Nay, you are all wrong,\" said the little Russian. \"My grandmother told\nme that it is Mother Carey. She is out riding in her strongest, freshest\nsteed, the White Wind. He has not been out all summer; he is full of\nstrength and fury; he spumes and rages. The air is filled with the foam\nfrom his bridle, and froth from his shoulders, as she rides him, and\nspurs him, and rides him. I love to see it, and know that she is filling\nthe air with strength and with messages. They carry me back to my own\ndear homeland. It thrills me with joy to see the whiteness.\"\n\nBut the Yankee boy said: \"Why, it's just snowing.\"\n\n\nTALE 101\n\nThe Fairy Lamps\n\nThere was once a little barelegged, brown-limbed boy who spent all his\ntime in the woods. He loved the woods and all that was in them. He used\nto look, not at the flowers, but deep down into them, and not at the\nsinging bird, but into its eyes, to its little heart; and so he got an\ninsight better than most others, and he quite gave up collecting birds'\neggs.\n\nBut the woods were full of mysteries. He used to hear little bursts of\nsong, and when he came to the place he could find no bird there. Noises\nand movements would just escape him. In the woods he saw strange tracks,\nand one day, at length, he saw a wonderful bird making these very\ntracks. He had never seen the bird before, and would have thought it a\ngreat rarity had he not seen its tracks everywhere. So he learned that\nthe woods were full of beautiful creatures that were skillful and quick\nto avoid him.\n\nOne day, as he passed by a spot for the hundredth time, he found a\nbird's nest. It must have been there for long, and yet he had not seen\nit; and so he learned how blind he was, and he exclaimed: \"Oh, if only I\ncould see, then I might understand these things! If only I knew! If I\ncould see but for once, how many there are, and how near! If only every\nbird would wear over its nest this evening a little lamp to show me!\"\n\nThe sun was down now; but all at once there was a soft light on the\npath, and in the middle of it the brown boy saw a Little Brown Lady in a\nlong robe, and in her hand a rod.\n\nShe smiled pleasantly and said: \"Little boy, I am the Fairy of this\nWoods. I have been watching you for long. I like you. You seem to be\ndifferent from other boys. Your request shall be granted.\"\n\nThen she faded away. But at once the whole landscape twinkled over with\nwonderful little lamps--long lamps, short lamps, red, blue, and green,\nhigh and low, doubles, singles, and groups; wherever he looked were\nlamps--twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, here and everywhere, until the forest\nshone like the starry sky. He ran to the nearest, yes, a nest; and here\nand there, each different kind of lamp stood for another kind of nest. A\nbeautiful purple blaze in a low tangle caught his eye. He ran to it, and\nfound a nest he had never seen before. It was full of purple eggs, and\nthere was the rare bird he had seen but once. It was chanting the weird\nsong he had often heard, but never traced. But the eggs were the\nmarvelous things. His old egg-collecting instinct broke out. He reached\nforth to clutch the wonderful prize, and--in an instant all the lights\nwent out. There was nothing but the black woods about him. Then on the\npathway shone again the soft light. It grew brighter, till in the\nmiddle of it he saw the Little Brown Lady--the Fairy of the Woods. But\nshe was not smiling now. Her face was stern and sad, as she said: \"I\nfear I set you over-high. I thought you better than the rest. Keep this\nin mind:\n\n        \"Who reverence not the\n         lamp of life can never\n         see its light.\"\n\nThen she faded from his view, and he never saw the lamps again.\n\n\nTALE 102\n\nThe Sweetest Sad Song in the Woods\n\nOnce a great American poet was asked which he thought was the sweetest\nvoice in the woods. He said: \"The sweetest sound in Nature is the\ncalling of the Screech Owl.