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diff --git a/23667-h/23667-h.htm b/23667-h/23667-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f8e91c --- /dev/null +++ b/23667-h/23667-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7322 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Woodland Tales, by Ernest Thompson Seton. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } +p.cap:first-letter { float: left; clear: left; + margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; + padding: 0; + line-height: .75em; font-size: 250%; } +p.cap {text-indent: 0; } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: left;} + + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} +.fnanchor {vertical-align:baseline; + position: relative; + bottom: 0.33em; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} +.hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Woodland Tales, by Ernest Seton-Thompson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Woodland Tales + +Author: Ernest Seton-Thompson + +Release Date: November 30, 2007 [EBook #23667] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODLAND TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 281px;"> +<img src="images/icover.png" width="281" height="400" alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + +<div class='bbox'> +<h1>WOODLAND TALES</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>ERNEST THOMPSON SETON</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/title.png" width="200" height="155" alt="Little man and squirrel" title="Little man and squirrel" /> +</div><div class='center'><br /> +<br /> +WITH 100 DRAWINGS<br /> +<br /> +BY<br /> +<br /> +THE AUTHOR<br /> +<br /> +<small>AUTHOR OF "WILD ANIMALS AT HOME," "WILD<br /> +ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN," "TWO LITTLE SAVAGES,"<br /> +"BIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY," "LIFE<br /> +HISTORIES OF NORTHERN ANIMALS," "ROLF IN<br /> +THE WOODS," "THE BOOK OF WOODCRAFT."<br /> +CHIEF OF THE WOODCRAFT LEAGUE OF AMERICA</small><br /> +<br /> +<small>GARDEN CITY NEW YORK</small><br /> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> +1922<br /></div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='center'><small> +COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1920, 1921, BY<br /> +<br /> +ERNEST THOMPSON SETON<br /> +<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br /> +INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN<br /> +<br /> +COPYRIGHT 1903, 1904, BY THE CENTURY COMPANY<br /> +<br /> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES<br /> +AT<br /> +THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.<br /></small></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + +<div class='center'><i>To the Guide</i></div> + + +<p><span class='smcap'>These</span> Mother Carey Tales were written for children of +all ages, who have not outgrown the delight of a fairy tale. +It might almost be said that they were written chiefly for myself, +for I not only have had the pleasure of telling them to +the little ones, and enjoying their quick response, but have +also had the greater pleasure of thinking them and setting +them down.</p> + +<p>As I write, I look from a loved window, across a landscape +that I love, and my eye rests on a tall beautiful pine planted +with my own hands years ago. It is a mass of green fringes, +with gem-like tips of buds and baby cones, beautiful, exquisitely +beautiful, whether seen from afar as a green spire, +or viewed close at hand as jewellery. It is beautiful, fragile +and—unimportant, as the world sees it; yet through its wind-waved +mass one can get little glimpses of the thing that +backs it all, the storm-defying shaft, the enduring rigid +living growing trunk of massive timber that gives it the +nobility of strength, and adds value to the rest; sometimes +it must be sought for, but it always surely is there, ennobling +the lesser pretty things.</p> + +<p>I hope this tree is a fair image of my fairy tale. I know +my child friends will love the piney fringes and the jewel +cones, and they can find the unyielding timber in its underlying +truth, if they seek for it. If they do not, it is enough +to have them love the cones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> + +<p>All are not fairy tales. Other chapters set forth things +to see, thing to do, things to go to, things to know, things to +remember. These, sanctified in the blue outdoors, spell +"Woodcraft," the one pursuit of man that never dies or palls, +the thing that in the bygone ages gifted him and yet again +will gift him with the seeing eye, the thinking hand, the body +that fails not, the winged soul that stores up precious memories.</p> + +<p>It is hoped that these chapters will show how easy and +alluring, and how good a thing it is.</p> + +<p>While they are meant for the children six years of age +and upward, it is assumed that Mother (or Father) will be +active as a leader; therefore it is addressed, first of all, to +the parent, whom throughout we shall call the "Guide."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Some of these stories date back to my school days, although +the first actually published was "Why the Chicadee Goes +Crazy Twice a Year." This in its original form appeared in +"Our Animal Friends" in September, 1893. Others, as +"The Fingerboard Goldenrod," "Brook-Brownie," "The +Bluebird," "Diablo and the Dogwood," "How the Violets +Came," "How the Indian Summer Came," "The Twin +Stars," "The Fairy Lamps," "How the Littlest Owl Came," +"How the Shad Came," appeared in slightly different form +in the <i>Century Magazine</i>, 1903 and 1904.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>My thanks are due to the Authorities of the American +Museum who have helped me with specimens and criticism; +to the published writings of Dr. W. J. Holland and Clarence +M. Weed for guidance in insect problems; to Britton and +Browne's "Illustrated Flora, U. S. and Canada"; and to +the Nature Library of Doubleday, Page & Co., for light +in matters botanic; to Mrs. Daphne Drake and Mrs. Mary +S. Dominick for many valuable suggestions, and to my wife,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +Grace Gallatin Seton, for help with the purely literary +work.</p> + +<p>Also to Oliver P. Medsger, the naturalist of Lincoln High +School, Jersey City, N. J., for reading with critical care +those parts of the manuscript that deal with flowers and +insects, as well as for the ballad of the Ox-eye, the story of +its coming to America, and the photograph of the Mecha-meck.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'>Things to See in Springtime</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><i>The Seeing Eye</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><small>TALE NO.</small></td><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>1.</td><td align='left'>Blue-eyes, the Snow-child, or the Story of Hepatica</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>2.</td><td align='left'>The Story of the Dawnsinger, or How the Bloodroot Came</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>3.</td><td align='left'>The Prairie-girl with Yellow Hair</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>4.</td><td align='left'>The Cat's-eye Toad, a child of Maka Ina</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>5.</td><td align='left'>How the Bluebird Came</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>6.</td><td align='left'>Robin, the Bird that Loves to Make Clay Pots</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>7.</td><td align='left'>Brook Brownie, or How the Song Sparrow Got his Streaks</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>8.</td><td align='left'>Diablo and the Dogwood</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>9.</td><td align='left'>The Woolly-bear</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>10.</td><td align='left'>How the Violets Came</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>11.</td><td align='left'>Cocoons</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>12.</td><td align='left'>Butterflies and Moths</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>13.</td><td align='left'>The Mourning-cloak Butterfly or the Camberwell Beauty</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>14.</td><td align='left'>The Wandering Monarch</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>15.</td><td align='left'>The Bells of the Solomon Seal</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>16.</td><td align='left'>The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><br />Things to See in Summertime</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>17.</td><td align='left'>How the Mouse-bird made Fun of the Brownie</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>18.</td><td align='left'>The Pot-herb that Sailed with the Pilgrims</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>19.</td><td align='left'>How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>20.</td><td align='left'>The Shamrock and Her Three Sisters</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>21.</td><td align='left'>The Indian Basket-Maker</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>22.</td><td align='left'>Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>23.</td><td align='left'>The Mecha-meck</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>24.</td><td align='left'>Dutchman's Breeches</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>25.</td><td align='left'>The Seven Sour Sisters</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>26.</td><td align='left'>Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>27.</td><td align='left'>The Four Butterflies You See Every Summer</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>28.</td><td align='left'>The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>29.</td><td align='left'>The Great Splendid Silk-moth or <i>Samia Cecropia</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>30.</td><td align='left'>The Green Fairy with the Long Train</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>31.</td><td align='left'>The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>32.</td><td align='left'>The Fairy Bird or the Humming-bird Moth</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>33.</td><td align='left'>Ribgrass or Whiteman's-Foot</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>34.</td><td align='left'>Jack-in-the-Pulpit</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>35.</td><td align='left'>How the Indian Pipe Came</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>36.</td><td align='left'>The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>37.</td><td align='left'>The Hickory Horn-Devil</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><br />Things to See in Autumntime</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>38.</td><td align='left'>The Purple and Gold of Autumn</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>39.</td><td align='left'>Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>40.</td><td align='left'>The Story of the Quaking Aspen or Poplar</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>41.</td><td align='left'>The Witch-hazel</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>42.</td><td align='left'>How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>43.</td><td align='left'>How the Littlest Owl Came</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>44.</td><td align='left'>The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>45.</td><td align='left'>The Mud-dauber Wasp</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>46.</td><td align='left'>The Cicada and the Katydid</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>47.</td><td align='left'>The Digger Wasp That Killed the Cicada</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>48.</td><td align='left'>How the Indian Summer Came</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><br />Things to See in Wintertime</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>49.</td><td align='left'>The North Star, or the Home Star</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>50.</td><td align='left'>The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>51.</td><td align='left'>Orion the Hunter, and his Fight with the Bull</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span>52.</td><td align='left'>The Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>53.</td><td align='left'>The Twin Stars</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>54.</td><td align='left'>Stoutheart and His Black Cravat</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>55.</td><td align='left'>Tracks and the Stories They Tell</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>56.</td><td align='left'>A Rabbit's Story of His Life</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>57.</td><td align='left'>The Singing Hawk</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>58.</td><td align='left'>The Fingerboard Goldenrod</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>59.</td><td align='left'>Woodchuck Day—February Second</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><br />Things to Know</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><i>The Story of The Trail</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>60.</td><td align='left'>How the Pine Tree Tells its Own Story</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>61.</td><td align='left'>Blazes</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>62.</td><td align='left'>Totems</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>63.</td><td align='left'>Symbols</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>64.</td><td align='left'>Sign Language</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>65.</td><td align='left'>The Language of Hens</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>66.</td><td align='left'>Why the Squirrel Wears a Bushy Tail</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>67.</td><td align='left'>Why the Dog Wags His Tail</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>68.</td><td align='left'>Why the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before Lying Down</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>69.</td><td align='left'>The Deathcup of Diablo</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>70.</td><td align='left'>The Poison Ivy, or the Three-fingered Demon of the Woods</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>71.</td><td align='left'>The Medicine in the Sky</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>72.</td><td align='left'>The Angel of the Night</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><br />Things to Do</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><i>The Thinking Hand</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>73.</td><td align='left'>Bird-nesting in Winter</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>74.</td><td align='left'>The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>75.</td><td align='left'>The Monkey-hunt</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>76.</td><td align='left'>The Horsetail and the Jungle</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>77.</td><td align='left'>The Woods in Winter</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>78.</td><td align='left'>The Fish and the Pond</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span>79.</td><td align='left'>Smoke Prints of Leaves</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>80.</td><td align='left'>Bird-boxes</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>81.</td><td align='left'>A Hunter's Lamp</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>82.</td><td align='left'>The Coon Hunt</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_194">194</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>83.</td><td align='left'>The Indian Pot</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>84.</td><td align='left'>Snowflakes</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>85.</td><td align='left'>Are you Alive? Farsight</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>86.</td><td align='left'>Are you Alive? Quicksight</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>87.</td><td align='left'>Are you Alive? Hearing</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>88.</td><td align='left'>Are you Alive? Feeling</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>89.</td><td align='left'>Are you Alive? Quickness</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>90.</td><td align='left'>Are you Alive? Guessing Length</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>91.</td><td align='left'>Are you Alive? Aim or Limb-control</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>92.</td><td align='left'>A Treasure Hunt</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>93.</td><td align='left'>Moving Pictures</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>94.</td><td align='left'>The Natural Autograph Album</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_207">207</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>95.</td><td align='left'>The Crooked Stick</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>96.</td><td align='left'>The Animal Dance of Nana-bo-jou</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>97.</td><td align='left'>The Caribou Dance</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>98.</td><td align='left'>The Council Robe</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><br />Things to Remember</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><i>The Winged Soul that Stores up Precious Memories.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>99.</td><td align='left'>How the Wren Became King of the Birds</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>100.</td><td align='left'>The Snowstorm</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>101.</td><td align='left'>The Fairy Lamps</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>102.</td><td align='left'>The Sweetest Sad Song in the Woods</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>103.</td><td align='left'>Springtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>104.</td><td align='left'>Running the Council</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_228">228</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>105.</td><td align='left'>The Sandpainting of the Fire</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>106.</td><td align='left'>The Woodcraft Kalendar</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>107.</td><td align='left'>Climbing the Mountain</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>108.</td><td align='left'>The Omaha Prayer</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'>A List of Books by the Author</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td></tr> +</table></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<div class='center'><i>Mother Carey</i></div> + + +<p><span class='smcap'>All-mother!</span> Mater Cara! I have never seen you, but +I hungered so to know you that I understood it when you +came, unseen, and silently whispered to me that first time +in the long ago.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell the children what you look like, Mother +Carey, for mortal eye hath never rested on your face; and +yet I can offer them a portrait, O strong Angel of the Wild +Things, neither young nor old—Oh! loving One that neither +trembles nor relents!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A mink he was, a young mink and foolish. One of a +happy brood, who were seeing the world with their mother—a +first glimpse of it. She was anxious and leading, happy +and proud, warning, sniffing, inviting, loving, yet angersome +at trivial disobedience, doling out her wisdom in nips and +examples and shrill warnings that all heeded; except this +one, the clever fool of the family, the self-satisfied smart one. +He would not be warned, the thing smelt so good. He +plunged ahead. Mother was a fool; he was wiser than +Mother. Here was a merry feasting for him. Then <i>clank!</i> +The iron jaws of a trap sprang from the hiding grass, and +clutched on his soft young paws. Screams of pain, futile +strainings, writhings, ragings and moanings; bloody jaws +on the trap; the mother distraught with grief, eager to take +all the punishment herself, but helpless and stunned, unable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span> +to leave; the little brothers, aghast at this first touch of +passion, this glimpse of reality, skurrying, scared, going +and coming, mesmerized, with glowing eyes and bristling +shoulder-fur. And the mother, mad with sorrow, goaded +by the screaming, green-eyed, vacant-minded, despairing—till +a new spirit entered into her, the spirit of Cara the All-mother, +Mother Carey the Beneficent, Mother Carey the +wise Straightwalker. Then the mother mink, inspired, +sprang on her suffering baby. With all the power of her +limbs she sprang and clutched; with all the power of her +love she craunched. His screams were ended; his days in +the land were ended. He had not heeded her wisdom; the +family fool was finished. The race was better, better for +the suffering fool mink; better for the suffering mother mink.</p> + +<p>The spirit left her; left her limp and broken-hearted. +And away on the wind went riding, grimly riding her empire.</p> + +<p>Four swift steeds for riding, has she, the White Wind, +the West Wind, the Wet Wind and the Waking Wind. But +mostly she rides the swift West Wind.</p> + +<p>She is strong, is Mother Carey, strong, wise, inexorable, +calm and direct as an iceberg. And beneficent; but she +loves the strong ones best. She ever favours the wise ones. +She is building, ceaselessly building. The good brick she +sets in a place of honour, and the poor one she grinds into +gravel for the workmen to walk on.</p> + +<p>She loves you, but far less than she does your race. It +may be that you are not wise, and if it seem best, she will +drop a tear and crush you into the dust.</p> + +<p>Three others there be of power, like Mother Carey: +Maka Ina who is Mother Earth; El Sol, the Sun in the Sky, +and Diablo the Evil Spirit of Disease and Dread. But over +all is the One Great Spirit, the Beginning and the Ruler +with these and many messengers, who do His bidding. But +mostly you shall hear of Mother Carey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is long ago since first I heard her whisper, and though +I hear better now than then, I have no happier memory +than that earliest message.</p> + +<p>"Ho Wayseeker," she called, "I have watched your struggle +to find the pathway, and I know that you will love the +things that belong to it. Therefore, I will show you the +trail, and this is what it will lead you to: a thousand pleasant +friendships that will offer honey in little thorny cups, +the twelve secrets of the underbrush, the health of sunlight, +suppleness of body, the unafraidness of the night, the delight +of deep water, the goodness of rain, the story of the trail, +the knowledge of the swamp, the aloofness of knowing,—yea, +more, a crown and a little kingdom measured to your +power and all your own.</p> + +<p>"But there is a condition attached. When you have +found a trail you are thereby ordained a guide. When +you have won a kingdom you must give it to the world or +lose it. For those who have got power must with it bear +responsibility; evade the one, the other fades away."</p> + +<p>This is the pledge I am trying to keep; I want to be your +Guide. I am offering you my little kingdom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> +<h2>THINGS TO SEE IN SPRINGTIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;"> +<img src="images/i018.png" width="303" height="400" alt="Blue-eyes the Snow Child" title="Blue-eyes the Snow Child" /> +<span class="caption">Blue-eyes the Snow Child</span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<h2>Things to See in Springtime</h2> + + +<h3>TALE 1<br /> + +Blue-eyes, the Snow Child, or The Story of Hepatica</h3> + +<p class='cap'>HAVE you ever seen El Sol, the Chief of the Wonder-workers, +brother to Mother Carey? Yes, you +have, though probably you did not know it; at +least you could not look him in the face. Well, I am going +to tell you about him, and tell of a sad thing that +happened to him, and to some one whom he loved more +than words can tell.</p> + +<p>Tall and of blazing beauty was El Sol, the King of the +Wonder-workers; his hair was like shining gold, and stood +straight out a yard from his head, as he marched over the +hilltops.