\"\n\nSometimes, though rarely, it does screech, but the sound it most often\nmakes is the soft mournful song that it sings in the woods at night,\nespecially in the autumn nights.\n\nIt seems to be moaning a lament for the falling leaves, a sad good-bye\nto the dear dying summer.\n\nLast autumn one sat above my head in the dark October woods, and put his\nlittle soul into a song that seemed to be\n\n        Ohhhh! Ohhhh!\n        The leaves are falling:\n        Ohhhh! Ohhhh!\n        A sad voice calling;\n        Ohhhh! Ohhhh!\n        The Woodbirds flying;\n        Ohhhh! Ohhhh!\n        Sweet summer's dying,\n        Dying, Dying.\n\n[Illustration: The Lament of the Owl.\n\nNotation by Ann Seton]\n\nA mist came into my eyes as I listened, and yet I thanked him. \"Dear\nvoice in the trees, you have said the things I felt, and could not say;\nbut voicing my sadness you have given it wings to fly away.\"\n\n\nTALE 103\n\nSpringtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol\n\nOh, that was a stirring, glowing time! All the air, and the underwood\nseemed throbbed with pleasant murmuring voices. The streams were\nlaughing, the deep pools smiling, as pussy-willows scattered catkins on\nthem from above. The oak trees and the birches put on little\nglad-hangers, like pennants on a gala ship. The pine trees set up their\ngreen candles, one on every big tip-twig. The dandelions made haste to\nglint the early fields with gold. The song toads and the peepers sang in\nvolleys; the blackbirds wheeled their myriad cohorts in the air, a guard\nof honour in review. The woodwale drummed. The redbud draped its naked\nlimbs in early festal bloom; and Rumour the pretty liar smiled and\nspread the news.\n\nAll life was smiling with the frank unselfish smile, that tells of\npleasure in another's joy.\n\nThe love of love is wider than the world. And one who did not know their\nspeech could yet have read in their reflected joy a magnitude of joyful\nhappening, could guess that over two beings of the highest rank, the\nhighest rank of happiness impended.\n\nYes, all the living world stood still at gaze: the story of the\nbridegroom, the gracious beauty of the bride were sung, for the wedding\nday had come. And Mother Carey, she was there, for were they not her\npeers? And the Evil One--he came, but slunk away, for the blessing of\nthe one Great Oversoul was on them.\n\nOh, virile, radiant one, El Sol! Oh, Maka Ina! bounteous mother earth,\nthe day of joining hand in hand passed by. The joy is with us yet;\nrenewed each year, when March is three weeks gone. Look, then, ye\nwanderers in the woods! Seek in the skies, seek in the growing green,\nbut find it mostly in your souls, and _sing_!\n\n\nTALE 104\n\nRunning the Council\n\nEvery good Woodcrafter should know the way of the Council Ring.\n\nSelect some quiet level place out of doors; in the woods if possible,\nfor it is so much better if surrounded by trees.\n\nMake a circle of low seats; the circle should be not less than 12 feet\nor more than 20 feet across, depending somewhat on the number to take\npart.\n\nIn the middle prepare for a small fire. At one side is a special seat\nfor the Chief; this is called the Council Rock.\n\nOn very important occasions take white sand or lime, and draw a circle\naround the fire. Then from that draw the four lamps and the twelve laws\nas in Tale 105.\n\nWhen all is ready with the Guide on the Council Rock, and the Scouts in\ntheir seats, the Guide stands up and says: \"Give ear my friends, we are\nabout to hold a council. I appoint such a one, Keeper of the fire and\nso-and-so, Keeper of the tally. Now let the Fire-keeper light the fire.\"\n\nNext the Tally-keeper calls the roll. After which the business part of\nthe Council is carried on exactly the same as any ordinary meeting,\nexcept that instead of addressing the \"Chairman,\" they say, \"O Chief\";\ninstead of \"yes\" they say \"ho,\" instead of \"no\" they say \"wah.