</p> + +<p>Everyone loved him, except a very few, who once had +dared to fight him, and had been worsted. Everyone else +loved him, and he liked everybody, without really loving +them. Until one day, as he walked in his garden, he suddenly +came on a beautiful white maiden, whom he had never +seen before. Her eyes were of the loveliest blue, her hair was +so soft that it floated on the air, and her robe was white, +covered with ferns done in white lace.</p> + +<p>He fell deeply in love with her at once, but she waved a +warning hand, when he tried to come near.</p> + +<p>"Who are you, oh radiant princess? I love you even +before I hear you speak."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am Snowroba, the daughter of the great King Jackfrost," +she said.</p> + +<p>"I love you as I never loved any one. Will you marry +me? I am the King of the Wonder-workers. I will make +you the Queen."</p> + +<p>"No," said she, "I cannot marry you, for it is written that +if one of my people marry one of your people, she will sink +down and die in a day."</p> + +<p>Then El Sol was very sad. But he said, "May I not see +you again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, "I will meet you here in the morning, +for it is pleasant to look on your beauty," and her voice +tinkled sweetly.</p> + +<p>So she met him in the morning, and again on the third +morning. He loved her madly now, and though she held +back, he seized her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.</p> + +<p>Then her arms fell weakly to her sides, and her eyes half +closed as she said: "I know now that the old writing spake +truth. I love you, I love you, my love; but you have killed +me."</p> + +<p>And she sank down, a limp white form, on the leafy +ground.</p> + +<p>El Sol was wild with grief. He tried to revive her, to +bring her back.</p> + +<p>She only whispered, "Good-bye, my love. I am going fast. +You will see me no more, but come to this place a year from +now. It may be Maka Ina will be kind, and will send you +a little one that is yours and mine."</p> + +<p>Her white body melted away, as he bent over it and wept.</p> + +<p>He came back every morning, but saw Snowroba no more. +One year from that day, as he lingered sadly over the sacred +spot, he saw a new and wonderful flower come forth. Its +bloom was of the tenderest violet blue, and it was full of +expression. As he gazed, he saw those eyes again; the scald<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>ing +tears dropped from his eyes, and burned its leaves into +a blotched and brownish colour. He remembered, and +understood her promise now. He knew that this was their +blue-eyed little one.</p> + +<p>In the early springtime we can see it. Three sunny +days on the edge of the snowdrift will bring it forth. The +hunterfolk who find it, say that it is just one of the spring +flowers, out earlier than any other, and is called Liverleaf, +but we Woodcrafters know better. We know it is Hepatica, +the child of El Sol and Snowroba.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 2<br /> + +The Story of the White Dawnsinger<br /> + +or<br /> + +How the Bloodroot Came</h3> + +<p><span class='smcap'>Have</span> you noticed that there are no snow-white birds +in our woods during summer? Mother Carey long ago +made it a rule that all snow-white landbirds should go +north, when the snow was gone in the springtime. And +they were quite obedient; they flew, keeping just on the +south edge of the melting snow.</p> + +<p>But it so happened that one of the sweetest singers of +all—the snow-white Dawnsinger with the golden bill and +the ruby legs—was flying northward with his bride, when +she sprained her wing so she could not fly at all.</p> + +<p>There was no other help for it; they must stay in that +thicket till her wing grew strong again.</p> + +<p>The other white birds flew on, but the Dawnsinger waited. +He sang his merriest songs to cheer her. He brought her +food: and he warned her when enemies were near.</p> + +<p>A moon had come and gone. Now she was well again, +and strong on the wing. He was anxious to go on to their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +northern home. A second warning came from Mother +Carey, "White birds go north."</p> + +<p>But the sunny woodside had become very pleasant, food +was abundant, and the little white lady said, "Why should +we go north when it is so much nicer right here?"</p> + +<p>The Dawnsinger felt the same way, and the next time the +warning came, "White birds go north," he would not listen +at all, and they settled down to a joyful life in the woods.</p> + +<p>They did not know anything about the Yellow-eyed +Whizz. They never would have known, had they gone +north at their right time. But the Yellow-eyed Whizz was +coming. It came, and It always goes straight after white +things in the woods, for brown things It cannot see.</p> + +<p>Dawnsinger was high on a tree, praising the light in a +glorious song, that he had just made up, when It singled +him out by his whiteness, and pierced him through.</p> + +<p>He fell fluttering and dying; and as she flew to him, with a +cry of distress, the Yellow-eyed wicked Whizz struck her +down by his side.</p> + +<p>The Chewinks scratched leaves over the two white bodies, +and—I think—that Mother Carey dropped a tear on the +place.</p> + +<p>That was the end of the White Dawnsinger and his bride. +Yet every year, at that same place, as the snow goes, the +brown leaves move and part, and up from beneath there +comes a beautiful white flower.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 295px;"> +<img src="images/i023.png" width="295" height="400" alt="The Story of the White Dawnsinger" title="The Story of the White Dawnsinger" /> +<span class="caption">The Story of the White Dawnsinger</span> +</div> + +<p>Its bloom threads are yellow like the Dawnsinger's beak, +and its stem is ruby like his legs; all the rest is snow-white like +his plumes. It rises, looks about, faces the sun, and sings +a little odour-song, a little aroma-lay. If you look deep +down into the open soul of the Dawnsinger you will see the +little golden thoughts he sings about. Then up from the +same grave comes another, just the same, but a little +smaller, and for a while they stand up side by side, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +praise the light. But the Wither-bloom that haunts the +flowers as the Yellow-eyed Whizz does the birds, soon finds +them out; their song is ended, their white plumes are scattered, +and they shrink back into their grave, to be side by +side again.</p> + +<p>You can find their little bodies, but deal gently with them, +for they are wounded; you may make them bleed again.</p> + +<p>And when you hear the Chewinks scratching in the underbrush, +remember they are putting leaves on the grave of the +White Dawnsinger.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Surely you have guessed the secret; the flower is the +Bloodroot, and the Whizz is the Sharp-shinned Hawk.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 3<br /> + +The Prairie-girl with Yellow Hair</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 268px;"> +<img src="images/i025.png" width="268" height="400" alt="The Prairie-girl" title="The Prairie-girl" /> +<span class="caption">The Prairie-girl</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Tall</span> and fair was the Prairie-girl. She was not very +pretty, but her form was slender and graceful, and her head +was covered with a mass of golden hair that made you see +her from afar off. It has been whispered that she was deeply +in love with El Sol, for wherever he went, she turned her head +to look at him; and when she could not see him, she drooped +and languished. But he never seemed to notice her. As +she grew older her golden head turned white, and at last +the swish of Mother Carey's horses carried away all her +white hair, and left her old, bald, and ugly. So she pined +and died, and Maka Ina buried her poor little body under +the grass. But some say it was Father Time that blew her +hair away, and that El Sol had the body cremated.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>If you look on the lawns or the fields in springtime, you +are sure to find the Prairie-girl. The Guide can show her to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +you, if you do not know her. But he will call her "Common +Dandelion," and I do not know of any flower that has so +many things for us children to remember.</p> + +<p>If you are learning French, you will see how it got the +name "Dandelion"; it used to be written <i>dent de lion;</i> that +is, "tooth of a lion"; because its leaves are edged with sharp +teeth, like a lion's jaw.</p> + +<p>Its golden-yellow flower is said to open when the Swallows +arrive from the south, that is, in April; and though it blooms +chiefly in springtime it keeps on blooming till long after +the Swallows fly away. It certainly thrives as long as the +sun shines on it, and fades when the cold dark season comes. +But I have seen it out in November; that is, the Dandelion +blooms for fully nine months. I do not know of any other +flower that does; most of them are done in one month.</p> + +<p>When the yellow flower is over, its place is taken by a +beautiful globe of soft, white plumes; this is why the story +says its golden hair turns white with age. The children +believe that this woolly head will tell you the time of day. +You hold it up, then pretend you are Father Time blowing +her hair away, blow a sharp puff with your breath, then +another and another, till the plumes are blown away. If +it takes four blows, they say it means four o'clock; but it is +not a very true clock.</p> + +<p>Some children make a wish, then blow once and say, +"this year"; the second time, "next year"; the third time, +"some time"; the fourth time, "never." Then begin all +over, and keep on as long as any plumes are left, to tell when +the wish is coming true.</p> + +<p>Now pull the head off the stalk. You will find it leaves +a long, open tube that sounds like a trumpet when you blow +through it from the small end. If you force your finger into +the big end, and keep pushing, you split the tube into two +or three pieces; put these in your mouth and they will curl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +up like ringlets. Some children hang these on their ears +for ornaments. Take a stalk for each year of your age; +pull its head off. Then you will find that the top end will +go into the bottom and make a ring. Use all the stalks you +have gathered, to make a chain; now throw this chain into a +low tree. If it sticks the first time, your wish will come +true this year. Each time it falls puts your wish a year +farther away.</p> + +<p>This may not be true; but it is a game to play. Some +big girls use it, to find out when they are going to be +married.</p> + +<p>Now dig up the whole plant, root and all—the gardener +will be much obliged to you for doing so—take it home, and +ask the Guide to make the leaves into a salad; you will find +it good to eat; most Europeans eat it regularly, either raw, +or boiled as greens.</p> + +<p>Last of all, ask the Guide to roast the root, till it is brown +and crisp, then grind it in a coffee-mill, and use it to make +coffee. Some people think it better than real coffee; at any +rate, the doctors say it is much healthier, for it is nourishing +food, and does not do one any harm at all. But perhaps +you will not like it. You may think all the time you are +eating the body of the poor little Prairie-girl, who died of +love.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 4<br /> + +The Cat's-eye Toad, a Child of Maka Ina</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> you were little, O Guide! didn't you delight in the +tales of gnomes or <i>nibelungen</i>, those strange underground +creatures that lived hidden from the light, and busied themselves +with precious stones and metals? How unwillingly +we gave up those glad beliefs, as we inevitably grew old +and lost our fairyland eyes!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 326px;"> +<img src="images/i028.png" width="326" height="400" alt="The Cat's eye Toad (life size)" title="The Cat's eye Toad (life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Cat's eye Toad (life size)</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p>But you must not give up all your joyful creeds; you must +keep on believing in the weird underground dwarfs; for +I am going to tell you of one that the cold calculating Professor +Science has at last accepted, and that lives in your +own back-yard. That is, the Cat's-eye Toad or Spadefoot. +It is much like a common Toad, but a little smoother, the +digging spade on its hind foot is bigger and its eye, its beautiful +gold-stone eye, has the pupil up and down like that of a +Cat, instead of level as in its cousin, the warty Hoptoad.</p> + +<p>But the wonderful thing about the Cat's-eye is that it +spends most of its life underground, coming out in the early +springtime for a few days of the most riotous honeymoon +in some small pond, where it sings a loud chorus till mated, +lays a few hundred eggs, to be hatched into tadpoles, then +backs itself into its underground world by means of the boring +machine on its hind feet, to be heard no more that season, +and seen no more, unless some one chance to dig it out, +just as Hans in the story dug out the mole-gnome.</p> + +<p>In the fairy tale the Shepherd-boy was rewarded by the +gnome for digging him out; for he received both gold and +precious stones. But our gnome does not wish us to dig +him out; nevertheless, if you do, you will be rewarded with a +golden fact, and a glimpse of two wonderful jewel eyes.</p> + +<p>According to one who knows him well, the Cat's-eye +buries itself far underground, and sleeps days, or weeks, +<i>perhaps years</i> at a time. Once a grave-digger found a Cat's-eye +three feet two inches down in the earth with no way out.</p> + +<p>How and when are we then to find this strange creature? +Only during his noisy honeymoon in April.</p> + +<p>Do you know the soft trilling whistle of the common +Hoptoad in May? The call of the Cat's-eye is of the same +style but very loud and harsh, and heard early in April. +If on some warm night in springtime, you hear a song which +sounds like a cross between a Toad's whistle and a Chicken's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +squawk, get a searchlight and go quietly to the place. The +light will help you to come close, and in the water up to his +chin, you will see him, his gold-stone eyes blazing like jewels +and his throat blown out like a mammoth pearl, each time +he utters the "squawk" which he intends for a song. And +it is a song, and a very successful one, for a visit to the +same pond a week or two later, will show you—not the +Cat's-eye or his mate, they have gone a-tunnelling—but a +swarm of little black pin-like tadpole Cat's-eyes, born and +bred in the glorious sunlight but doomed and ready, if +they live, to follow in their parents' tracks far underground. +Sure proof that the song did win a mate, and was crowned +with the success for which all woodland, and marshland +song first was made.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 5<br /> + +How the Bluebird Came</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Nana-bo-jou</span>, that some think is the Indian name for +El Sol and some say is Mother Carey, was sleeping his +winter's sleep in the big island just above the thunder-dam +that men call Niagara. Four moons had waned, but +still he slept. The frost draperies of his couch were gone; +his white blanket was burnt into holes. He turned over +a little; then the ice on the river cracked like near-by thunder. +When he turned again, it began to slip over the big +beaver-dam of Niagara, but still he did not awake.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 323px;"> +<img src="images/i031.png" width="323" height="343" alt="How the Bluebird Came" title="How the Bluebird Came" /> +<span class="caption">How the Bluebird Came</span> +</div> + +<p>The great Er-Beaver in his pond, that men call Lake +Erie, flapped his tail, and the waves rolled away to the shore, +and set the ice heaving, cracking, and groaning; but +Nana-bo-jou slept on.</p> + +<p>Then the Ice-demons pounded the shore of the island with +their clubs. They pushed back the whole river-flood till<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +the channel was dry, then let it rush down like the end of all +things, and they shouted together:</p> + +<p>"Nana-bo-jou! Nana-bo-jou! Nana-bo-jou! Wake +up!"</p> + +<p>But still he slept calmly on.</p> + +<p>Then came a soft, sweet voice, more gentle than the mating +turtle of Miami. It was in the air, but it was nowhere, +and yet it was in the trees, in the water, and it was in Nana-bo-jou +too. He felt it, and it awoke him. He sat up and +looked about. His white blanket was gone; only a few +tatters of it were to be seen in the shady places. In the +sunny spots the shreds of the fringe with its beads had taken +root and were growing into little flowers with beady eyes, +Spring Beauties as they are called now. The small voice +kept crying: "Awake! the spring is coming!"</p> + +<p>Nana-bo-jou said: "Little voice, where are you? Come +here."</p> + +<p>But the little voice, being everywhere, was nowhere, and +could not come at the hero's call.</p> + +<p>So he said: "Little voice, you are nowhere because you +have no place to live in; I will make you a home."</p> + +<p>So Nana-bo-jou took a curl of birch bark and made a +little wigwam, and because the voice came from the skies +he painted the wigwam with blue mud, and to show that it +came from the Sunland he painted a red sun on it. On the +floor he spread a scrap of his own white blanket, then for a +fire he breathed into it a spark of life, and said: "Here, little +voice, is your wigwam." The little voice entered and took +possession, but Nana-bo-jou had breathed the spark of +life into it. The smoke-vent wings began to move and to +flap, and the little wigwam turned into a beautiful Bluebird +with a red sun on its breast and a shirt of white. Away +it flew, but every year it comes as winter wanes, the Bluebird +of the spring. The voice still dwells in it, and we feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +that it has lost nothing of its earliest power when we hear +it cry: "Awake! the spring is coming!"</p> + + +<h3>TALE 6<br /> +Robin, the Bird that Loves to Make Clay Pots</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Everyone</span> knows the Robin; his reddish-brown breast, +gray back, white throat, and dark wings and tail are easily +remembered. If you colour the drawing, you will always +remember it afterward. The Robin comes about our +houses and lawns; it lets us get close enough to see it. It +has a loud, sweet song. All birds have a song<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a>; and all sing +when they are happy. As they sing most of the time, +except when they are asleep, or when moulting, they must +have a lot of happiness in their lives.</p> + +<p>Here are some things to remember about the Robin. It is +one of the earliest of all our birds to get up in the morning, +and it begins to sing long before there is daylight.</p> + +<p>Birds that live in the trees, <i>hop;</i> birds that live on the +ground, <i>walk</i> or <i>run;</i> but the Robin lives partly in the trees +and partly on the ground, so sometimes he hops and sometimes +he runs.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 325px;"> +<img src="images/i034.png" width="325" height="400" alt="The Robin Making Clay Pots" title="The Robin Making Clay Pots" /> +<span class="caption">The Robin Making Clay Pots</span> +</div> + +<p>When he alights on a fence or tree, he looks at you and +flashes the white spots on the outer corners of his tail. Again +and again he does this. Why? That is his way of letting +you know that he is a Robin. He is saying in signal code—flash +and wig-wag—"I'm a Robin, I'm a Robin, I'm a +Robin." So you will not mistake him for some bird that is +less loved.</p> + +<p>The Robin invented pottery before men did; his nest is +always a clay pot set in a little pile of straws. Sometime,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +get a Robin's nest after the bird is done with it; dry it well, +put it on the fire very gently; leave it till all the straws are +burned away, and then if it does not go to pieces, you will +find you have a pretty good earthen pot.</p> + +<p>The Robin loves to make these pots. I have known a +cock Robin make several which he did not need, just for the +fun of making them.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine said to me once, "Come, and I will show +you the nest of a crazy Robin." We went to the woodshed +and there on a beam were six perfectly good Robin nests all +in a row; all of them empty.</p> + +<p>"There," said my friend. "All of these six were built by a +cock Robin in about ten days or two weeks. He seemed +to do nothing but sing and build nests. Then after finishing +the last one, he disappeared. Wasn't he crazy?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "not at all. He was not crazy; he was industrious. +Let me finish the chapter. The hen Robin was +sitting on the eggs, the cock bird had nothing else to do, +so he put in the time at the two things he did the best and +loved the most: singing and nest-building. Then after +the young were hatched in the home nest, he had plenty +to do caring for them, so he ceased both building and singing, +for that season."</p> + +<p>I have often heard of such things. Indeed, they are +rather common, but not often noticed, because the Robin +does not often build all the extra nests in one place.</p> + +<p>Do you know the lovely shade called Robin's-egg blue? +The next time you see a Robin's nest with eggs in it you +will understand why it was so named and feel for a moment, +when first you see it, that you have found a casket +full of most exquisite jewels.</p> + +<p>Next to nest-building, singing is the Robin's gift, and the +songs that he sings are full of joy. He says, "<i>cheerup, +cheer up, cheerily cheer-up</i>"; and he means it too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> Some, like the Turkey-buzzards, have not yet been heard to sing, but I +believe they do.</p></div></div> + + +<h3>TALE 7<br /> + +Brook Brownie, or How the Song Sparrow Got +His Streaks</h3> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">His</span> Mother was the Brook and his sisters were the Reeds,<br /> +They, every one, applauded when he sang about his deeds.<br /> +His vest was white, his mantle brown, as clear as they could be,<br /> +And his songs were fairly bubbling o'er with melody and glee.<br /> +But an envious Neighbour splashed with mud our Brownie's coat and vest,<br /> +And then a final handful threw that stuck upon his breast.<br /> +The Brook-bird's mother did her best to wash the stains away;<br /> +But there they stuck, and, as it seems, are very like to stay.<br /> +And so he wears the splashes and the mud blotch, as you see;<br /> +But his songs are bubbling over still with melody and glee.<br /> +</div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 320px;"> +<img src="images/i037.png" width="320" height="400" alt="Brook Brownie" title="Brook Brownie" /> +<span class="caption">Brook Brownie</span> +</div> + + +<h3>TALE 8<br /> + +Diablo and the Dogwood</h3> + + +<div class="figright" style="width: 267px;"> +<img src="images/i038.png" width="267" height="400" alt="The Dogwood Bloom" title="The Dogwood Bloom" /> +<span class="caption">The Dogwood Bloom</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">What</span> a glorious thing is the Maytime Dogwood in our +woods! How it does sing out its song! More loudly and +clearly it sings than any other spring flower! For it is not +one, but a great chorus; and I know it is singing that "The +spring, the very spring is in the land!"</p> + +<p>I suppose if one had King Solomon's fayland ears, one +might hear the Dogwood music like a lot of church bells +pealing, like the chorus of the cathedral where Woodthrush +is the preacher-priest and the Veeries make responses.</p> + +<p>It was Adam's favourite tree, they say, in the Garden of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +Eden. And it grew so high, flowered so wonderfully, and +gave so much pleasure that Diablo, who is also called the +Devil, wanted to kill it. He made up his mind that he +would blight and scatter every shining leaf of its snowy +bloom. So one dark night he climbed a Honey Locust +tree near the gate, and swung by his tail over the wall, intending +to tear off all the lovely blossoms. But he got a +shock when he found that every flower was in the <i>shape +of a cross</i>, which put them beyond his power to blight. He +was furious at not being able to destroy its beauty, so did +the worst he could. Keeping away from the cross he bit +a piece out of the edge of every snowy flower leaf, and then +jumped back to the Honey Locust tree.</p> + +<p>The Locust was ashamed when she found that she had +helped Diablo to do such a mean bit of mischief, so she +grew a bristling necklace of strong spikes to wear; they were +so long and sharp that no one since, not even Diablo himself, +has ever been able to climb that Honey Locust tree.</p> + +<p>But it was too late to save the Dogwood bloom. The +bites were out, and they never healed up again, as you can +see to this very day.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 9<br /> + +The Woolly-bear</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 264px;"> +<img src="images/i040.png" width="264" height="400" alt="The Woolly-bear (the moth is 1-1/4 life size)" title="The Woolly-bear (the moth is 1-1/4 life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Woolly-bear (the moth is 1-1/4 life size)</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Do</span> you know the Woolly-bear Caterpillar? It is divided +into three parts; the middle one brown, the two ends black. +Everyone notices the Woolly-bear, because it comes out in +early spring, as soon as the frost is over, and crawls on the +fences and sidewalks as though they belonged to it. It does +not seem to be afraid of any one or anything. It will march +across the road in front of a motor car, or crawl up the leg +of your boot. Sometimes when you brush it off with your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +hand, little hairs are left sticking in your fingers, because it +is really like a small porcupine, protected by short spears +sticking out of its skin in all directions. Here at the side +of the picture, is one of these hairs seen under a microscope.</p> + +<p>Where did the Woolly-bear come from? It was hatched +from an egg last summer.</p> + +<p>And now what is going to happen? It will stuff itself with +rib-grass or other low plants, till it has grown bigger; then it +will get a warning from the All-mother to prepare for the +great change. In some low dry place under a log, stone or +fence-rail, it will spin a cocoon with its own spikey hairs +outside for a protector. In this rough hairy coffin it will +roll itself up, for its "little death," as the Indians call it, and +Mother Carey will come along with her sleeping wand, and +touch it, so it will go into sound sleep, but for only a few +days. One bright sunny morning old Mother Carey comes +around again, touches the Woolly-bear bundle-baby, and +out of it comes the Woolly-bear, only now it is changed like +the Prince in the story into a beautiful Moth called the +Tiger-Moth! Out he comes, and if you look up at one end +of the coffin he is leaving, you may see the graveclothes he +wore when first he went to sleep. Away he flies now to +seek his beautiful mate, and soon she lays a lot of eggs, from +each of which will come another little Woolly-bear to grow +into a big Woolly-bear, and do it all over again.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 10<br /> + +How the Violets Came</h3> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The</span> Meadow she was sorry<br /> +For her sister Sky, you see,<br /> +'Cause, though her robe of blue was bright,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>'Twas plain as it could be.<br /> +<br /> +And so she sent a skylark up<br /> +To trim the Sky robe right<br /> +With daisies from the Meadow<br /> +(You can see them best at night).<br /> +<br /> +And every scrap of blue cut out<br /> +To make those daisies set<br /> +Came tumbling down upon the grass<br /> +And grew a violet.<br /> +</div> + + +<h3>TALE 11<br /> + +Cocoons</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Everyone</span> loves to go a-hunting. Our forebears were +hunters for so many ages that the hunting spirit is strong +in all of us, even though held in check by the horror of giving +pain to a fellow being. But the pleasure of being outdoors, +of seeking for hidden treasures, of finding something that +looks at first like old rubbish, and then turns out to be a +precious and beautiful thing, that is ours by right of the old +law—finders, keepers. That is a kind of hunting that every +healthy being loves, and there are many ways and chances +for you to enjoy it.</p> + +<p>Go out any time between October and April, and look in +all the low trees and high bushes for the little natural rag-bundles +called "cocoons." Some are bundle-shaped and +fast to a twig their whole length. Some hang like a Santa +Claus bag on a Christmas tree; but all may be known by +their hairiness or the strong, close cover of fine gray or +brown fibre or silk, without seams and woven to keep out +the wet.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 267px;"> +<img src="images/i043.png" width="267" height="400" alt="Cocoons" title="Cocoons" /> +<span class="caption">Cocoons</span> +</div> + +<p>They are so strongly fastened on, that you will have to +break the twig to get the bundle down. If it seems very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +light, and rattled when you shake it, you will likely see +one or more small, sharp, round holes in it. This means +that an insect enemy has destroyed the little creature sleeping +within. If the Cocoon is perfect and seems solid and +heavy, take it home, and put it in a cardboard, or wooden +box, which has a wire screen, or gauze cover. Keep it in a +light place, not too dry, till the springtime comes; then one +day a miracle will take place. The case will be cut open +from within, and out will come a gorgeous Moth. It is +like the dull, dark grave opening up at the resurrection to +let forth a new-born, different being with wings to fly in the +heavens above.</p> + +<p>In the drawing I have shown five different kinds of bundle-baby, +then at the bottom have added the jug-handled +bundle-baby of the Tomato worm; it does not make a Cocoon +but buries itself in the ground when the time comes +for the Great Sleep. Kind Mother Earth protects it as +she does the Hickory Horn-Devil, so it does not need to +make a Cocoon at all.</p> + +<p>There is a wonderful story about each of these bundle-babies. +You will never get weary if you follow and learn +them, for each one differs from the last. Some of them I +hope to tell you in this book, and before we begin I want you +to know some of the things that men of science have learned, +and why a Butterfly is not a Moth.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 12<br /> +Butterflies and Moths</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Do you</span> remember the dear old fairy tale of Beauty and +the Beast? How Beauty had to marry the Beast to save +her father's life? But as soon as she had bravely agreed +to sacrifice herself—as soon as she gave the fateful "Yes"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +the Beast stood up on his hind legs, his horns, hoofs and +hide rolled off, and he was turned back into his true shape, +a splendid young Prince whom she could not help loving; +and they lived happy ever after.</p> + +<p>Do you know that just such transformations and happy +weddings are going on about us all the time? The Beast +is an ugly Caterpillar, the Princess Beauty is the Butterfly or +the Moth. And when the Beast is changed into the Prince +Charming and meets with Princess Beauty, they are just as +madly happy as they tell it in the fairy books. I know +it, for I have seen the transformation, and I have seen the +pair go off on their wedding flight.</p> + +<p>Men of science have been trying to explain these strange +transformations, and to discover why the Prince and Princess +do not need to eat or drink, once they have won their +highest form, their life of wings and joy. But they have not +got much farther than giving names to the things we have +long loved and seen as children, dividing the winged wonders +into two big families called Butterflies and Moths.</p> + +<p>Do you know the difference between a Butterfly and a +Moth?</p> + +<p>Taken together they make a large group that are called +Scale-wings, because they alone among insects, have scales +or tiny feathers like dust on the wings. Butterflies are +Scale-wings that fly by day, and have club-shaped feelers; +they mostly fold one wing against the other when they +alight, and in the chrysalis, or bundle-baby stage, they are +naked and look like an African ear-drop.</p> + +<p>Moths are Scale-wings that fly by night, and have switch +or feather-shaped feelers; they keep their wings spread open +when they alight, and in the bundle-baby stage, they are +wrapped in a cocoon. There are some that do not keep +to these rules, but they are rare, and the shape of the feelers +will tell whether it is a Moth or a Butterfly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>All of these Scale-wings are hatched from eggs, and +come first, as a worm, grub, or caterpillar; next as a chrysalis +pupa or bundle-baby; last as the winged creature. That +is, first a Beast and last a Beauty. Each of them must +at one time be the ugly one, before the great change comes. +But I must tell you a truth that the Fairy Books left out, +and which maybe you have guessed—Princess Beauty too +was at one time forced to live and look like a Beast, till she +had fought her own fight, had worked out her own high +destiny, and won her way to wings.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 13<br />The Mourning-cloak Butterfly, or the Camberwell +Beauty</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was once a lady who dwelt in Camberwell. She +was so good to see that people called her "The Camberwell +Beauty." She dressed so magnificently that her robe was +covered with gold, and spangled with precious stones of +most amazing colours. Especially proud was she, of the +row of big blue diamonds that formed the border; and she +loved to go forth into the world to see and be seen; although +she knew that the country was full of robbers who would be +sure to steal her jewels if they could. Then she made a +clever plan, she kept on the beautiful things that she loved +to dress in, but over all she hung a black velvet mourning +cloak which nobody could possibly want to steal. Then +she went up and down the roads as much as she pleased.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 301px;"> +<img src="images/i047.png" width="301" height="400" alt="Mourning-cloak Butterfly (3/4 life size)" title="Mourning-cloak Butterfly (3/4 life size)" /> +<span class="caption">Mourning-cloak Butterfly (3/4 life size)</span> +</div> + +<p>Well, this story may be not quite true, but it is partly true, +and the beautiful lady is known to-day as the Mourning-cloak +Butterfly. There it is, plain to be seen, the black +mourning cloak, but peeping from under it, you can see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +golden border and some of the blue diamonds too, if you +look very carefully.</p> + +<p>In the North Woods where I spent my young days, the +first butterfly to be seen in the springtime was the Mourning-cloak, +and the reason we saw it so early in the season, +yes, even in the snowtime, was because this is one of the Butterflies +that sometimes sleep all winter, and so live in two +different seasons.</p> + +<p>Its eggs are laid on the willows, elms, or poplars, in early +springtime. The young soon hatch, and eat so much, and +grow so fast, that five weeks after the eggs are laid, and three +after they are hatched, the caterpillar is full grown, and hangs +itself up as a chrysalis under some sheltering board or rail. +In two weeks more, the wonderful event takes place, the +perfect Butterfly comes forth; and there is another +Mourning-cloak to liven the roadside, and amaze us with +its half-hidden beauty.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 14<br />The Wandering Monarch</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Did</span> you ever read the old Greek story of Ulysses, King +of Ithaca, the Wandering Monarch, who for twenty years +roamed over sea and land away from home—always trying +to get back, but doomed to keep on travelling, homesick +and weary, but still moving on; until his name became a +byword for wandering?</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 308px;"> +<img src="images/i049.png" width="308" height="400" alt="MONARCH BUTTERFLY "The Wanderer" in Three Stages: Cocoon, Caterpillar, +and Butterfly" title="MONARCH BUTTERFLY "The Wanderer" in Three Stages: Cocoon, Caterpillar, +and Butterfly" /> +<span class="caption">MONARCH BUTTERFLY<br /> +"The Wanderer" in Three Stages: Cocoon, Caterpillar, +and Butterfly</span> +</div> + +<p>In our own woods and our own fields in America we have a +Wandering Monarch—the "Big Red Butterfly" as we children +called it—the "Monarch" as it is named by the butterfly +catchers.</p> + +<p>It is called the "Wanderer" chiefly because it is the only +one of our Butterflies that migrates like the birds. In the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +late summer it gathers in great swarms when the bright +days are waning, and flies away to warmer lands. I have +often seen it going, yet I do not remember that I ever saw +it come back in the springtime; but it comes, though not +in great flocks like those that went south.</p> + +<p>One of the common names of this splendid creature is +"Milkweed Butterfly" because its grub or caterpillar is fond +of feeding on the leaves of the common milkweed.</p> + +<p>The drawing shows the size and style of the grub; in colour +it is yellow or yellowish green with black bands.</p> + +<p>As soon as it is grown big enough and fat enough, the grub +hangs itself up as a "chrysalis" which is a Greek word that +may be freely rendered into "golden jewel." The middle +drawing shows its shape; in colour it is of a pale green with +spots of gold, or as it has been described "a green house with +golden nails."</p> + +<p>After about two weeks the great change takes place, and +the bundle-baby or chrysalis opens to let out the splendid +red-brown Butterfly, of nearly the same red as a Cock +Robin's breast in springtime, with lines and embroidery +of black and its border set with pearls. Near the middle +of the hind wing is a dark spot like a thickening of one rib. +This has been called a "sachet bag" or "scent-pocket," +and though not very ornamental to look at, is of more use to +it than the most beautiful white pearl of the border. For +this is the battery of its wireless telegraph. We think our +ships and aeroplanes very far advanced because they can +signal miles away, and yet the Wandering Monarch had +an outfit for sending messages long before it was ever +dreamed of by man. Maybe it is not a very strong battery, +but it certainly reaches for miles; and maybe its messages +are not very clear, but they serve at least to let the Monarchs +know where their wives are, and how to find them, which is +something.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>There is one other reason for calling this the Wanderer. +Although it is an American by birth, it has travelled to +England and the Philippines and is ever going farther over +the world till at last no doubt it will have seen all lands and +possessed them.</p> + +<p>It makes old Ulysses look like a very stay-at-home, for +his farthest travels never went beyond the blue Mediterranean, +and his whole twenty years of voyaging covered less +than the states east of the Mississippi—much less than +our Red Wanderer covers in a single summer.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 15<br /> +The Bells of the Solomon Seal</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Let</span> us go out into the woods, and look for the Solomon +Seal. This is May and we should find it in some half open +place, where it is neither wet nor dry. Here it is! See +the string of bells that hangs from its curving stem. Dig +out its roots, wash off the earth, and you will see the mark +of King Solomon's Seal that gives its name to the plant. +Now listen to the story of it all.</p> + +<p>King Solomon had the "second sight" that means the +deeper sight, the magic eyesight which made him see +through a stone wall, or read men's thoughts. King Solomon +had fayland ears; which means, he could hear all sounds +from A to Z; while common ears, like yours and mine, hear +only the middle sounds from K to Q.</p> + +<p>Everything that lives and moves is giving out music; +every flower that blooms is singing its song. We cannot +hear, our ears are too dull; but King Solomon could. And +one day, as he walked through the woods, he heard a new +flower-song that made him stop and listen. It had strange +music with it, and part of that was a chime of golden bells.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 292px;"> +<img src="images/i052.png" width="292" height="400" alt="The Bells of the Solomon Seal" title="The Bells of the Solomon Seal" /> +<span class="caption">The Bells of the Solomon Seal</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>The great King sat down on a bank. His fayland eyes +could see right into the ground. He saw the fat fleshy root +like a little goblin, reaching its long white fingers down into +the soil, picking out the magic crystals to pack away in its +pockets; and he could see the tall stem like a wood-elf carrying +them up, and spreading them upon its flat hands, so +they could soak up the juices of the sun and air. He could +see them turning into a wonderful stuff like amber dew, +with a tang like new-cut timber. But it was not yet done, +so he could not tell just what it might be good for. Now +it was springtime, and it would be harvest red moon +before the little worker would have the magic healing stored +in its treasure bags underground. So to prevent any one +harming or hindering the plant till its work was done, the +King took out his seal ring and stamped seal marks all +along the root, where they are unto this day. And then +to make it sure he made the golden bell chimes become +visible so every one could see them. There they hang like +a row of ringing bells.</p> + +<p>But the King never came back to learn the rest of it, for +he had to build the temple; and he had many wives who took +up a great deal of his time. So the world has never found +out just what is the magic power of the plant. But it is +there, be sure of that, just as surely as the peal of golden +bells is there, and the marks of the great King's Seal.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 16<br /> +The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 276px;"> +<img src="images/i054.png" width="276" height="400" alt="The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal" title="The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal" /> +<span class="caption">The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Over</span> a month later, the King suddenly remembered that +he had not been out to see the plant whose root he had sealed. +He was very busy at the time, as he had the temple to build, +and many wives to look after; so he called Djin, a good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +goblin, who does hard work and said, "Go and see that no +one has harmed that plant," then told him how to find it.</p> + +<p>Away went the good goblin, like a flash. He was a very +obedient servant, but not very bright; and when he came +to the woods, he looked all around for the plant with the +chime of bells, for King Solomon had forgotten to say that +the bells do not ring after June, and it was now July. So +the goblin looked about for a long time. He did not dare +to go back and say he could not find it—that would have +been a terrible crime, so he looked and looked. At last +he heard a little tinkle of bells away off in the woods. He +flew to the place, and there was a plant like the one he sought +but its bells were of silver, and all in a bunch instead of a +long string. The good goblin dug down to the big fat root +in the ground and found that the seal marks had grown +over—at least he thought they had—for they were nowhere +to be seen. So he looked around for something to help. +His eye fell on an acorn cup. He took this, and using it for +a seal, he stamped the root all over.</p> + +<p>Then he took a piece of the root and a sprig and flew +back to show the King. Solomon smiled and said: "You +did the best you could, but you have marked the wrong +root. Listen! This is not the golden chime, but the chime +of silver bells."</p> + +<p>That is the story of it and that is why it has ever since +been called the False Solomon Seal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> +<h2>THINGS TO SEE IN SUMMERTIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 264px;"> +<img src="images/i058.png" width="264" height="400" alt="The Brownie and the Mouse-bird" title="The Brownie and the Mouse-bird" /> +<span class="caption">The Brownie and the<br /> +Mouse-bird</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Things to See in Summertime</h2> + + +<h3>TALE 17<br /> +How the Mouse-bird Made Fun of the Brownie</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> there was a conceited Brownie, who thought +he could do more things and do them better than +any other of his people. He had not tried yet, +for he was very young, but he said he was going to do them +some day!</p> + +<p>One morning a sly old Brownie, really making fun of +him, said: "Why don't you catch that Phoebe-bird? It +is quite easy if you put a little salt on his tail." Away went +Smarty Brownie to try. But the Phoebe would not sit +still, and the Brownie came back saying: "He bobbed his +tail so, the salt would not stay on."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the sly old Brownie, "there is a little Mouse-bird +whose tail never bobs. You can easily catch him, for +you see, he does not even fly, but crawls like a mouse up +the tree," and he pointed to a little brown Creeper. By +this time the young Brownie knew that the others were +laughing at him, so he said rather hotly, "I'll just show you +right now."</p> + +<p>He took an acorn cup full of salt, and went after the +Mouse-bird. It was at the bottom of the big tree, creeping +up, round and round, as if on a spiral staircase, and the +Brownie began to climb in the same way. But every little +while the climber had to stop and rest. This had strange<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[43]</a></span> +results, for there is a law in Brownie land, that wherever +one of the little people stops to sit down, or rest, a toadstool +must spring up for him to sit on. So the track of the +Brownie up the trunk became one long staircase of toadstool +steps, some close, some far apart, but each showing where the +Brownie had rested. They came closer together toward the +top where the Brownie had got tired, but he was coming very +near to the Creeper now. He got his pinch of salt all ready, +as his friends down below kept calling and jeering: "Now +you've got him, now is your chance." But just as he was +going to leap forward and drop the salt on its tail, the +Creeper gave a tiny little laugh like "<i>Tee-tee-tee</i>," spread +its wings, for it could fly very well, and sailed away to +the bottom of the next tree to do the spiral staircase all +over again, while Smarty Brownie was so mad that he +jumped to the ground and hid away from his friends for +two days. When he came back he did not talk quite so +much as he used to. But to this day you can see the staircase +of toadstools on the tree trunks where the Brownie +went up.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 18<br /> +The Pot-herb that Sailed with the Pilgrims</h3> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Come</span>," said the Guide, "to-day I am going to show you +a Pot-herb that came from England with the Pilgrim Fathers +and spread over the whole of America. There is a story +about it that will keep it ever in your memory."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 248px;"> +<img src="images/i061.png" width="248" height="400" alt="The Pilgrim's Pot-herb" title="The Pilgrim's Pot-herb" /> +<span class="caption">The Pilgrim's Pot-herb</span> +</div> + +<p>The Pilgrims had landed in Massachusetts, and slowly +made farms for themselves as they cleared off the forest. +They had a very hard time at first, but the Indians helped +them; sometimes with gifts of venison, and sometimes by +showing them which things in the woods were good to eat.</p> + +<p>There was a Squaw named Monapini, "the Root-digger,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +who was very clever at finding forest foods. She became +friendly with a white woman named Ruth Pilgrim, and so +Ruth's family got the benefit of it, and always had on the +table many good things that came from the woods.