\"\n\nThe order of doings in Council is:--\n\n        Opening and fire-lighting\n        Roll Call\n        Reading and accepting tally of last Council\n        Reports of Scouts (things observed or done)\n        Left-over business\n        New business\n        Honours\n        Honourable mention\n        (For the good of the Tribe) Complaints and suggestions.\n          (_Here business ends and entertainment begins._)\n        Challenges\n        Games, contests, etc.\n        Close by singing Omaha Prayer (Tale 108)\n\n\nTALE 105\n\nThe Sandpainting of the Fire\n\n[Illustration: The Sandpainting of the Fire]\n\nWhen I was staying among the Navaho Indians, I met John Wetherall, the\ntrader. He had spent half his life among them, and knew more of their\nways than any other white man that I met. He told me that part of the\neducation of Navaho priest was knowing the fifty sandpaintings of his\ntribe. A sandpainting is a design made on the ground or floor with dry\nsands of different colours--black, white, gray, yellow, red, etc. It\nlooks like a rug or a blanket on the ground, and is made up of many\ncurious marks which stand for some man, place, thing, or idea. Thus, the\nfirst sandpainting is a map of the world as the Navaho knew it, with\nrivers and hills that are important in their history. These\nsandpaintings cannot be moved; a careless touch spoils them, and a gust\nof wind can wipe them out. They endure only in the hearts and memories\nof the people who love them.\n\nIn the Woodcraft Camp there is but one sandpainting that is much used;\nthat is, the Sandpainting of the Fourfold Fire. When I make it in camp,\nI use only white sand or powdered lime; but indoors, or on paper, I use\nyellow (or orange) and white.\n\nThis is the story of the sandpainting. The fire is the symbol of the\nGreat Spirit; around that we draw a great circle, as in the diagram.\n\nAt each of the four sides we light another fire; these four are called\nFortitude, Beauty, Truth, and Love, and come from the Fire through\nSpirit, Body, Mind, and Service.\n\nThen from each of these we draw three golden rays. These stand for the\ntwelve laws of Woodcraft, and they are named in this way:\n\n        Be Brave, Be Silent and Obey;\n        Be Clean, Be Strong, Protect Wild Life alway;\n        Speak True, Be Reverent, Play Fair as you Strive!\n        Be Kind; Be Helpful; Glad you are alive.\n\nAnd the final painting is as in the drawing. Of course the names are not\nwritten on the real thing though the Woodcraft scout should know them.\n\n\nTALE 106\n\nThe Woodcraft Kalendar\n\n[Illustration: The Woodcraft Kalendar]\n\nThe Woodcraft Kalendar is founded on the Indian way of noting the\nmonths. Our own ancestors called them \"Moons\" much as the Indians did.\nOur word \"month\" was once written \"moneth\" or \"monath\" which meant a\n\"moon or moon's time of lasting.\" The usual names for the moons to-day\nare Latin, but we find we get closer to nature if we call them by\ntheir Woodcraft names, and use the little symbols of the Woodcraft\nKalendar.\n\n\nTALE 107\n\nClimbing the Mountain\n\nAfar in our dry southwestern country is an Indian village; and in the\noffing is a high mountain, towering up out of the desert. It is\nconsidered a great feat to climb this mountain, so that all the boys of\nthe village were eager to attempt it. One day the Chief said: \"Now boys,\nyou you may all go to-day and try to climb the mountain. Start right\nafter breakfast, and go each of you as far as you can. Then when you are\ntired, come back: but let each one bring me a twig from the place where\nhe turned.\"\n\nAway they went full of hope, each feeling that he surely could reach the\ntop.\n\nBut soon a fat, pudgy boy came slowly back, and in his hand he held out\nto the Chief a leaf of cactus.\n\nThe Chief smiled and said: \"My boy, you did not reach the foot of the\nmountain; you did not even get across the desert.\"\n\nLater a second boy returned. He carried a twig of sagebrush.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Chief. \"You reached the mountain's foot but you did not\nclimb upward.\"\n\nThe next had a cottonwood spray.\n\n\"Good,\" said the Chief; \"You got up as far as the springs.\"\n\nAnother came later with some buckthorn. The Chief smiled when he saw it\nand spoke thus: \"You were climbing; you were up to the first slide\nrock.\"\n\nLater in the afternoon, one arrived with a cedar spray, and the old man\nsaid: \"Well done. You went half way up.\"\n\nAn hour afterward, one came with a switch of pine. To him the Chief\nsaid: \"Good; you went to the third belt; you made three quarters of the\nclimb.\"\n\nThe sun was low when the last returned. He was a tall, splendid boy of\nnoble character. His hand was empty as he approached the Chief, but his\ncountenance was radiant, and he said: \"My father, there were no trees\nwhere I got to; I saw no twigs, but I saw the Shining Sea.\"\n\nNow the old man's face glowed too, as he said aloud and almost sang: \"I\nknew it. When I looked on your face, I knew it. You have been to the\ntop. You need no twigs for token. It is written in your eyes, and rings\nin your voice. My boy, you have felt the uplift, you have seen the glory\nof the mountain.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOh Ye Woodcrafters, keep this in mind, then: the badges that we offer\nfor attainment, are not \"_prizes_\"; prizes are things of value taken by\nviolence from their rightful owners. These are merely tokens of what you\nhave done, of where you have been. They are mere twigs from the trail to\nshow how far you got in climbing the mountain.\n\n[Illustration: THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER.\n\nHarmonized by PROF. J. C. FILLMORE.]\n\n        Wa-kon-da dhe-dhu Wa-pa dhin a-ton-he.\n\n        Wa-kon-da dhe-dhu Wa-pa-dhin a-ton-he.\n\n(By permission from Alice C. Fletcher's \"Indian Story and Song.\")\n\nTranslation:\n\n        Father a needy one stands before thee;\n        I that sing am he.\n\nThis old Indian prayer is sung by the Council standing in a great circle\nabout the fire with feet close together, hands and faces uplifted, for\nit is addressed to the Great Spirit. At the final bars the hands and\nfaces are lowered to the fire.\n\n\n\n\nBooks by Ernest Thompson Seton\n\n\nWILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN, 1898\n\nThe stories of Lobo, Silverspot, Molly Cottontail, Bingo, Vixen, The\nPacing Mustang, Wully and Redruff. (Scribners.)\n\n\nTHE TRAIL OF THE SANDHILL STAG, 1899\n\nThe story of a long hunt that ended without a tragedy. (Scribners.)\n\n\nBIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY, 1900\n\nThe story of old Wahb from cubhood to the scene in Death Gulch. (The\nCentury Company.)\n\n\nLOBO, RAG AND VIXEN, 1900\n\nThis is a school edition of \"Wild Animals I Have Known,\" with some of\nthe stories and many of the pictures left out. (Scribners.)\n\n\nTHE WILD ANIMAL PLAY, 1900\n\nA musical play in which the parts of Lobo, Wahb, Vixen, etc., are taken\nby boys and girls. Out of print. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nTHE LIVES OF THE HUNTED, 1901\n\nThe stories of Krag, Randy, Johnny Bear, The Mother Teal, Chink, The\nKangaroo Rat, and Tito, the Coyote. (Scribners.)\n\n\nPICTURES OF WILD ANIMALS, 1901\n\nTwelve large pictures for framing (no text), viz., Krag, Lobo, Tito Cub,\nKangaroo Rat, Grizzly, Buffalo, Bear Family, Johnny Bear, Sandhill Stag,\nCoon Family, Courtaut the Wolf, Tito and her family. Out of print.\n(Scribners.)\n\n\nKRAG AND JOHNNY BEAR, 1902\n\nThis is a school edition of \"The Lives of the Hunted\" with some of the\nstories and many of the pictures left out. (Scribners.)\n\n\nTWO LITTLE SAVAGES, 1903\n\nA book of adventure and woodcraft and camping out for boys, telling how\nto make bows, arrows, moccasins, costumes, teepee, war-bonnet, etc., and\nhow to make a fire with rubbing sticks, read Indian signs, etc.\n(Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nMONARCH, THE BIG BEAR OF TALLAC, 1904\n\nThe story of a big California grizzly that is living yet. (Scribners.)\n\n\nANIMAL HEROES, 1905\n\nThe stories of a Slum Cat, a Homing Pigeon, The Wolf That Won, A Lynx, A\nJackrabbit, A Bull-terrier, The Winnipeg Wolf, and a White Reindeer.