</p> + +<p>One day, long after the farms were cleared and doing well, +the white woman said, "See, Mother Monapini, thou hast +shown me many things, now I have somewhat to show thee. +There hath grown up in our wheat field a small herb that +must have come from England with the wheat, for hitherto +I have not seen it elsewhere. We call it lamb's-quarter, +for the lamb doth eat it by choice. Or maybe because +we do eat it with a quarter of lamb. Nevertheless it maketh +a good pot-herb when boiled."</p> + +<p>The old Indian woman's eyes were fixed on the new plant +that was good to eat: and she said, "Is it very good, oh +white sister?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and our medicine men do say that it driveth out +the poison that maketh itch and spots on the skin." After +a moment Monapini said, "It looketh to me like the foot +of a wild goose."</p> + +<p>"Well found," chuckled Ruth, "for sometimes our people +do call it by that very name."</p> + +<p>"That tells me different," said the Indian.</p> + +<p>"What mean you," said Ruth.</p> + +<p>"Is not a goose foot very strong, so it never catcheth cold +in the icy water?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And this hath the shape of a goose foot?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then my Shaman tells that it is by such likeness that +the Great Spirit showeth the goose foot plant to be charged +with the driving out of colds."</p> + +<p>"It may be so," said the white woman, "but this I know. +It is very good and helpeth the whole body."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Indian picked a handful of the pot-herbs, then stared +hard at the last; a very tall and strong one.</p> + +<p>"What hast thou now, Monapini?" The red woman +pointed to the stem of the lamb's-quarter, whereon were +long red streaks, and said: "This I see, that, even as the +white-man's herb came over the sea and was harmless +and clean while it was weak, but grew strong and possessed +this field, then was streaked to midheight with blood, so also +shall they be who brought it—streaked at last to the very +waist with blood—not the white men's but the dark purple +blood of the Indian. This the voices tell me is in the coming +years, that this is what we shall get again for helping you—destruction +in return for kindness. Mine inner eyes have +seen it." She threw down the new pot-herb and glided away, +to be seen no more in the settlements of the white men.</p> + +<p>And Ruth, as she gazed after her, knew that it was true. +Had she not heard her people talking and planning? For +even as the weed seed came with the wheat, so evil spirits +came with the God-fearing Pilgrims, and already these were +planning to put the heathens to the sword, when the Colony +was strong enough.</p> + +<p>So the Indian woman read the truth in the little pot-herb +that sailed and landed with the Pilgrims; that stands +in our fields to this day, streaked with the blood of the passing +race—standing, a thing of remembrance.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 19<br /> +How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its +Leaves</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 312px;"> +<img src="images/i064.png" width="312" height="400" alt="How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves" title="How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves" /> +<span class="caption">How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time a Bee, a Bug, and a Cow went marching +up to Mother Carey's palace in the hemlock grove, to tell +her of their troubles. They complained that food was poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +and scarce, and they were tired of the kinds that grew along +the roadsides.</p> + +<p>Mother Carey heard them patiently, then she said: "Yes, +you have some reason to complain, so I will send you a new +food called Clover. Its flower shall be full of honey for +the Bee, its leaves full of cowfood and its cellar shall be +stocked with tiny pudding bags of meal for the Bug, that +is for good little Bug-folks who live underground."</p> + +<p>Now the tribes of the Bee, the Bug, and the Cow had a +fine time feasting, for the new food was everywhere.</p> + +<p>But Cows are rather stupid you know. They found the +new food so good that they kept on munching everything +that had three round leaves, thinking it was Clover, and +very soon a lot of them were poisoned with strange plants +that no wise Cow would think of eating.</p> + +<p>So Mother Carey called a Busy Brownie, and put him on +guard to keep the Cows from eating the poison plants by +mistake.</p> + +<p>At first it was good fun, and the Brownie enjoyed it because +it made him feel important. But he got very tired +of his job and wanted to go to the ball game.</p> + +<p>He sat down on a toadstool, and looked very glum. He +could hear the other Brownies shouting at the game, and +that made him feel worse. Then he heard a great uproar, +and voices yelling "A home run!" "A home run!" That +drove him wild. He had been whittling the edge of the +toadstool with his knife, and now he slashed off a big piece +of the cap, he was so mad.</p> + +<p>Then up he got and said to the Cows: "See here, you fool +Cows, I can't stay here for ever trying to keep you +from eating poison, but I'll do this much. I'll stamp +all the good-to-eat leaves with a mark that will be your +guide."</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 284px;"> +<img src="images/i066.png" width="284" height="400" alt="The Shamrock" title="The Shamrock" /> +<span class="caption">The Shamrock</span> +</div> + +<p>So he made a rubber stamp out of part of the toadstool<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +he was sitting on, and stamped every Clover leaf in that +pasture, so the Cows could be sure, then skipped away to +the ball game.</p> + +<p>When Mother Carey heard of his running away from his +job, she was very angry. She said: "Well, you Bad +Brownie, you should be ashamed, but that white mark was a +good idea so I'll forgive you, if you go round, and put it on +every Clover leaf in the world."</p> + +<p>He had to do it, though it looked like an endless task, +and he never would have finished it, had not the other +Brownies all over the world come to help him; so it was +done at last. And that is the reason that every Clover +leaf to-day has on it the white mark like an arrowhead, +the Brownie sign for "good-to eat."</p> + +<p>The Cows get along better now, but still they are very +stupid; they go munching ahead without thinking, and will +even eat the blossoms which belong to the Bees. And the +Bees have to buzz very loudly and even sting the Cows on +their noses to keep them from stealing the bee-food. The +good little Bugs underground have the best time, for there +the Cows can not harm them, and the Bees never come +near. They eat when they are hungry and sleep when they +are cold, which is their idea of a good time; so except for +some little quarrels between the Cows and the Bees they +have all gotten along very well ever since.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 20<br /> +The Shamrock and Her Three Sisters</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 249px;"> +<img src="images/i068.png" width="249" height="400" alt="Yellow-haired Hob" title="Yellow-haired Hob" /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Shamrock is really the White Clover. It is much +the same shape as the Red Clover, and has the same food +bags in its cellar. It is just as good for Cows and even better +for Bees; so the Brownie stamped all its leaves with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +the white arrow mark, as you can plainly see. This plant, +as you know, is the emblem of Ireland.</p> + +<p>The story-tellers say that St. Patrick was preaching to +Leary, the heathen King of Tara in Ireland hoping to turn +him into a Christian. The king listened attentively, but +he was puzzled by St. Patrick's account of the Trinity. +"Stop," said the king. "How can there be three Gods in +one and only one God where there are three. That is +impossible." St. Patrick stooped down and picking up a +Shamrock leaf, said: "See, there it is, growing in your own +soil; there are three parts but only one leaf." The king was +so much struck by this proof that he became a Christian and +ever since the Shamrock has been the emblem of Ireland.</p> + +<p>Now to fill out the history of the Clovers, I should tell you +of the other three. The next is called Alsike, or the Pink +Clover.</p> + +<p>When you look at this Alsike or Alsatian Clover, you +might think its mother was a red clover and its father a +white one, for it is about half way between them in size, +and its bloom is pink on the outside and white in the middle. +Evidently, the Brownie didn't think much of it, for he did +not put his arrow mark on its leaves. Still the Cows think +it is good, the Bees think it is fine, and it always carried +lots of food bags in its cellar. So also does the next sister—Melilot, +the Yellow Clover or Honey-lotus—and the last +and sweetest of them all, is the Sweet Clover that spreads +sweet smells in the old-fashioned garden.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 21<br /> +The Indian Basket-maker</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 272px;"> +<img src="images/i070.png" width="272" height="400" alt="The Indian Basket" title="The Indian Basket" /> +<span class="caption">The Indian Basket</span> +</div> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Come</span>, little Nagami, my Bird-Singer, you are ten +years old, it is time you learned to make baskets. I made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +my first when I was but eight," said Mother Akoko proudly, +for she was the best basket-maker on the river.</p> + +<p>So they took a sharp stick, and went into the woods. +Akoko looked for spruce trees that had been blown down +by the storm, but found none, so she stopped under some +standing spruce, at a place with no underbrush and said: +"See, Nagami, here we dig for wattap."</p> + +<p>The spruce roots or "wattap" were near the surface and +easily found, but not easily got out, because they were long, +tangled and criss-crossed. Yet, by pulling up, and cutting +under, they soon got a bundle of roots like cords, and of +different lengths, from two feet to a yard, or more.</p> + +<p>"Good," said Akoko; "this is enough and we need not +soak them, for it is summer, and the sap is running. If it +were fall we should have to boil them. Now you must +scrape them clear of the brown bark." So Nagami took +her knife and worked for an hour, then came with the bundle +saying: "See, Mother, they are smooth, and so white that +they have not a brown spot left." "Good," said Akoko, +"now you need some bark of the willow for sewing cord. +Let us look along the river bank."</p> + +<p>There they found the round-leafed, or fish-net willow, +and stripped off enough of its strong bark to make a bundle +as big as one hand could hold.</p> + +<p>This also had to be scraped clear of the brown skin, leaving +only the strong whitish inner bark, which, when split +into strips, was good for sewing.</p> + +<p>"See, my Nagami, when I was a little girl I had only a +bone needle made from the leg of a deer, but you have easy +work; here is a big steel packing needle, which I bought for +you from a trader. This is how you make your basket."</p> + +<p>So Akoko began a flat coil with the spruce roots, and +sewed it together with the willow bark for thread, until it +was a span wide. And whenever a new root was to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +added, she cut both old piece and new, to a long point, so +they would overlap without a bump.</p> + +<p>Then the next coil of the spruce roots was laid on, not +flat and level, but raised a little. Also the next, until the +walls were as high as four fingers. Then Akoko said, "Good, +that is enough. It is a fine corn basket. But we must give +it a red rim for good luck."</p> + +<p>So they sought in a sunny place along the shore, and +found the fruit of the squawberry or blitum. "See," said +Akoko, "the miscawa. Gather a handful, my Nagami. +They make the red basket-dye."</p> + +<p>They crushed the rich red berries, saving the red juice in +a clam shell, and soaked a few strands of the white willow +bark in the stain. When they were dry, Nagami was taught +to add a rim to her basket, by sewing it over and over as +in the picture.</p> + +<p>Then Akoko said, "Good, my little Bird-Singer, you have +done well, you have made some old black roots into a beautiful +basket."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>N.B. The Guide will remember that rattan and raffia can +be used for this when it is impossible to get spruce roots +and willow bark. Good dyes may be made from many +different berries.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 22<br /> +Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">It has</span> long been the custom of the Brownies to have a +great feast on the first of the merry month of May, to celebrate +the return of the spring.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 302px;"> +<img src="images/i073.png" width="302" height="400" alt="The Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?" title="The Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?" /> +<span class="caption">The Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad?</span> +</div> + +<p>One springtime long ago, they got ready as usual. The +King of the Brownies had invited all the leaders; the +place for the dinner was chosen in a grove of mandrakes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +whose flat umbrellas made a perfect roof, rain or shine. +The Bell Bird, whose other name is Wood Thrush, was +ringing his bell, and calling all the Chief Brownies by +name.</p> + +<p>"Ta-rool-ya! <i>ting-a-ling-ling-ling.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Oka-lee! <i>ting-a-ling-ling-ling.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Cherk! <i>ting-a-ling-ling-ling.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Come to the feasting! <i>ting-a-ling-ling-ling.</i>"</p> + +<p>A hundred glow worms were told to hurry up with their +lights and be ready for that night, and busy Brownies +gathered good things from woods and waters, for the +feast.</p> + +<p>May Day came bright and beautiful. The busy ones +had all the "eats" in the Mandrake Hall, the glowworms +were sleeping soundly to fill their storage batteries ready +for the night. It made the salamanders' mouths water +to see so many good things; but they were not asked, so +stayed away. There were dewdrops in acorn cups, and +honey on the wax. There were clam shells piled up with +red checkerberries, and caddis worms on the half shell, with +spicebush nubbins. A huge white Mecha-meck was the +chief dish, with bog nuts on the side. There were lovely +long crinkle salads. And last, there were gumdrops from +the sweet birch, while at each place was a pussy willow +to dust the food over with golden pollen that gave it +a pleasant peppery tang. All the guests were there, and +the feast was nearly over, when a terrible thing took +place!</p> + +<p>Of all the dreaded happenings in the world of beauty +there is nothing else so feared as the forest fire. There is +not much danger of it in springtime, but it is possible at +any season, after a long dry spell. Words cannot tell of +the horror it spreads, as it comes raging through the woods +destroying all beautiful living things.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>And right in the middle of the feast, the dreadful news +was carried by a flying Night-bird.</p> + +<p>"Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire!" he screamed, and almost at once +the smoke came drifting through the banquet hall, so they +knew it was true.</p> + +<p>There was mad haste to escape, and only two ways were +open. One was to get across some big stream, and the +other was to hide in a cave underground. The birds took +the first way, and the Brownies the second. Every Woodchuck +den was just packed with Brownies within a few +minutes. But the busy Brownie who was chief steward +and had charge of the feast, had no idea of leaving all the +good things to burn up, if he could help it. First he sent +six of his helpers to make a deep pit for the big Mecha-meck, +and while they did that he began hiding all the dishes +in the ground. Last he dug some deep holes and quickly +buried all the crinkle salads; then he ran for his life into a +cave.</p> + +<p>The raging fire came along. It is too horrible to tell +about, for it was sent by the Evil One. The lovely woods +were left black without a living thing. But the very next +day, Mother Carey and Mother Earth and El Sol, set about +saving the wreck, and in a marvellously short time actually +had made it green again. The mayflowers came up a second +time that year, the violets came back, and in each place +where the Brownies had hid a salad there came up a curious +plant that never had been seen before. It had three +saw-edged leaves and a long wand, much like the one +carried by the Chief Steward. I never was able to +find out his name for sure, but I think it was Trileaf +or Three-leaves. Anyway, if you dig under his sign and +sceptre wand, you will surely find the salad, and very +good indeed it is to eat; it was not hurt in the least by +the fire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p>But from that day, the Brownies have been very shy +of feasting during dry weather in the woods. They generally +have their banquets now in some meadow, and afterward +you can tell the place of the feast by the circle of +little toadstools called fairy rings. For you know that +wherever a Brownie sits, a toadstool must spring up for +him to sit on.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 335px;"> +<img src="images/i076.png" width="335" height="400" alt="The Mecha-meck" title="The Mecha-meck" /> +<span class="caption">The Mecha-meck</span> +</div> + +<h3>TALE 23<br /> +The Mecha-meck</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">That</span> fearful time when the forest fire set all the Brownies +busy burying their food and dishes at the feast-hall, you +remember it took six of them to carry and hide the Mecha-meck. +For it is a large fat white root as big as a baby, and +sometimes it has arms or legs, so that when Monapini +told Ruth Pilgrim about it she called it "Man-of-the-earth."</p> + +<p>You remember that the busy Brownie hid all the Crinkle +salads, and so saved them; and most of us have found the +Crinkleroot and eaten it since. But how many of us have +found the Mecha-meck? I know only one man who has. +We call him the Wise Woodman. He found and dug out +the one from which I made the picture. It was two and a +half feet long and weighed fifteen pounds—fifteen pounds +of good food. Think of it! Above it and growing out +of its hiding place was a long trailing vine that looked like a +white morning-glory. There is always one of these over +the Mecha-meck. And by that you may find it, if you +look along the sunny banks outside of the woods. But +still it is very hard to find. I never yet got one, though +I have found many of the crinkle-root salads. Of +course, that is easy to explain, for the busy Brownies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +buried hundreds of the salads, but only one of the big +fat Mecha-meck.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 24<br /> +Dutchman's Breeches</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 278px;"> +<img src="images/i078.png" width="278" height="400" alt="Dutchman's Dive Dutchman's Breeches" title="Dutchman's Dive Dutchman's Breeches" /> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Of course</span> they are not, for no Dutchman I ever saw +could wear such tiny things. I will tell you what they really +are and how that came to be.</p> + +<p>You remember how the Brownies assembled for the feast +on May Day when the Glow worms were the lamps and the +Wood Thrush rang the bell. Well, it so happened that day +that a great crowd of the merrymakers gathered long before +the feast was ready, and while they were wondering what +to do someone shouted: "See, how fine and warm the water +is where the brook spreads out into the ditch. Let us have +our first swim of the season right now!"</p> + +<p>So they all went with a whoop! stripped off their clothes, +and into their swimming breeches with a perfect riot of +glee.</p> + +<p>Then how they did splash! Some blind folks thought +it must be a million early pollywogs splashing. But the +swim ended with another racket when the dinner bell +rang.</p> + +<p>Each splashing Brownie hopped out and hung up his +breeches to dry as he got into his clothes.</p> + +<p>Then you remember the fire came along and scared them +away. Of course the breeches were wet, so they didn't get +singed; and there you can see them hanging to this day on +the first of May. That is what they really are—Brownies' +Breeches. And because the Brownies often swim in a +ditch, they are called ditch-man's breeches; but believe +me, they are not Dutchman's breeches and never +could be.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 263px;"> +<img src="images/i080.png" width="263" height="400" alt="The Seven Sour Sisters" title="The Seven Sour Sisters" /> +<span class="caption">The Seven Sour Sisters</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 25<br /> +The Seven Sour Sisters</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">If you</span> look along any half-open bank in the edge of the +woods, or even in the woods itself, you are sure to see one +of the Seven Sorrel Sisters, with leaves a little like Clover, +only notched in the end and without the white marks, that +the Brownie put on the Clover. There are seven of them, +according to most doctors; five have yellow eyes, one purple, +and one white streaked with blood. Their Latin name +means "vinegar" and their Greek name means "acid." +"Sorrel" itself means "Little sour one," so you see they have +the reputation of a sour bunch. If you eat one of the +leaves, you will agree that the name was well-chosen, and +understand why the druggists get the tart "salt of lemons" +from this family. The French use these Sour Sisters for +their sour soup. But in spite of their unsweetness, they +are among the pretty things of the woods; their forms are +delicate and graceful; their eyes are like jewels, and when +the night comes down, they bow their heads, gracefully +fold their hands, and sleep like a lot of tired children.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 26<br /> +Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 271px;"> +<img src="images/i082.png" width="271" height="400" alt="Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass" title="Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass" /> +<span class="caption">Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">You</span> should know the history of the lowly little flower +called Blue-curls; and you must remember that flowers +have their troubles just as you have. For one thing, +flowers must get their pollen or yellow flower-dust, carried +to some other of their kind, or they cannot keep on growing +good seed. And since the flower cannot walk about finding +places for its pollen, it generally makes a bargain with a +bee. It says, "If you will carry my pollen to my cousins<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +yonder, I will give you a sweet sip of nectar." That is +where the bees get the stuff for all their honey, and that is +how the pollen is carried.</p> + +<p>Well, the modest little Blue-curls long had had a working +agreement with the Meadow Bees, and got on nicely. +But one summer Blue-curls became discontented. She +saw all the other plants with wonderful gifts that had power +to cure pain and sickness; while she was doing nothing +but live her own easy life, and she felt she was a nobody.</p> + +<p>So one day as Mother Carey's slowest steed was swishing +over the grass, Blue-curls cried out: "Mother Carey, Mother +Carey, won't you hear me and grant me a gift?"</p> + +<p>"What is it, little one?" said the All-mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mother Carey, the pansy cures heartache, the +monkshood cures canker-lip, the tansy cures colds, and all the +others have some joy and honour of service, but I am good for +nothing, Mother Carey so the wise men despise me. Won't +you give me a job? Won't you give me some little power?"</p> + +<p>"Little one, such an asking never finds me deaf. I love +those who would help. I will give you a little bit of <i>all +healing</i> so that you shall be good medicine, if not the best, +for all ills, and men shall call you 'Self-heal' and 'All-heal' +for you shall have all healing in yourself."</p> + +<p>And it has been so ever since. So that some who go by +looks call the modest little meadow flower, "Blue-curls +in the Grass," but the old herb-men who know her goodness +call her "All-heal" or "Self-heal."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 27<br /> +The Four Butterflies You See Every Summer</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 323px;"> +<img src="images/i084.png" width="323" height="339" alt="Summer Butterflies (a little over life size)" title="Summer Butterflies (a little over life size)" /> +<span class="caption">Summer Butterflies (a little over life size)</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> are four Butterflies that you are sure to see every +summer, on our fields; and remember that each of them goes +through the same changes. First it is an egg, then a greedy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +grub, next a hanging bundle-baby, and last a beautiful +winged fairy, living a life of freedom and joy.</p> + +<p>In the picture I have shown the butterflies life size, but +you must add the colour as you get each one to copy.</p> + +<p>The first is the <i>White</i> or <i>Cabbage Butterfly</i> that flits over +our gardens all summer long.</p> + +<p>It is not a true American, but came from Europe in 1860 +and landed at Quebec, from whence it has spread all over +the country. In the drawing I have shown the female; +the male is nearly the same but has only one round dark +spot on the front wings. Its grub is a little naked green +caterpillar, that eats very nearly a million dollars' worth +of cabbages a year; so it is a pity it was ever allowed to +land in this country. There are moths that we should like +to get rid of, but this is the only butterfly that is a pest.</p> + +<p>2nd. The <i>Yellow</i> or <i>Clouded Sulphur Butterfly</i>. You are +sure to find it, as soon as you begin to look for butterflies. +This is the one that is often seen in flocks about mud puddles.</p> + +<p>When I was a very small boy, I once caught a dozen of +them, and made a little beehive to hold them, thinking +that they would settle down and make themselves at home, +just like bees or pigeons. But the grown-ups made me let +them fly away, for the Sulphur is a kindly creature, and +does little or no harm.</p> + +<p>One of the most beautiful things I ever came across, was, +when about ten years old, I saw on a fence stake ahead of +me a big bird that was red, white and blue, with a flaming +yellow fan-crest. Then as I came closer, I knew that it +was a red-headed woodpecker, with a Sulphur Butterfly in his +beak; this made the crest; what I thought was blue turned +out to be his glossy black back reflecting the blue sky.</p> + +<p>3rd. The next is the <i>Red Admiral</i> or <i>Nettle Butterfly</i>. +The "red" part of the name is right, but why "Admiral"? +I never could see unless it was misprint for "Admirable."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 327px;"> +<img src="images/i086.png" width="327" height="400" alt="Red Admiral" title="Red Admiral" /> +<span class="caption">Red Admiral</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 270px;"> +<img src="images/i087.png" width="270" height="400" alt="Tiger Swallowtail (life size)" title="Tiger Swallowtail (life size)" /> +<span class="caption">Tiger Swallowtail (life size)</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>This beautiful insect lays its eggs and raises its young on +nettles, and where nettles are, there is the Red Admiral also. +And that means over nearly all the world! Its caterpillar +is not very well protected with bristles, not at all when +compared with the Woolly-bear, but it lives in the nettles, +and, whether they like it or not, the hospitable nettles +with their stings protect the caterpillar. The crawler may +be grateful, but he shows it in a poor way, for he turns on +the faithful nettle, and eats it up. In fact the only food +he cares about is nettle-salad, and he indulges in it several +times a day, yes all day long, eating, growing and bursting +his skin a number of times, till he is big enough to hang himself +up for the winter, probably in a nettle. Then next +spring he comes forth, in the full dress uniform of a Red +Admiral, gold lace, red sash, silver braid and all.</p> + +<p>4th. The last of the four is the <i>Tiger Swallowtail</i>. You +are sure to see it some day—the big yellow butterfly that +is striped like a tiger, with peacock's feathers in its train, +and two long prongs, like a swallow-tail, to finish off with. +It is found in nearly all parts of the Eastern States and +Canada. I saw great flocks of them on the Slave River +of the North.</p> + +<p>It is remarkable in that there are both blondes and brunettes +among its ladies. The one shown in the drawing is a +blonde. The brunettes are so much darker as to be nearly +black; and so different that at one time everyone thought +they were of a different kind altogether.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 28<br /> +The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 323px;"> +<img src="images/i089.png" width="323" height="389" alt="The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar (the moth is a little over life size)" title="The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar (the moth is a little over life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar (the moth is a little over life size)</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> lovely Io Moth is one that you will see early, and +never forget, for it is common, and ranges over all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +country from Canada to the Gulf. When you see it, you will +be inclined to spell its name Eye-oh—for it has on each +wing a splendid eye like that on a peacock's tail-feather, +while the rest of its dress is brown velvet and gold.</p> + +<p>There is a strange chapter in the life of Io, which you +should know because it shows that Mother Carey never +gives any wonderful gift to her creatures without also giving +with it some equal burden of sorrow.</p> + +<p>This is how it all came about.</p> + +<p>Long ago when the little ones of the Io Moth were small, +they were, like most caterpillars, very ugly little things. +They felt very badly about it, and so they set out one day +for the great Home Place of Mother Carey in the Whispering +Grove of the Ages.</p> + +<p>There they prayed, "Dear Mother Carey, we are not of +an ugly race, why should we be so ugly as caterpillars? +Will you not make us beautiful, for beauty is one of the best +things of all?"</p> + +<p>Mother Carey smiled and waved a finger toward a little +Brownie, who came with a tray on which were two cups; +one full of bright sparkling pink stuff, and the other with +something that looked like dark green oil. But the glasses +were joined at the top, there was but one place to drink, +and that reached both.</p> + +<p>Then Mother Carey said, "These are the goblets of +life, one is balm and will give you joy, the other is gall +and will give you suffering. You may drink little or much, +but you must drink equally of both. Now what would +ye?"</p> + +<p>The little ugly creatures whispered together, then one +said: "Mother Carey, if we drink, will it give us beauty?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my children, the red goblet of life will give you +beauty, but with it the other will give you grief."</p> + +<p>They whispered together, then all the little crawlers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +went silently forward, and each took a long drink of the +double goblet.</p> + +<p>Then they crawled away, and at once became the most +beautiful of all caterpillars, brilliant jewel-green with stripes +of pink, velvet, and gold. Never before were there seen +such exquisite little crawlers.</p> + +<p>But now a sad thing happened. They were so beautiful +that many creatures became their enemies, and began to +kill them and eat them one after another. They crawled +as fast as they could, and hid away, but many of them were +killed by birds and beasts of prey, as well as by big fierce +insects.</p> + +<p>They did not know what to do, so next day the few that +were left crawled back to the Grove of Ages, and once more +stood before Mother Carey.</p> + +<p>"Well, my Beauty-crawlers," she said, "what would +you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mother Carey, it is fearful, everyone seeks to destroy +us. Most of us are killed, and many of us wounded. +Will you not protect us?"</p> + +<p>"You drank of the two goblets, my children. I warned +you that your beauty would bring terrible trouble with it."</p> + +<p>They bowed their little heads in silent sorrow, for they +knew that that was true.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the All-Mother, "do you wish to go back +and be ugly again?"</p> + +<p>They whispered together and said: "No, Mother Carey, +it is better to be beautiful and die."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 323px;"> +<img src="images/i092.png" width="323" height="244" alt="The Splendid Silk-Moth (about 1/2 life size)" title="The Splendid Silk-Moth (about 1/2 life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Splendid Silk-Moth (about 1/2 life size)</span> +</div> + +<p>Then Mother Carey looked on them very kindly, and +said: "Little ones, I love your brave spirit. You shall not +die. Neither shall you lose your beauty. I will give you +a defence that will keep off all your enemies but one, that +is the Long-stinger Wasp, for you must in some way pay +for your loveliness." She waved her wand, and all over each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +of the Beauty-crawlers, there came out bunches of sharp +stickers like porcupine quills, only they were worse than +porcupine quills for each of the stickers was poisoned at +the tip, so that no creature could touch the Beauty-crawlers +without being stung.</p> + +<p>The birds and beasts let them alone now, or suffer a +terrible punishment from the poison spears. You children, +too, must beware of them; touch them not, they will give +you festering wounds. There is only one creature now that +the Beauty-crawlers truly fear; that is the Long-stinger +Wasp. He does indeed take toll of their race, but that is +the price they still must pay for their beauty. Did they +not drink of the double goblet?</p> + + +<h3>TALE 29<br /> + +The Great Splendid Silk-Moth or <i>Samia Cecropia</i></h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> I was a very small boy, I saw my father bring in +from the orchard a ragged looking thing like parchment +wrapped up with some tangled hair; it was really the bundle-baby +of this Moth. He kept it all winter, and when the +spring came, I saw for the first time the great miracle of the +insect world—the rag bundle was split open, and out came +this glorious creature with wings of red and brown velvet, +embroidered with silver and spots that looked like precious +stones. It seemed the rarest thing in the world, but I +have found out since, that it is one of our common moths, +and any of you can get one, if you take the trouble.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Now listen, and you shall hear of what happened long +ago to a green crawler who was born to be a splendid +Silk-Moth, but who spoiled it all by a bad temper.</p> + +<p>It had been a very cold, wet summer, and one day, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +the wind was whispering, he cried out: "Mother Carey, +when I have done with my working life, and go into the +Great Sleep, grant that it may never rain on me for I +hate rain, and it has done nothing but pour all summer +long." And he shivered the red knobs on his head with +peevishness.</p> + +<p>"You silly little green crawler, don't you think I know +better than you what is good for you? Would you like +there to be no rain?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I would," said the red-knobbed Samia rebelliously.</p> + +<p>"Would <i>you?</i>" said the All-Mother to another green +crawler, who hung on a near-by limb.</p> + +<p>"Mother Carey, we have had a wet, cold summer, and +the rain has been miserable, but I know you will take care +of us."</p> + +<p>"Good," said the All-Mother: "then, in this way it shall +be. You little Red-Knobs shall have what you so much +wish, you shall hang up in a dry loft where not a drop of +dew even shall touch you in your bundle-baby sleep. And +you little Yellow-Knobs shall hang under a limb where +every rain that comes shall drench your outer skin." And +she left them.</p> + +<p>When the time came to hang up, Red-Knobs was led to +a place as dry as could be, under a shed and swung his +bundle-baby hammock from the rafters.</p> + +<p>Yellow-Knobs hung up his hammock under a twig in +the rose garden.</p> + +<p>The winter passed, and the springtime came with the +great awakening day. Each of the bundle-babies awoke +from his hammock and broke his bonds. Each found his +new wings, and set about shaking them out to full size +and shape. Those of the rain-baby came quickly to their +proper form, and away he flew to rejoice in perfect life. +But though the other shook and shook, his wings would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +not fluff out. They seemed dried up; they were numbed +and of stunted growth.</p> + +<p>Shake as he would, the wings stayed small and twisted. +And as he struggled, a Butcher-bird came by. His fierce +eye was drawn by the fluttering purple thing. It had no +power to escape. He tore its crumpled wings from its +feathery form, and made of it a meal. But before dying +it had time to say, "Oh, Mother Carey, now I know that +your way was the best."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 30<br /> +The Green Fairy with the Long Train</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> fairies are Brownies and some are Greenies, and of +all that really and truly dance in the moonlight right here +in America, Luna Greenie seems the most wonderful; and +this is her history:</p> + +<p>Once upon a time there was a seed pearl that dropped +from the robe of a green fairy. It stuck on the leaf of a +butternut tree till one warm day Mother Carey, who knows +all the wild things and loves them all, touched it with her +magic wand, called Hatch-awake, and out of the seed pearl +came an extraordinarily ugly little dwarf, crawling about +on many legs. He was just as <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'gr dy'">greedy</ins> as he was ugly, and +he ate leaf after leaf of the butternut tree, and grew so +fat that he burst his skin. Then a new skin grew, and he +kept on eating and bursting until he was quite big. But +he had also become wise and gentle; he had learned many +things, and was not quite so greedy now.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 302px;"> +<img src="images/i096.png" width="302" height="400" alt="The Green Fairy With the Long Train (about 4/5 life size)" title="The Green Fairy With the Long Train (about 4/5 life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Green Fairy With the Long Train (about 4/5 life size)</span> +</div> + +<p>Mother Carey, the All-Mother, had been watching him, +and knew that now he was ready for the next step up. She +told him to make himself a hammock of rags and leaves, +in the butternut tree. When he had crawled into it, she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +touched him with her wand, the very same as the one she +used when she sent the Sleeping Beauty into her long sleep. +Then that little dwarf went soundly to sleep, hanging in +his hammock.</p> + +<p>Summer passed; autumn came; the leaves fell from the +butternut tree, taking the bundle-baby with them, exactly +as in the old rhyme:</p> + +<p> +Rock-a-bye baby on the tree-top,<br /> +When the wind blows, your cradle will rock,<br /> +When the cold weather makes all the leaves fall,<br /> +Down tumbles baby and cradle and all.<br /> +</p> + +<p>But the hammock, with its sleeper, landed in a deep +bed of leaves, and lay there all winter, quite safe and +warm.</p> + +<p>Then when the springtime sun came over the hill, Mother +Carey came a-riding on the Warm Wind, and waving her +wand. She stopped and kissed the sleeping bundle-baby, +just as the Prince kissed the Sleeping Beauty, and instantly +the baby awoke. Then happened the strangest thing. +Out of that ragged old hammock there came the most wonderful +and beautiful Green Fairy ever seen, with wings +and with two trains; and as it came out and looked shyly +around, trembling with new life, Mother Carey whispered, +"Go to the butternut grove and see what awaits you +there."</p> + +<p>So away she went. Oh, how easy and glorious it is to +fly! She could remember how once she used to crawl everywhere. +And through the soft sweet night she flew, as she +was told, straight to the butternut grove. As she came near +she saw many green fairies—a great crowd of them—gathered +in the moonlight, and dancing round and round in +fluttering circles, swooping about and chasing each other, +or hiding in the leaves. They did not feast, for these fairies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +never eat, and they drink only honey from flowers. But +there was a spirit of great joy over them all. And there +were some there with longer head plumes than those she +wore. They seemed stronger and one of them came with a +glad greeting to the new Green Dancer and though she flew +away, she was bursting with joy that he should single her +out. He pursued her till he caught her, and hand in hand +they danced together in the moonlight. She was happier +than she had known it was possible to be, and danced all +night—that wonderful wedding dance. But she was very +tired when morning was near, and high in the tree she slept +so soundly that she never noticed that many seed pearls that +were clustered on the lining of her robe had got loose and +rolled into the crevices of the trunk. There they lay until +Mother Carey came to touch them with her magic wand, +so each became a crawler-dwarf, then a bundle-baby, and +at last a dancing fairy.</p> + +<p>But the Green Dancer did not know that—she knew only +that it was a glorious thing to be alive, and fly, and to +dance in the moonlight.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>You must never fail to watch under the butternut tree +on mid-summer nights, for it is quite possible that you may +see the wedding dance of the Luna Greenie and her sisters +with the long-trained robes.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 31<br /> +The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow +Dragon</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 288px;"> +<img src="images/i099.png" width="288" height="400" alt="The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon" title="The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon" /> +<span class="caption">The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time, there was a beautiful little Yellow +Dragon, who lived a happy and innocent life on the high +banks of a prattling stream. The Dragon himself was dumb<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +but he loved a merry noise, and nothing pleased him more +than the prattling of the water. Sometimes this pleasant +little Dragon went up stream, where it was noisy, and +sometimes he went down stream, where it was very silent, +and rested awhile in little pools. Here it was that he met +with his first enemy, a warty Hoptoad with jealous eyes. +That Toad thought that he owned the pools because he +bathed there every springtime, and though it was a kind +little Dragon, the Toad hated him, and began to plot against +him.</p> + +<p>"Ho! little Yellow Dragon," he said, "you are very wonderful +to see, and you must be very clever; but you haven't +got everything you want, have you?"</p> + +<p>The Dragon smiled, shook his head, and made silent +signs with his lips. Then the Toad understood, for he said: +"Ho-ho, I understand that you cannot speak. But are +you happy?"</p> + +<p>The Dragon smiled sweetly and nodded, then pointed +to the stream.</p> + +<p>That made the Toad madder than ever, for he thought +it meant that the Dragon was claiming the whole +stream. So the Toad said: "See, Dragon, there is a +wonderful food that you have never tasted, that is a +poached egg."</p> + +<p>This he said with his heart full of guile, for he knew full +well that poached eggs are deadly poison to Dragons.</p> + +<p>The Dragon looked puzzled, and the Toad said, "Have +you?"</p> + +<p>The Dragon shook his head. "Well," said the Toad, "it +is the most delicious thing in the woods; now you wait +and see."</p> + +<p>He went hoppity-hop, to a sand-bank where he had seen +a Turtle lay its eggs that morning. He dug out one. He +rolled it upon a stone, and split it open with the sharp spur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +on his heel. As soon as it was stiffened by the sun heat, +he said, "Here now, Dragon, swallow it down, while I get +another for myself."</p> + +<p>The poor innocent little Dragon did not know any better. +He tried to swallow the poached egg. The moment he did, +it stuck in his throat, and poisoned him. At once his toes +sank into the ground. He turned green all over, and his +head was changed into a strange new flower. There it is +to this day, standing silently where it can hear the brook +a-prattling. Its body is green all over, and its head is yellow +and its jaws are wide open with a poached egg stuck in its +throat. And that is how it all came about. Some call +it Toad Flax, and some call it Butter and Eggs, but we who +know how it happened call it the Dragon and the Poached +Egg.</p> + +<p>Poor dear little Yellow Dragon!</p> + + +<h3>TALE 32<br /> +The Fairy Bird or the Humming-bird Moth</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> I was a schoolboy, a number of my companions +brought the news that the strangest bird in the world had +come that day to our garden and hovered over the flowers. +It was no bigger than a bumble-bee. "No! It was not a +humming-bird," they said, "it was smaller by far, much +more beautiful, and it came and went so fast that no one +could see it go."</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 292px;"> +<img src="images/i102.png" width="292" height="400" alt="The Fairy Bird (1-1/2 life size)" title="The Fairy Bird (1-1/2 life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Fairy Bird (1-1/2 life size)</span> +</div> + +<p>Every guess that I made seemed not to fit the wonderful +bird, or help to give it a name that would lead us to its +history in the books. The summer went by, several schoolmates +saw the Wonderbird, and added stories of its marvellous +smallness and mysterious habits. Its body, they +said, was of green velvet with a satin-white throat; it had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +a long beak—at least an inch long—a fan-tail of many +feathers, two long plumes from its head, "the littlest feet +you ever have seen," and large lustrous eyes that seemed +filled with human intelligence. "It jest looked right at +you, and seemed like a fairy looking at you."</p> + +<p>The wonder grew. I made a sketch embodying all the +points that my companions noted about the Fairy Bird. +The first drawing shows what it looked like, and also gives +the exact size they said it was.</p> + +<p>It seemed a cruel wrong that let so many of them see the +thing that was of chief interest to me, yet left me out. It +clearly promised a real fairy, an elfin bird, a wonderful +messenger from the land I hungered to believe in.</p> + +<p>But at last my turn came. One afternoon two of the +boys ran toward me, shouting: "Here it is, the little Fairy +Bird, right in the garden over the honeysuckle. C'mon, +quick!"</p> + +<p>I rushed to the place, more excited than I can tell. Yes, +there it was, hovering over the open flowers—tiny, wonderful, +humming as it swung on misty wings. I made a quick +sweep of my insect net and, marvellous to relate, scooped +up the Fairy Bird. I was trembling with excitement now, +not without a sense of wickedness that I should dare to +net a fairy—practically an angel. But I had done it, and +I gloated over my captive, in the meshes. Yes, the velvet +body and snowy throat were there, the fan-tail, the plumes +and the big dark eyes, but the creature was <i>not a bird;</i> it +was an insect! Dimly now I remembered, and in a few +hours, learned, as I had feared, that I had not captured a +young angel or even a fairy—it was nothing but a Humming-bird +Moth, a beautiful insect—common in some regions, +scarce in some, such as mine—but perfectly well known +to men of science and never afterward forgotten by any +of that eager schoolboy group.