\n(Scribners.)\n\n\nWOODMYTH AND FABLE, 1905\n\nA collection of fables, woodland verses, and camp stories. (The Century\nCompany.)\n\n\nBIRCH-BARK ROLL, 1906\n\nThe Manual of the Woodcraft Indians, first edition, 1902. (Doubleday,\nPage & Co.)\n\nTHE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, 1907\n\nShowing the Ten Commandments to be fundamental laws of all creation. 78\npages. (Scribners.)\n\n\nTHE BIOGRAPHY OF A SILVER FOX, 1909\n\nor Domino Reynard of Goldur Town, with 100 illustrations by the author.\n209 pages.\n\nA companion volume to \"Biography of a Grizzly.\" (The Century Company.)\n\n\nLIFE HISTORIES OF NORTHERN ANIMALS, 1909\n\nIn two sumptuous quarto volumes with 68 maps and 560 drawings by the\nauthor. Pages, 1267.\n\nSaid by Roosevelt, Allen, Chapman, and Hornaday to be the best work ever\nwritten on the Life Histories of American Animals. (Scribners.)\n\n\nBOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA, 1910\n\nA handbook of Woodcraft, Scouting, and Life Craft Including the\nBirch-Bark Roll. 192 pages. Out of print. (Doubleday, Page & Co.) The\nyear-book of the Boy Scouts of America is now handled by the American\nNews Co.\n\n\nROLF IN THE WOODS, 1911\n\nThe Adventures of a Boy Scout with Indian Quonab and little dog Skookum.\nOver 200 drawings by the author. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nTHE ARCTIC PRAIRIES, 1911\n\nA canoe journey of 2,000 miles in search of the Caribou. 415 pages with\nmany maps, photographs, and illustrations by the author. (Scribners.)\n\n\nTHE BOOK OF WOODCRAFT AND INDIAN LORE, 1912\n\nwith over 500 drawings by the author. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nTHE FORESTER'S MANUAL, 1912\n\nOne hundred of the best-known forest trees of eastern North America,\nwith 100 maps and more than 200 drawings. Out of print. (Doubleday, Page\n& Co.)\n\n\nWILD ANIMALS AT HOME, 1913\n\nwith over 150 sketches and photographs by the author. 226 pages. In this\nMr. Seton gives for the first time his personal adventures in studying\nwild animals. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nMANUAL OF THE WOODCRAFT INDIANS, 1915\n\nThe fourteenth Birch-Bark Roll. 100 pages. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nWILD ANIMAL WAYS, 1916\n\nMore animal stories introducing a host of new four-footed friends, with\n200 illustrations by the author. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nWOODCRAFT MANUAL FOR BOYS, 1917\n\nA handbook of Woodcraft and Outdoor life for members of the Woodcraft\nLeague. 440 pp. 700 ills. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nWOODCRAFT MANUAL FOR GIRLS, 1917\n\nLike the foregoing but adapted for girls. 424 pp., Illus. (Doubleday,\nPage & Co.)\n\n\nTHE PREACHER OF CEDAR MOUNTAIN, 1917\n\nA novel. A tale of the open country. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nSIGN TALK, 1918\n\nA Universal Signal Code, Without Apparatus, for use in the Army, the\nNavy, Camping, Hunting, Daily Life and among the Plains Indians.\n(Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nWOODLAND TALES, 1921\n\nDelightful children's stories, of fable and fairy-tale flavour, with the\nwild things of the woodland for their heroes. In the heart of each some\nnature secret is revealed. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)\n\n\nBY MRS. ERNEST THOMPSON SETON\n\n(Published by DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO.)\n\n\nA WOMAN TENDERFOOT, 1901\n\nA book of outdoor adventures and camping for women and girls. How to\ndress for it, where to go, and how to profit the most by camp life.\n\n\nNIMROD'S WIFE, 1907\n\nA companion volume, giving Mrs. Seton's side of the many campfires she\nand her husband lighted together in the Rockies from Canada to Mexico.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nPage 79, \"gr  dy\" changed to \"greedy\" (as greedy as he)\n\nPage 134, \"throught he\" changed to \"through the\" (through the outer)","title":"Woodland Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":48023}