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 33<br /> +Ribgrass or Whiteman's-Foot</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">If you</span> live in the country or in a small town, you will +not have to go many steps, in summer time, before you +find the little plant known as Ribgrass, Plantain, or Whiteman's-foot. +If you live in a big city, you may find it in any +grassy place, but will surely see it, as soon as you reach the +suburbs. It grows on the ground, wherever it can see the +sun, and is easily known by the strong ribs, each with a +string in it when you pull the leaf apart. The Indians +call it Whiteman's-foot, not because it is broad and flat, +but because it came from Europe with the white man; it +springs up wherever he sets his foot, and it has spread over +all America. Gardeners think it a troublesome weed; +but the birds love its seed; canary birds delight in it; and +each plant of the Ribgrass may grow many thousands of +seeds in a summer.</p> + +<p>How many? Let us see! Take a seed-stalk of the Plantain +and you will find it thickly set with little cups, as in +the drawing. Open one of these cups, and you find in it +five seeds. Count the cups; there are two hundred on this +stalk, each with about five seeds, that is, one thousand +seeds; but the plant has five or more seed-stalks, some have +more (one before me now has seventeen), but suppose it has +only ten; then there are 10,000 seeds each summer from one +little plant. Each seed can grow up into a new plant; and, +if each plant were as far from the next as you can step, the +little ones in a row the following summer would reach for +nearly six miles; that is, from the City Hall to the end of +Central Park, New York.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 313px;"> +<img src="images/i105.png" width="313" height="400" alt="The Ribgrass" title="The Ribgrass" /> +<span class="caption">The Ribgrass</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the third year if all had the full number of seed, and +all the seed grew into plants, there would be enough to go +more than twice round the world. No wonder it has spread +all over the country.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Let the Guide illustrate with some local measure.</p></div> +</div> + +<h3>TALE 34<br /> +Jack-in-the-Pulpit</h3> +<div class="figright" style="width: 291px;"> +<img src="images/i106.png" width="291" height="400" alt="Jack-in-the-Pulpit" title="Jack-in-the-Pulpit" /> +<span class="caption">Jack-in-the-Pulpit</span> +</div> +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time there was a missionary named +the Rev. John T. Arum, who set out to preach to the +Indians. He had a good heart but a bitter, biting tongue. +He had no respect for the laws of the Indians, so they killed +him, and buried him in the woods. But out of his grave +came a new and wonderful plant, shaped like a pulpit, and +right in the middle of it, as usual, was the Reverend Jack +hard at it, preaching away.</p> + +<p>If you dig down under the pulpit you will find the preacher's +body, or his heart, in the form of a round root. Taste +it and you will believe that the preacher had a terribly +biting tongue, but treat it properly, that is boil it, and +you will find out that after all he had a good little heart +inside. Even the Indians have discovered his good qualities +and have become very fond of him.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 35<br /> +How the Indian Pipe Came</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 353px;"> +<img src="images/i108.png" width="353" height="400" alt="How the Indian Pipe Came" title="How the Indian Pipe Came" /> +<span class="caption">How the Indian Pipe Came</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">In the</span> last tale you learned the fate of the Rev. John +T. Arum, and the origin of Jack-in-the-Pulpit. But you +must not suppose for a moment that the Indians decided +in a hurry to kill the missionary. No, they had too much +sense of fair play for that. They held a great many councils +first to find some way of curbing his tongue, and making +him mind his own business. In fact, they got into the habit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +of holding a council every few minutes to discuss the question, +no matter where they were or what else they were doing. +So that pretty nearly every part of the woods was in time +used for a council ring to discuss the fate of the Rev. John +T. Arum.</p> + +<p>Of course, you know that no Indian can hold a council +without smoking the Peace Pipe, and when the council +is over, he empties out the ashes of the pipe. So that when +all those councils were over, when the matter was settled, +when the missionary was buried, and when the warrior +had gone to the ghost land, there came solemnly poking +its white bowl and stem from under the leaves an Indian +pipe, at the very spot where the Councillors had emptied +the ashes. It is a beautifully shaped pipe, with a curved +and feathered stem, but it has none of the bright colours +of the old Peace Pipe. It cannot have them for this is only +a ghost Pipe to show where the council used to be; and +one pipe there is for each council held on that spot, so you +see how many, many councils the Indians had, before they +killed the troublesome preacher. And sometimes you can +find a pipe that has the bowl still filled with ghost tobacco +or even a little red ghost fire, showing that the warriors +had to hurry away before that council was finished. Whenever +you find the ghost pipe in the woods, you are sure to +see close by either a log, a bank or a rock on which the Councillors +sat to talk it over.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 36<br /> +The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Indians had Brownies, only they called them Pukwudjies, +and I am going to tell you a story of an Indian +Brownie.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 229px;"> +<img src="images/i110.png" width="229" height="400" alt="The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella" title="The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella" /> +<span class="caption">The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella</span> +</div> + +<p>Whenever the Indians got together for a council, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +Brownies did the same thing, in the woods near by. It +was a kind of Brownie Fair, and some of the little people +used to have stands and sell refreshments. Berries were +scarce in the springtime, but the Brownies were very fond +of cucumber. So there were always one or two Cucumber +Brownies, who set up their little umbrellas, and sold slices +of Cucumber to the others.</p> + +<p>When it was time to go home, or when the sun got so hot +that the cucumbers were likely to spoil, they would bury +them in the ground, but leave the umbrella to mark the +place. And there they are yet; many a time have I found +the umbrella, and dug under it to find the cucumber. It +is delicious eating; everything that Brownies like is. You +can find it, and try it. It is one of the things that Monapini +taught Ruth Pilgrim to eat. (Tale 18).</p> + +<p>Of course, the Brownies do not like you to dig up their +treasure or good-to-eats, but there are plenty more, far +more than they ever need. "Yet what about it," you say, +"if the Brownie happens to be there?"</p> + +<p>He may be sitting right under the umbrella, but remember +the little people are invisible to our eyes. You will not +see him; at least I never did.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 37<br /> +The Hickory Horn-devil</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hush</span>, whisper! Did you ever meet a Hickory Horn-devil? +No! Well I did, and I tell you he is a terror. +Look at this picture of him. It is true, only he is not quite +so big as that, though he looks as if he might be. And I +was not quite so small as that, only I felt as if I were! +And everything about him looked horribly strong, poisonous +and ugly. He was a real devil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 305px;"> +<img src="images/i112.png" width="305" height="400" alt="The Hickory Horn-devil (1/2 life size)" title="The Hickory Horn-devil (1/2 life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Hickory Horn-devil (1/2 life size)</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>I did not know his history then; I did not learn it for a +long time after, but I can tell it to you now.</p> + +<p>Once upon a time there was a little, greenish, blackish +worm. He loved pretty things, and he hated to be ugly, +as he was. No one wanted him, and he was left all alone, +a miserable little outcast. He complained bitterly to +Mother Carey, and asked if she would not bless him with +some grace, to help him in his troubles.</p> + +<p>Mother Carey said: "Little ugly worm; you are having +a hard time, because in your other life, before you came into +this shape, you had an ugly, hateful spirit. You must go +through this one as you are, until the Great Sleep comes; +after that, you will be exactly what you have made of +yourself."</p> + +<p>Then the little ugly worm said: "Oh Mother Carey, I +am as miserable as I can be; let me be twice as ugly, if, in +the end, I may be twice as beautiful."</p> + +<p>Mother Carey said gravely, "Do you think you could +stand it, little worm? We shall see."</p> + +<p>From that time the worm got bigger and uglier, no creature +would even talk to him. The birds seemed to fear +him, and the Squirrels puffed out little horror-snorts, when +they saw him coming, even the other worms kept away +from him.</p> + +<p>So he went on his lonely life, uglier and more hated than +ever. He lived chiefly on a big hickory tree, so men called +him the Hickory Horn-devil.</p> + +<p>One day as he was crawling on a fence, a hen with chickens +came running after him, to eat him. But when she saw how +ugly he was she cried: "Oh, Lawk, lawk! Come away, +children, at once!"</p> + +<p>At another time he saw a Chipmunk teaching its little +ones to play tag. They looked so bright and happy, he +longed, not to join them because he could only crawl, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +to have the happiness of looking on. But when he came +slowly forward, and the old Chipmunk saw him waving his +horns and looking like a green poisonous reptile, she +screamed, "Run, my children!" and all darted into their +hole while Mother Chipmunk stuffed up the doorway with +earth.</p> + +<p>But the most thrilling thing of all that he saw was one +day as the sun went down, a winged being of dazzling beauty +alighted for a moment on his hickory tree. Never had the +Horn-devil seen such a dream of loveliness. Her slender +body was clad in rose velvet, and her wings were shining +with gold. The very sight of her made him hate himself, +yet he could not resist the impulse to crawl nearer, to gaze +at her beauty.</p> + +<p>But her eyes rested a moment on his horrible shape, and +she fled in fear, while a voice near by said: "The Spangled +Queen does not love poisonous reptiles." Then the +poor little Horn-devil wished he were dead. He hid away +from sight for three days. Hunger however forced him +out, and as he was crawling across a pathway, a man who +came along was going to crush him underfoot, but Mother +Carey whispered, "No, don't do it." So the man let him +live, but roughly kicked the worm aside, and bruised him +fearfully.</p> + +<p>Then came Mother Carey and said: "Well, little ugly +worm! Is your spirit strong, or angry?"</p> + +<p>The worm said bravely, though feebly: "Mother, Mother +Carey, I am trying to be strong. I want to win."</p> + +<p>The breezes were losing their gentle warmth when +Mother Carey came to him one day, and said: "Little one, +your trial has been long, but it is nearly over.</p> + +<p>"Prepare to sleep now, my little horny one, you have +fought a brave fight; your reward is coming. Because your +soul has been made beautiful by your suffering, I will give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +you a body blazing with such beauty as shall make all stand +in adoration when you pass." Then Mother Earth said, +"Our little one shall have extra care because he has had +extra trials." So the tired little Horn-devil did not even +have to make himself a hammock, for Mother Earth received +him and he snuggled into her bosom. As Mother +Carey waved her wand, he dropped off asleep. And he +slept for two hundred days.</p> + +<p>Then came the great Awakening Day, the resurrection +day of the woods. Many new birds arrived. Many new +flowers appeared. Sleepers woke from underground, as +Mother Carey's silent trumpeters went bugling ahead of +her, and her winged horse, the Warm Wind, came sweeping +across the meadows, with the white world greening as he +came.</p> + +<p>The bundle-baby of the Horn-devil woke up. He was +cramped and sleepy, but soon awake. Then he knew that +he was a prisoner, bound up in silken cords of strength. +But new powers were his now, he was able to break the +cords and crawl out of his hole. He put up his feelers to +find those horrible horns, but they were gone, and his devil +form fell off him like a mask. He had wings, jewelled +wings! on his back now. Out he came to fluff the newfound +wings awhile, and when they were spread and supple +he flew into the joyful night, one of the noblest of all the +things that fly, gorgeous in gold and velvet, body and wings; +filled with the joy of life and flight, he went careering through +the soft splendour of the coming night. And as he flew, +he glimpsed a radiant form ahead, a being like himself, with +wings of velvet and gold. At first he thought it was the +Princess of the Hickory Tree, but now his eyes were perfect, +and he could see that this was a younger and more +beautiful Spangled Princess than the one of his bygone +life, and all his heart was filled with the blazing fire of love.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +Fearlessly now he flew to overtake her; for was she not of +his own kind? She sped away, very fast at first, but maybe +she did not go as fast as she could, for soon he was sailing +by her side. At first she turned away a little, but she was +not cross or frightened now. She was indeed inclined to +play and tease. Then in their own language, he asked her +to marry him, and in their own language she said, "yes." +Away they flew and flew on their wedding flight, high in +the trees in the purple night, glorious in velvet and gold, +more happy than these printed words can tell.</p> + +<p>The wise men who saw them said, "There go the Royal +Citheronia and his bride." And Mother Carey smiled +as she saw their bliss, and remembered the Hickory Horn-devil.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> +<h2>THINGS TO SEE IN AUTUMNTIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 289px;"> +<img src="images/i118.png" width="289" height="400" alt="The Purple and Gold of Autumn" title="The Purple and Gold of Autumn" /> +<span class="caption">The Purple and Gold of Autumn</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Things to See in Autumntime</h2> + + +<h3>TALE 38<br /> +The Purple and Gold of Autumn</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was once an old gentleman named Father +Time, and he had four beautiful daughters.</p> + +<p>The eldest was called Winter Time. She was +tall and pale. She dressed chiefly in white wool trimmed +with wonderful lacework. She was much admired by some, +but others considered her very cold and distant. And +most agreed that she was the least winsome of the sisters.</p> + +<p>The second one was called Spring Time, and she was +dressed in beautiful golden-green satin. She had a gentle, +sunny disposition; some thought her the loveliest.</p> + +<p>The third was Summer Time, and her robe was dark-green +velvet. She was warm-hearted and most attractive, +full of life and energy, and as unlike the eldest sister as +possible.</p> + +<p>The youngest was Autumn Time. She certainly was a +wonderful creature, with red rosy cheeks, plump form, +and riotous good spirits. Her robes were gorgeous and +a little extravagant, for she wore a new one every day, +and of all that she had, the one that she loved the best +and wore the latest was of purple and gold. We can go +out in October and see the purple and gold, and gather +some scraps of the robe, for it is on every wayside and +every hillside.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 39<br /> +Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year</h3> + +<p>A <span class="smcap">long</span> time ago, when it was always summer in our +woods, the Chicadees lived merrily with their cousins, and +frolicked the whole year round. But one day Mother +Carey sent the small birds a warning that they must move +to the South, when the leaves fell from the trees, for hard +frost and snow were coming, and maybe starvation too.</p> + +<p>All the cousins of the Chicadees listened to the warning +and got ready to go; but Tomtit, their leader, only laughed +and turned a dozen wheels around a twig that served him +for a bar.</p> + +<p>"Go to the South?" said he. "Not I; I am too happy +here; and as for frost and snow, I never saw any, and I +don't believe there are such things."</p> + +<p>Very soon the leaves fell from the trees and the Nut-hatches +and the King-wrens were so busy getting ready to +go that the Chicadees left off play for a minute, to ask +questions. They were not pleased with the answer they +got, for the messenger had said that all of them were to take +a long, long journey that would last for days, and the little +King-wrens had actually to go as far as the Gulf of Mexico. +Besides, they were to fly by night, to avoid their enemies, +the Hawks, and the weather at this season was sure to be +stormy. So the Chicadees said it was all nonsense, and +went off, singing and chasing one another through the woods, +led by Tomtit singing a new song in which he made fun of +the travellers.</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +Tom Tom Tiddy-Mouse!<br /> +Hid away in our house,<br /> +Hid his brother in the cellar,<br /> +Wasn't he a silly feller?<br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>But their cousins were quite serious. They picked out +wise leaders and formed themselves into bands. They +learned that they must follow their leader, they must twitter +as they flew in the darkness, so as to let those behind know +where\he leaders were; they must follow the great rivers +southward; they must wait for a full moon before starting, +and never travel by day.</p> + +<p>The noisy, rollicking Chicadees continued to make fun +of their cousins as they saw them now gathering in the +woods along the river; and at length, when the moon was +big, bright, and full, the cousins arose to the call of the +leaders and all flew away in the gloom. The Chicadees +said that all the cousins were crazy, made some good jokes +about the Gulf of Mexico, and then dashed away on their +favourite game of tag and tumble through the woods, which, +however, did seem rather quiet now, and bare of leaves; +while the weather, too, was certainly turning uncomfortably +cool.</p> + +<p>At length the frost and snow really did come, and the +Chicadees were in a bad way. Indeed, they were frightened +out of their wits, and dashed hither and thither, seeking +in vain for some one to set them aright on the way to the +warm land. They flew wildly about the woods, till they +were truly crazy. I suppose there was not a squirrel-hole +or a hollow log in the neighbourhood that some Chicadee +did not enter to inquire if this was the Gulf of Mexico. +But no one could tell anything about it, no one was going +that way, and the great river was hidden under ice and +snow.</p> + +<p>About this time a messenger from Mother Carey was +passing with a message to the Caribou in the Far North; +but all he could tell the Chicadees was that he could not +be their guide, as he had other business. "Besides," he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>said, "you had the same notice as your cousins whom you +called 'crazy.' And from what I know of Mother Carey, +you will probably have to stick it out here all through the +snow, not only now, but in every winter after this; so you +may as well make the best of it."</p> + +<p>This was sad news for the Chicadee Tomtits; but they +were brave little fellows, and seeing they could not help +themselves, they went about making the best of it. Before +a week had gone by they were in their usual good spirits +again, scrambling about the snowy twigs, or chasing one +another as before.</p> + +<p>They were glad to remember now that Mother Carey +said that winter would end. They told each other about +it so much that even at its beginning, when a fresh blizzard +came on, they would gleefully remark to one another that +it was a "sign of spring," and one or another of the flock +would lift his voice in the sweet little chant that we all +know so well:</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/i122a.png" width="100" height="54" alt="Spring soon" title="Spring soon" /> +<span class="caption">Spring soon</span> +</div><div class="center">[<small><i>You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/i122a.midi">here</a>.</small>]</div> + +<div class='unindent'>Another would take it up and answer back:</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;"> +<img src="images/i122b.png" width="125" height="57" alt="Spring com-ing" title="Spring com-ing" /> +<span class="caption">Spring com-ing</span> +</div><div class="center">[<small><i>You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/i122b.midi">here</a>.</small>]</div> + + +<div class='unindent'>and they would keep on repeating the song until the dreary +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>woods rang again with the good news, and the wood-people +learned to love the brave little bird that sets his face so +cheerfully, to meet so hard a case.</div> + +<p>And winter did end. Spring did come at last. And the +sign of its coming was when the ice broke on the stream +and the pussy willow came purring out above it. The air +was full of the good news. The Chicadees felt it, and knew +it through and through. They went mad with joy, chasing +each other round and round the trees and through the +hollow logs, shouting "The spring is here, the spring is +here, Hurree, Hurree, Hurree," and in another week +their joyous lives were going on as before the trouble +came.</p> + +<p>But to this day, when the chill wind blows through the +deserted woods, the Chicadees seem to lose their wits for a +few days, and dart into all sorts of queer places. They +may then be found in great cities, or open prairies, cellars, +chimneys, and hollow logs; and the next time you find one +of the wanderers in any out-of-the-way corner, be sure to +remember that the Chicadee goes crazy twice a year, in the +fall and in the spring, and probably went into his strange +hole or town in search of the Gulf of Mexico.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 40<br /> + +The Story of the Quaking Aspen or Poplar</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> leaf of the Quaking Asp is like the one marked +"a" in the drawing. Its trunk is smooth, greenish, or +whitish, with black knots of bark like "c". All the +farmers know it as Popple, or White Poplar; but the +hunters call it Quaking Asp or Aspen.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 247px;"> +<img src="images/i124.png" width="247" height="400" alt="The Story of the Quaking Aspen" title="The Story of the Quaking Aspen" /> +<span class="caption">The Story of the Quaking Aspen</span> +</div> + +<p>The name "quaking" was given because it is for ever +shaking its leaves; the slightest wind sets them all rustling. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>They move so easily because each leaf-stem is like a thin, +flat strap set on edge; while the leaf-stem of such as the oak +is nearly round and scarcely rustles at all. Why does the +Quaking Asp do this? No doubt, because it lives in places +where the hot dust falls thick on the leaves at times, and +if it did not have some trick of shaking it off, the leaf would +be choked and bent so that the tree could scarcely breathe; +for the leaves are the lungs of the trees. So remember, +when the Poplar rustles loudly, it is coughing to clear its +lungs of the dust.</p> + +<p>Some trees try to hide their troubles, and quickly cover +up their wounds; but the Aspen has a very touchy skin and, +once it is wounded, it shows the scar as long as it lives. +We can, therefore, go to any Aspen tree, and have it tell +us the story of its life. Here is the picture of one. The +black marks at the forks (c) are scars of growth; the belts +of dots (d) were wounds given by a sapsucker to rob it of its +sap; the flat places (e) show where a Red Squirrel gnawed off +the outer bark.</p> + +<p>If a Raccoon climbed the tree (f), or an insect bored into +the trunk, we are sure to see a record of it in this sensitive +bark.</p> + +<p>Now, last of all, the paper on which this story is printed +was likely made out of Aspen wood.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 41<br /> + +The Witch-hazel</h3> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 317px;"> +<img src="images/i126.png" width="317" height="400" alt="Witch-hazel" title="Witch-hazel" /> +<span class="caption">Witch-hazel</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">These</span> are the things to make you remember the Witch-hazel; +its forked twig was used—nay, still is used—as a +magic rod to show where there is running water underground; +that is, where it is possible to find water by sinking +a well. Its nuts are explosive, and go off with a <i>snap</i>, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>shooting the seeds that are inside, ten or twenty feet away, +when the cold dry days of autumn come. Third, its curious +golden-thread flowers appear in the fall.</p> + +<p>As Cracked Jimmy used to sing:-</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +Witch-hazel blossoms in the fall,<br /> +To cure the chills and fevers all.<br /> +<br /> +<div class='right'>—<i>Two Little Savages.</i></div><br /> +</div> + +<p>On November 16, 1919, after a sharp frost, I went +out in the morning to get some Witch-hazel flowers +for this drawing, and found them blooming away in the +cold air, vigorously as ever. Imagine a flower that can +bloom while it is freezing. In the drawing I have shown +the flower, like a 4-lipped cup with four yellow snakes coiling +out of it.</p> + +<p>But these are not the deadly snakes one hears about. +They are rather symbols of old Æsculapius, the famous +healer of the long ago, whose emblem was the cup of life +with curling snakes of wisdom about it. In the Witch-hazel +has been found a soothing balm for many an +ache and pain. The Witch-hazel you buy in the +drugstores, is made out of the bark of this tree. If you +chew one of the little branches you will know it by the +taste.</p> + +<p>Near the top is a flower that is finished, its snakes have +fled; and at the top of all is a bud for next year. That is, +they are—<i>is</i>, <i>has-been</i> and <i>going-to-be</i>. The nuts are shown +in the corner.</p> + +<p>Note, last of all, that it is a sociable little tree; it always +goes with a crowd. There are generally three or four +Witch-hazels from one root, and there is always a family +of cousins not far away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 42<br /> +How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got +Its Burrs</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">In the</span> woods of Poconic there once roamed a very discontented +Porcupine. She was forever fretting. She complained +that everything was wrong, till it was perfectly +scandalous, and Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, getting tired +of her grumbling, said:</p> + +<p>"You and the world I have made don't seem to fit; +one or the other must be wrong. It is easier to change you. +You don't like the trees, you are unhappy on the ground, +and think everything is upside down, therefore I'll turn +you inside out, and put you in the water." And so the +Porcupine was turned into a new creature, a fish, called +the Shad. That is why he is so full of little sharp +bones.</p> + +<p>Then after the old Porcupine had been turned into a Shad, +the young ones missed their mother, and crawled up into a +high Chestnut tree to look for her coming. Wahkonda +happened to pass that way, and they all chattered their +teeth at him, thinking themselves safe. They were not +wicked, but at heart quite good, only badly brought up; +oh, so ill-trained, and some of them chattered and groaned +as Wahkonda came nearer. Then Wahkonda was sorry +for them, remembering that he had taken their mother from +them, and said: "You look very well up there, you little +Porkys, so you had better stay there for always, and be +part of the Chestnut tree." And he touched each one +with his magic wand and turned it into a burr that grew +tight to the tree. That is how it came about. There they +hang like a lot of little Porcupines on the twigs of the +tree. They are spiney and dangerous, utterly without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +manners, and yet most of them have a good little heart +inside.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 43<br /> +How the Littlest Owl Came</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">After</span> the Great Spirit had made the world and the creatures +in it, he made the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo. This was +like an Owl, but bigger than anything else alive, and his +voice was like a river plunging over a rocky ledge. He +was so big that he thought he had done it all himself, and +he became puffed up. He forgot the Great Spirit, who +decided to teach him a lesson in this wise:</p> + +<p>He called the Blue-jay, the mischief-maker of the woods, +and told him what to do. Away went the Blue-jay to the +mountain at the top of which was the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo +making thunder in his throat. The Blue-jay flew up to his +ear, and said: "Pooh, Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, you don't +call that a big noise! You should hear Niagara; then +you would never twitter again."</p> + +<p>The Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo was so mad at hearing his big +wonderful song called a twitter, that he said: "Niagara, +Niagara! I'm sick of hearing about Niagara. I will go +and silence Niagara with my voice." So he flew to Niagara +while the Blue-jay snickered and followed to see the +fun.</p> + +<p>Now when Niagara Falls was made the Great Spirit +said to it, "Flow on for ever." That last word of the +Great Spirit it took up as it rushed on, and never ceases +to thunder out "For ever! For ever! For ever!"</p> + +<p>When they came to Niagara the mighty cataract, the +Blue-jay said, "Now, Gitchee, you can beat that I am +sure." So Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo began bawling to drown +the noise of it, but could not make himself heard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wa-wa-wa," said the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, with great +effort and only for a few heart beats.</p> + +<p>"<i>For ever, For ever, For ever</i>," thundered the river, steadily, +easily, ceaselessly.</p> + +<p>"Wa-wa-wa—!" shrieked Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo; but his +voice was so utterly lost that he could not hear it himself, +and he began to feel small, and smaller; and as he began +to feel small, a strange thing happened—he began to get +small and smaller, until he was no bigger than a Sparrow; +and his voice, instead of being like a great cataract, became +like the dropping of water, just a little</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +Tink-tank-tink,<br /> +Tink-tank-tink.<br /> +</div> + +<p>And this is why the Indians give to this smallest of the +Owls the name of "The Water-dropping Bird," who was once +the greatest of all creatures, but is now shrunk to be the +littlest of the Owls, because he became proud and forgot +the Great Spirit.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 44<br /> +The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time there was a rich boy, who knew all +about the city, and nothing about the woods. He went for +an outing into the wilderness, and got lost. He wandered +all day until he was very tired and hungry. The +sun was low when he came to a little pathway. He followed +it, and it led to a small log cabin. When he knocked, an +old woman opened the door. He said, "Please, Ma'am, I +am lost and very hungry, will you give me something to +eat?"</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 251px;"> +<img src="images/i131.png" width="251" height="400" alt="The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts" title="The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts" /> +<span class="caption">The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts</span> +</div> + +<p>The old woman looked sharply at his clothes, and knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +that he was rich, so she said: "Poor people are wise, they +can take care of themselves in the woods. They don't +get lost. But you rich people are fools, and I wish you +would go away."</p> + +<p>"I will, if you'll give me something to eat," he answered.</p> + +<p>Then the old woman said: "Listen, foolish rich boy, +in the woods beside you right now is a friend who feeds +the poor people, maybe she will feed you. She is tall and +slim, her eyes are brownish purple and her hair is green, +and by this you may know her—she has five fingers on one +hand and seven on the other. Her house is in the brier +thicket; she climbs to the roof and stands there all day +waving her hands, and shouting out in wood-talk, 'There +are cocoanuts in my cellar.'</p> + +<p>"Now go and find her, maybe she will feed you. She +always feeds us poor folks," and the witch slammed the +door.</p> + +<p>The boy was puzzled. As he stood in doubt, there was a +loud noise, and his friends arrived. They brought him +the food and comfort that he needed.</p> + +<p>Then he said: "I wish to know what that old wood-witch +meant by the lady with the purple eyes and green hair." +So he went again to the log cabin and knocked.</p> + +<p>When the old woman came, and saw a lot of people about, +she was frightened for she knew she had been unkind. +But the boy said: "Now Granny, you needn't be afraid, +I want you to show me the friend that has seven fingers +and a cellar full of cocoanuts."</p> + +<p>"I'll show you, if you promise to do me no harm," she +answered.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I'll promise," replied the boy.</p> + +<p>Then Granny Wood-witch went hobbling to the nearest +thicket and cackled out loud, as she pointed out a trailing +vine that had sometimes five leaflets on a stalk and sometimes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +seven. "See, see, that's the lady. See seven fingers on +that hand and five on this. Now follow her feet down and +dig in the ground."</p> + +<p>They dug and found strings of lovely brown nuts as big +as walnuts.</p> + +<p>"See, see," chuckled the wood-witch. "See the cocoanuts +in the cellar."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Go forth and look for it, ye Woodcrafters. You will find +it throughout Eastern America on the edge of every wood. +Its flower is like a purple-brown sweet-pea, and is in bloom +all summer long. Follow down its vine, dig out a few of +the potatoes or nuts, and try them, raw, boiled, or if ye +wish to eat them as Indian Cake, clean them, cut them in +slices, dry till hard, pound them up into meal, and make a +cake the same as you would of oatmeal.</p> + +<p>The wild things love them, the Indians love them, and this +was the bread of the wood-witch. The books call it Bog +Potato and Ground Nuts. It is the third secret of the +woods.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 45<br /> +The Mud-dauber Wasp</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">If you</span> look under the roof of any wooden barn in Eastern +America you are likely to see the nest of the common +Mud-wasp.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/i134.png" width="300" height="353" alt="The Mud-dauber Wasp (life size)" title="The Mud-dauber Wasp (life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Mud-dauber Wasp (life size)</span> +</div> + +<p>If you look on warm sunny days along the edge of some +mud puddle you are sure to see a curious steel-blue wasp, +with a very thin waist, working away at a lump of mud. +She seems to be breathing hard with her body, as she works +with her yellow legs, but she finally goes off laden with a +gob of mud. This is the Mud-wasp at work, building a +strong mud-nest for her family. The nest is the one we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +have seen hung under the roof of the shed, always put +where no rain can reach it.</p> + +<p>In the drawing are two of these nests.</p> + +<p>Once the cradle is ready, the mother Wasp goes spider-hunting. +Whenever she can find a spider, she pounces +on it, and with her sting, she stabs it in the body, so as to +paralyze it, but not kill it. Then she carries it to the mud +cell and packs it in, at the far end. Many spiders are caught +and preserved this way, for they do not usually die though +they cannot move.</p> + +<p>When the cell is full, the Wasp lays an egg on the last +spider, and seals up the opening with a mud lid.</p> + +<p>Very soon the egg hatches out a little white grub which +begins on the spider next to him, eating the legs first, and the +body last, so as to keep it alive as long as possible, though +of course the spider has no feeling. Then he eats the next +spider, and the next, growing as he eats, until he nearly +fills the cell, and the spiders are all eaten up.</p> + +<p>Now the grub goes to sleep, and next spring comes out as +a full-grown Mud-wasp to do exactly as the mother did, +though it never saw that Mother or had a lesson from any +one in the many strange things it must do to live.</p> + +<p>I went into my boat-house to-day, November 20, 1919, +to get a mud nest for this drawing. There were 86 on the +roof; some of them with 20 or 30 cells, and besides there +was a lot of paper nests by other Wasps. The nest I took +had two cells, one open and empty, and the other with a +mud lid on tight. This held a long, shiny brown transparent +case, in which was a white grub much too small for the +big coat he was wearing. The grub was sound asleep, +and would have come out next spring, as a big steel-blue +Mud-wasp had I let him alone. But there are plenty of +Mud-wasps so I fed him to the Chicadees, which likely is +what Mother Carey would have done.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 273px;"> +<img src="images/i136.png" width="273" height="400" alt="The Cicada and the Katydid (life size)" title="The Cicada and the Katydid (life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Cicada and the Katydid (life size)</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 46<br /> +The Cicada and the Katydid</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time, long, long ago, the birds whose job +it was to make the woods merry with their songs, decided +to go on strike. They said, "We have sung all day, all +springtime, and half way through the summer, but now we +are moulting, the weather is frightfully hot; we need a rest, +and we are going to stop singing, to take a holiday."</p> + +<p>Then Dame Nature, who is sometimes called the All-mother, +or Mother Carey, said: "Dear me, this will never +do! No songbirds, woods silent all through the dog-days. +Now who will be strike-breakers and volunteer to supply the +music till the birds get once more in a good humour?"</p> + +<p>Then up at that question got a long-winged insect +like a big fly, and a long-legged insect like a green grasshopper, +and both said at once, "I will." Amid low murmurs +of "Scab! Scab!" from many of the Wood-birds.</p> + +<p>"You. I forgot that you two had any voices at all!" +said Mother Carey.</p> + +<p>Then the long-winged creature, whose name is Cicada, +began, "True, my voice isn't much, but I have invented a +most successful musical Castanet. Listen!"</p> + +<p>Then he began an extraordinary racket like an alarm +clock, a threshing machine, and a buzz-saw all going together. +He filled the grove with his noise, and set all the +woodfolk laughing with his funny performance. Though, +of course, he didn't mean to be funny; he thought it was fine.</p> + +<p>Then as the Cicada ceased, Mother Carey said to the +Green Hopper, whose name was Katy, "Now, Katy, what +can you do?"</p> + +<p>"I do not brag of my voice, dear Mother," said she, "but +I am a thrilling performer on the violin."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then she humped herself up over a green fiddle that she +had under her cloak, and nearly deafened them with its +hoarse screechings.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt that these two could make as much +noise as a wood full of birds; both were eager to take sole +charge, and a bitter dispute arose as to whose idea it was +first.</p> + +<p>But Mother Carey settled it by dividing the time. "You," +she said to Cicada, "can take charge of the music by day, +and you," she said to the Green one, "must take it up at +sundown in place of the nightingale, and keep it up, till +the night breaks, and both of you continue till the frost +comes, or until the birds are back on the job."</p> + +<p>That is how it all came about.</p> + +<p>But there is considerable feeling yet among the Katies, +that they should get all the night work, and never be seen +performing. They think that their ancestor was the original +inventor of this cheap substitute for bird song. And +it is made all the worse by a division among themselves. +Some say "she did" and some say "she didn't." If you +notice in early August, they are nearly all shouting, "Katy-did." +Then by the end of the month, "Katy-didn't" is +stronger. In September it is still mixed. In October +their work is over, the chorus ended, but you hear an occasional +"Katy-did" and finally as late as Indian Summer, +which is Hallowe'en, I have heard the last of the fiddlers +rasp out "she did"; and do it in daytime, too, as though to +flout the followers of Cicada. And, if the last word be +truth, as they say, we may consider it settled, that Katy +really and truly <i>did</i>. And yet I believe next year the same +dispute will arise, and we shall have the noisy argument all +over again.</p> + +<p>If you look at the portraits of Cicada, the Hotweather-bug +or Locust, and of the Katydid, you will not see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +their musical instruments very plainly, but believe me they +have them; and you can hear them any late summer hot-weather +time, in any part of the Eastern States and some +parts of southern Canada.</p> + +<p>And now let me finish with a secret. Katy is not a lady at +all, but a he-one disguised in green silk stockings, and a green +satin dress.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 47<br /> +The Digger Wasp that Killed the Cicada</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Strange</span> things are done in the realm of Mother Carey; +strange things and cruel. At least so they seem to us, for +we do not know the plan that is behind them. We know +only that sometimes love must be cruel. I am going to +tell you of a strange happening, that you may see any hot +day in August. And this is how it came about.</p> + +<p>At that meeting in the woods when the Cicada and the +Katydid undertook to be musicians, while the birds were on +strike, there was one strong insect who gave off an angry +"<i>Bizz, Bizz</i>" that sounded like "<i>Scab, Scab</i>." That was +the big yellow-and-black Digger Wasp, the biggest of the +wasps, with a sting that is as bad as that of a baby rattlesnake. +And that very day she declared war on the Cicada +and his kind. The Katydids she could not touch, because +the Wasp cannot see at night.</p> + +<p>But the Cicada was easy to find. As soon as the day +got hot, and that awful buzzing began in the trees, the Big +Digger got her sting ready, and went booming along in +the direction of the sound.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 308px;"> +<img src="images/i140.png" width="308" height="400" alt="The Digger Wasp (life size)" title="The Digger Wasp (life size)" /> +<span class="caption">The Digger Wasp (life size)</span> +</div> + +<p>Now Mother Carey had given the Cicada bright eyes +and strong wings, and it was his own business to take care +of himself; but he was so pleased with his music that he +never saw the fierce Digger Wasp, till she charged on him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +And before he could spread his wings, she had stabbed him +through.</p> + +<p>His song died away in a few shrieks, and then the Cicada +lay still. But not dead, for the Digger had stuck her poison +dagger into the nerve centre, so that he was paralyzed and +helpless, but still living.</p> + +<p>Now the Digger set about a plan. She wanted to get +that Cicada body into her den, to feed her young ones with +it. But the Cicada was bigger and heavier than she was, +so that she could not carry it. However, she was bent on +doing it, she got all ready, took tight hold with her claws, +then swooped from the tree, flying as strongly as she could, +till the weight of the Cicada brought her to the ground +within fifty feet, while the den was fully a hundred feet +away. But the Wasp dragged the Cicada up the trunk of +another tree, then took another long sloping flight as before. +One more climb and skid down, brought her to her den—a +hole in a bank that she had dug out; that is why she is called +the Digger Wasp. The passage was a foot long and had a +crook in the middle. At the end was a round room an +inch and a half high. Here the Digger left her victim's +body and right on its breast, to one side, laid an egg.</p> + +<p>This hatched in two or three days, and began to feed on +the Cicada. In a week it had eaten the Cicada and grown +to be a big fat grub. Then it spun a cocoon, and made +itself into a bundle-baby, resting all autumn and all winter +in that dark den.</p> + +<p>But when the spring came with its glorious wakening up, +great changes came over the bundle-baby of the Digger. +It threw off the cocoon and its outer skin, and came forth +from the gloom into the sunshine, a big strong Digger +Wasp with a sting of its own, and a deadly feud with all +screaming Cicadas. Although it never saw its mother, +or got any lessons from her, it goes after the buzzing hot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>weather-bugs, +when August comes, and treats them exactly +as she did.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 48<br /> +How the Indian Summer Came</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Wahkonda</span>, the Great Spirit, the Ruler of the World, +had found pleasure the whole summer long in making +mountains, lakes, and forests. Then when the autumn +came, and the leaves fell from the trees, He lighted His pipe +and sat down to look over the things He had made.</p> + +<p>As He did so, the north wind arose for Cold Time was +coming, and blew the smoke and ashes of the pipe into His +face. Then He said: "Cease your blowing, all ye winds, +until I have finished smoking." So, of course, there was +dead calm.</p> + +<p>Wahkonda smoked for ten days, and during all that time +there were no clouds in the sky, for there was no wind to +bring them; there was unbroken, calm sunny weather. +But neither was there any wind to carry off the smoke, +so it hung, as the teepee smoke hangs at sunrise, and it +drifted over the valleys and forests in a blue haze.</p> + +<p>Then at last when the Great Spirit finished His smoke +and His meditation, He emptied out His pipe. That was the +signal, the north wind broke loose, and came howling down +from the hills, driving the leaves before it, and warning all +wild things to be ready, for soon there would be winter in +the woods.</p> + +<p>And it hath been so ever since. When the leaves have +fallen and before yet the Ice-king is here, there come, for a +little while, the calm dreamy days, when the Great Spirit +is smoking His pipe, and the smoke is on the land. The Red-men +call them the Smoking Days, but we call it Indian +Summer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> +<h2>THINGS TO SEE IN WINTERTIME</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/i144.png" width="600" height="440" alt="The North Star or Home Star" title="The North Star or Home Star" /> +<span class="caption">The North Star or Home Star</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Things to See in Wintertime</h2> + + +<h3>TALE 49<br /> +The North Star, or the Home Star</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">If you</span> are going to be a Woodcrafter, you must begin +by knowing the North Star, because that is the star +which will show you the way home, if you get lost in +the woods at night. That is why the Indians call it the +"Home Star."</p> + +<p>But first, I must tell you how it came to be, and the story +begins a long, long time ago.</p> + +<p>In those far-off days, we are told, there were two wonderful +hunters, one named Orion, and the other named Boötes +(Bo-o-tees). Orion hunted everything and I shall have +to leave him for another story. Boötes was an ox-driver +and only hunted bears to save his cattle. One day he +went after a Mother Bear, that had one little cub.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/i146.png" width="300" height="299" alt="The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back" title="The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back" /> +<span class="caption">The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back</span> +</div> + +<p>He chased them up to the top of a mountain so high, that +they leaped off into the sky, and just as they were going, +Boötes shot his arrows after them. His very first arrow +hit the Little Bear in the tail—they had long tails in those +days—and pinned him to the sky. There he has hung ever +since, swinging round and round, on the arrow in his tail, +while his mother runs bawling around him, with Boötes +and his dogs chasing her. He shot arrows into her tail, +which was long and curved, into her body, and into her +shoulder. Seven big arrows he shot, and there they are yet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +in the form of a dipper pointing always to the cub who is +called the "Little Bear." The shining head of the big arrow +in the end of the Little Bear's tail is called the North Star +or Pole Star. You can always tell which is the North Star, +by the two Pointers; these are the two bright stars that +make the outer side of the Dipper on the Big Bear's +shoulder. A line drawn through them, points out the +North Star.</p> + +<p>The Dipper, that is the Big Bear, goes round and round +the Pole Star, once in about twenty-four hours; so that sometimes +the Pointers are over, sometimes under, to left or to +right; but always pointing out the Pole Star or North Star.</p> + +<p>This star shows nearly the true north; and, knowing that, +a traveller can find his way in any strange country, so long +as he can see this friendly Home Star.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 50<br /> +The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Now</span> that you know how the Bears and the Big Dipper +came, you should know the Indian story of the Old Squaw.</p> + + +<div class="figright" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/i148.png" width="300" height="284" alt="Orion Fighting the Bull" title="Orion Fighting the Bull" /> +<span class="caption">Orion Fighting the Bull</span> +</div><p>First find the bright star that is at the bend of the Dipper +handle. This is called the "Old Squaw"; on her back is a +tiny star that they call "The Pappoose."</p> + +<p>As soon as an Indian boy is old enough to understand, his +mother takes him out into the night when it is calm and +clear, and without any moon or any bright lights near, +and says, "My child, yonder is the Old Squaw, the second +of the seven stars; she is going over the top of the hill; on +her back she carries her pappoose. Tell me, my child, can +you see the pappoose?"</p> + + +<p>Then the little redskin gazes, and from his mother's +hand he takes two pebbles, a big one and a little one, and he +sets them together on her palm, to show how the two stars<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +seem to him. When the mother is sure that he did see +them clearly, she rejoices. She goes to the fire and drops +a pinch of tobacco into it, for incense to carry her message, +then looking toward the sky she says: "Great Spirit, I +thank Thee that my child has the eyes of a hunter."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>These things are not new, O Woodcrafter. The wise +men of our race call the Big Star "Mizar" one of the chariot +horses, and the little star "Alcor" or the Rider. In all ages +it has been considered proof of first-class eyes, to see this +little star. Can you see it? Have you the eyes of a hunter?</p> + + +<h3>TALE 51<br /> +Orion the Hunter, and His Fight With the Bull</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">In the</span> 49th Tale I told you there were two giants among +the mighty hunters in the sky, Boötes, whose adventure with +the Bears you have already heard, and Orion. (O-ry´-on).</p> + +<p>Orion was the most famous of all. In his day men had no +guns; they had nothing but clubs, spears, and arrows to fight +with, and the beasts were very big and fierce as well as +plentiful, yet Orion went whenever he was needed, armed +chiefly with his club, fought the wild beasts, all alone, killing +them or driving them out, and saving the people, for the +joy of doing it. Once he killed a lion with his club, and +ever afterward wore the lion's skin on his arm. Bears +were as nothing to him; he killed them as easily as most +hunters would rabbits, but he found his match, when he +went after a ferocious wild Bull as big as a young elephant.</p> + +<p>As soon as the Bull saw him, it came rushing at him. +It happened to be on the other side of a stream, and as it +plunged in, Orion drew his bow and fired seven quick shots +at the Bull's heart. But the monster was coming head on, +and the seven arrows all stuck in its shoulder, making it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +madder than ever. So Orion waved his lion skin in his left +hand, and with his club in the right, ran to meet the Bull, +as it was scrambling up the bank from the water.</p> + +<p>The first whack of the club tumbled the Bull back into +the water, but it turned aside, went to another place, and +charged again. And again Orion landed a fearful blow +with the club on the monster's curly forehead.</p> + +<p>By this time, all the animals had gathered around to see +the big fight, and the gods in heaven got so interested that +they shouted out, "Hold on, that is good enough for us to +see. Come up here."</p> + +<p>So they moved the mighty Hunter and the Bull, and the +River and all the animals, up to heaven, and the fight has +gone on there ever since.</p> + +<p>In the picture I have shown a lot of animals besides Orion +and the Bull, but the only things I want you to look now +in the sky, are Orion's belt with the three stars on it, and +the Pleiades on the Bull's shoulder, the seven spots where +the seven arrows struck.</p> + +<p>And remember these stars cannot be seen in summer, +they pass over us in winter time. You can find Orion by +drawing a straight line across the rim of the Dipper, beginning +at the inner or handle side, passing <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'throught he'">through the</ins> outer +or Pointers side, and continued for twice the length of the +Dipper, handle and all, this will bring you to Betelgeuze, +the big star in the Giant's right shoulder, below that are the +three stars of his belt, sometimes called the "Three Kings."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 52<br /> +The Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/i151.png" width="300" height="248" alt="The Pleiades" title="The Pleiades" /> +<span class="caption">The Pleiades</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> late autumn comes the Pleiades (Ply'-a-dees) +appear in the evening sky to the eastward. These are the +seven shots in the Bull's shoulder, the seven arrows from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +Orion's bow. The Guide can locate them by continuing +the line of Orion's belt, eight times the length of the belt to +the right, as one faces the Hunter, so Orion must have been +very close indeed. At first they look like a faint light with a +few bright pin-points scattered through. Tennyson described +them as:</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +Glittering like a swarm of fireflies<br /> +Tangled in a silver braid.<br /> +</div> + +<p>The best time to see them is some clear night about +Christmas, when there is no moon, and the Pleiades are +nearly overhead, above the mist and smoke of the horizon, +and there are no electric lights near by.</p> + +<p>Study them attentively. Make a tube of your two hands +and look through. Look on the ground, then look back +again; look not straight at them, but a little to one side; +and at last, mark down on paper how many you can clearly +see, putting a big spot for the big one, and little spots for +the little ones. Poor eyes see nothing but a haze; fairly +good eyes see four of the pin-points; good eyes see five; +the best of eyes see seven. I can see seven on a clear winter +night when there are no clouds and no moon. This is as +high as you need expect to get, although it is said that some +men in clear air on a mountain top have seen ten, while +the telescope shows that there are 2,000.</p> + +<p>In taking these eyesight tests you may use your spectacles +if you usually wear them.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 53<br /> +The Twin Stars</h3> + +<div class='poem2'> +<span class="smcap">Two-Bright-Eyes</span> went wandering out<br /> +To chase the Whippoorwill;<br /> +Two-Bright-Eyes got lost and left<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>Our teepee—oh, so still!<br /> +<br /> +Two-Bright-Eyes was carried up<br /> +To sparkle in the skies<br /> +And look like stars—but we know well<br /> +That that's our lost Bright-Eyes.<br /> +<br /> +She is looking for the camp,<br /> +She would come back if she could;<br /> +She still peeps thro' the tree-tops<br /> +For the teepee in the wood.<br /> +</div> + + +<h3>TALE 54<br /> +Stoutheart and His Black Cravat</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Do you</span> know the bird that wears a black cravat, which +he changes once a year? It is the English Sparrow, the +commonest of all our birds. His hair is gray, but he must +have been red-headed once, for just back of his ears there +is still a band of red; and his collar, maybe, was white once, +but it is very dingy now. His shirt and vest are gray; his +coat is brown with black streaks—a sort of sporting tweed. +The new cravat comes when the new feathers grow in late +summer; and, at first, it is barred with gray as if in half +mourning for his sins. As the gray tips wear off, it becomes +solid black; that is, in March or April. In summer, it +gets rusty and worn out; so every year he puts on a new +one in late August.</p> + +<p>The hen sparrow is quite different and wears no cravat. +She has a black-and-brown cape of the sporting pattern, +but her dress is everywhere of brownish Quaker gray.</p> + +<p>The song of the English Sparrow is loud and short; but +he tries to make up, by singing it over and over again, for +many minutes.</p> + +<p>He eats many bad bugs, and would be well liked, if he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +did not steal the nests and the food of Bluebirds, Woodpeckers, +Swallows, and others that are prettier and more +useful birds, as well as far better singers than he is.</p> + +<p>But there is much to admire in the Sparrow. I do not +know of any bird that is braver, or more ready to find a way +out of trouble; and if he cannot find a way, he cheerfully +makes the best of it.</p> + +<p>Some years ago I was at Duluth during a bitterly cold +spell of weather. The thermometer registered 20° or 30° +below zero, and the blizzard wind was blowing. Oh my, +it was cold. But out in the street were dozens of English +Sparrows chirruping and feeding; thriving just as they do +in warmer lands and in fine weather.</p> + +<p>When black night came down, colder yet, I wondered +what the little stout-hearts would do. Crawl into some +hole or bird-house, maybe? or dive into a snowdrift? as +many native birds do.</p> + +<p>I found out; and the answer was most unexpected.</p> + +<p>In front of the hotel was a long row of electric lights. At +nine o'clock, when I chanced to open the window for a +breath of air, my eye fell on these; on every bulb was an +English Sparrow sound asleep with the overarching reflector +to turn the storm, and the electric bulb below him to warm +his toes. My hat is off. Our Department of Agriculture +may declare war on the Sparrow; but what is the use? +Don't you think that a creature who is not afraid of blizzard +or darkness, and knows how to use electric lights, is going +to win its life-battle, and that he surely is here to stay?</p> + + +<h3>TALE 55<br /> +Tracks, and the Stories They Tell</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 284px;"> +<img src="images/i155.png" width="284" height="400" alt="Tracks, and the Stories They Tell" title="Tracks, and the Stories They Tell" /> +<span class="caption">Tracks, and the Stories They Tell</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Sometimes</span>, in town, just after rain, when the gutters +are wet, and the pavement dry, look for the tracks of some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +Dog that walked with wet feet on the pavement. You will +find that they are like "a" in the drawing. A Dog has five +toes on his front feet, but only four touch the pavement as +he walks. The claws also touch, and make each a little +mark.</p> + +<p>Now look for the track of a Cat; it is somewhat like that +of the Dog, but it is smaller, softer, and the claws do not +show (b). They are too good to be wasted on a pavement; +she keeps them pulled in, so they are sharp when she has +use for them.</p> + +<p>Make a drawing of each of these, and make it life size.</p> + +<p>When there is dust on the road, or snow, look for Sparrow +tracks; they are like "c."</p> + +<p>Note how close together the front three toes are. The +inner two are really fast together, so they cannot be separated +far and the hind toe is very large. Last of all, note +that the tracks go two and two, because the Sparrow goes +"hop hop, hop." These things mean that the Sparrow is +really a tree bird; and you will see that, though often on the +ground he gets up into a tree when he wishes to feel safe.</p> + +<p>Look for some Chicken tracks in the dust; they are like +"d" in the drawing because the Chicken does not go "hop, +hop, hop" like the Sparrow, but "walk, walk, walk." The +Chicken is a ground bird. Most of the song birds hop +like the Sparrow, and most of the game birds walk like a +Chicken. But the Robin (e) goes sometimes hopping and +sometimes running, because part of his life is in the trees, +and part on the ground.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 56<br /> +A Rabbit's Story of His Life, Written by Himself</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Yes</span>, the Rabbit wrote it himself and about himself in +the oldest writing on earth, that is the tracks of his feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/i157.png" width="277" height="400" alt="A WOODCRAFT TRAGEDY As shown by the Tracks and Signs in the Snow" title="A WOODCRAFT TRAGEDY As shown by the Tracks and Signs in the Snow" /> +<span class="caption">A WOODCRAFT TRAGEDY<br />As shown by the Tracks and Signs in the Snow</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>In February of 1885, one morning after a light snowfall, +I went tramping through the woods north of Toronto, when +I came on something that always makes me stop and look—the +fresh tracks of an animal. This was the track of a Cottontail +Rabbit and I followed its windings with thrills +of interest. There it began under a little brush pile (a); +the bed of brown leaves showing that he settled there, before +the snow-fall began. Now here (b) he leaped out after +the snow ceased, for the tracks are sharp, and sat looking +around. See the two long marks of his hind feet and in +front the two smaller prints of his front feet; behind +is the mark made by his tail, showing that he was sitting +on it.</p> + +<p>Then he had taken alarm at something and dashed off at +speed (c), for now his hind feet are tracking ahead of the +front feet, as in most bounding forefoots, and the faster he +goes, the farther ahead those hind feet get.</p> + +<p>See now how he dodged about here and there, this way +and that, among the trees, as though trying to escape +some dreaded enemy (c, d, e, f).</p> + +<p>But what enemy? There are no other tracks, and still +the wild jumping went on.</p> + +<p>I began to think that the Rabbit was crazy, flying from +an imaginary foe; possibly that I was on the track of a +March Hare. But at "g" I found on the trail for the first +time a few drops of blood. That told me that the Rabbit +was in real danger but gave no clue to its source.</p> + +<p>At "h" I found more blood and at "j" I got a new thrill, +for there, plain enough on each side of the Rabbit track, were +finger-like marks, and the truth dawned on me that these +were the prints of great wings. The Rabbit was fleeing from +an eagle, a hawk, or an owl. Some twenty yards farther "k" +I found in the snow the remains of the luckless Rabbit +partly devoured. Then I knew that the eagle had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +done it, for he would have taken the Rabbit's body away, not +eaten him up there. So it must have been a hawk or an +owl. I looked for something to tell me which, and I got it. +Right by the Rabbit's remains was the large twin-toed +track (l) that told me that an owl had been there, and +that therefore he was the criminal. Had it been a hawk +the mark would have been as shown in the left lower corner, +three toes forward and one back, whereas the owl usually +sets his foot with two toes forward and two backward, as +in the sketch. This, then, I felt sure was the work of an +owl. But which owl? There were two, maybe three kinds +in that valley. I wished to know exactly and, looking +for further evidence, I found on a sapling near by a big +soft, downy, owlish feather (m) with three brown bars across +it; which told me plainly that a Barred Owl or Hoot Owl +had been there recently, and that he was almost certainly +the killer of the Cottontail.</p> + +<p>This may sound like a story of Sherlock Holmes among +the animals—a flimsy tale of circumstantial evidence. But +while I was making my notes, what should come flying +through the woods but the Owl himself, back to make +another meal, no doubt. He alighted on a branch just +above my head, barely ten feet up, and there gave me the +best of proof, next to eye witness of the deed, that all I had +gathered from the tracks and signs in the snow was quite +true.</p> + +<p>I had no camera in those days, but had my sketch book, +and as he sat, I made a drawing which hangs to-day among +my pictures that are beyond price.</p> + +<p>Here, then, is a chapter of wild life which no man saw, +which man could not have seen, for the presence of a man +would have prevented it. And yet we know it was true, +for it was written by the Rabbit himself.</p> + +<p>If you have the seeing eye, you will be able to read many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +strange and thrilling happenings written for you thus in +the snow, the mud, and even the sand and the dust.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 57<br /> +The Singing Hawk</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Listen</span>, Guide and young folk, I want to add another +bird to your list to-day; another secret of the woods to your +learning.</p> + +<p>I want you to know the Singing Hawk. Our nature writers +nearly always make their hawks scream, but I want you +to know a wonderful Hawk, right in your own woods, that +really and truly sings, and loves to do it.</p> + +<p>It is a long time ago since I first met him. I was going +past a little ravine north of Toronto, on a bright warm mid-winter +day, when a loud call came ringing down the valley +and the bird that made it, a large hawk, appeared, sailing +and singing, <i>kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-ye-o, ky-ye-o, +ky-oodle, ky-oodle, kee-o, kee-o</i> and on; over and over again, +in a wild-wood tone that thrilled me. He sailed with set +wings to a near-by tree, and ceased not his stirring call; there +was no answer from the woods, but there was a vibrant +response in my heart. It moved me through and through. +How could it do so much, when it was so simple? I did not +know how to tell it in words, but I felt it in my boyish soul. +It expressed all the wild-wood life and spirit, the joy of +living, the happy brightness of the day, the thrill of the +coming spring, the glory of flight; all, all it seemed to voice +in its simple ringing, "<i>kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-yi-o</i>"; never +before had I seen a bird so evidently rejoicing in his flight; +then singing, it sailed away from sight; but the song has +lingered ever since in the blessed part of my memory. I +often heard it afterward, and many times caught the Blue-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>jay +in a feeble imitation of its trumpet note. I never forgot +the exact timbre of that woodland call; so when at length, +long after, I traced it to what is known in books as the "Red-shouldered +Hawk," it was a little triumph and a little disappointment. +The books made it all so commonplace. +They say it has a loud call like "kee-o"; but they do not +say that it has a bugle note that can stir your very soul if +you love the wild things, and voices more than any other +thing on wings the glory of flight, the blessedness of being +alive.</p> + +<p>To-day, as I write, is December 2, 1917; and this morning +as I walked in my homeland, a sailing, splendid hawk came +pouring out the old refrain, "<i>kee-yi-o, kee-yi-o, kee-oh</i>." +Oh, it was glorious! I felt little prickles in the roots of +my hair as he went over; and I rejoiced above all things +to realize that he sang just as well as, yes maybe a little +better than that first one did, that I heard in the winter +woods some forty years ago.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 58<br /> +The Fingerboard Goldenrod</h3> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Oh, Mother Carey!</span> All-mother! Lover of us little +plants as well as the big trees! Listen to us little slender +Goldenrods.</p> + +<p>"We want to be famous, Mother Carey, but our stems are +so little and our gold is so small, that we cannot count in +the great golden show of autumn, for that is the glory +of our tall cousins. They do not need us, and they do not +want us. Won't you give us a little job all our own, our +very own, for we long to be doing something?"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 258px;"> +<img src="images/i162.png" width="258" height="400" alt="The Compass Goldenrod Pointing Toward the North" title="The Compass Goldenrod Pointing Toward the North" /> +<span class="caption">The Compass Goldenrod Pointing Toward the North</span> +</div> + +<p>Then Mother Carey smiled so softly and sweetly and +said: "Little slender Goldenrods, I am going to give you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +something to do that will win you great honour among all +who understand. In the thick woods the moss on the trunk +shows the north side; when the tree is alone and in the open, +the north side is known by its few branches; but on the +open prairie, there is no plant that stands up like a finger +post to point the north for travellers, while the sun is +hid."</p> + +<p>"This, then do, little slender Goldenrods; face the noon +sun, and as you stand, throw back your heads proudly, for +you are in service now. Throw back your heads till +your golden plumes are pointing backward to the north—so +shall you have an honourable calling and travellers +will be glad that I have made you a fingerboard on the +plains."</p> + +<p>So the slender Goldenrod and his brothers rejoiced and +they stood up straight, facing the noon sun, and bent backward, +throwing out their chests till their golden caps and +plumes were pointed to the north.</p> + +<p>And many a traveller, on cloudy days and dark nights, +has been cheered by the sight of the Compass Goldenrod, +pointing to the north and helping him to get home.</p> + +<p>This does not mean that every one of them points to the +north all the time. They do their best but there are always +some a little wrong. Yet you can tell the direction at night +or on dark days if you look at a bed of them that grew out +in full sunlight.</p> + +<p>"Yon is the north," they keep on singing, all summer +long, and even when winter comes to kill the plant, and end +its bloom, the brave little stalk stands up there, in snow to +its waist, bravely pointing out the north, to those who have +learned its secret. And not only in winter storms, but I +have even found them still on guard after the battle, +when the snow melted in springtime. Once when I was +a boy, I found a whole bank of them by a fence, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +the snow went off in April, and I wrote in their honour +this verse:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +Some of them bowed are, and broken<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And battered and lying low</span><br /> +But the few that are left stand like spearmen staunch<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each pointing his pike at the foe.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<h3>TALE 59<br /> +Woodchuck Day, February Second +Sixth Secret of the Woods</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 285px;"> +<img src="images/i164.png" width="285" height="400" alt="WOODCHUCK DAY: COLD WEATHER "To be, or not to be"" title="WOODCHUCK DAY: COLD WEATHER "To be, or not to be"" /> +<span class="caption">WOODCHUCK DAY: COLD WEATHER<br /> +"To be, or not to be"</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It was</span> Monapini that told Ruth Pilgrim, and Ruth +Pilgrim told the little Pilgrims, and the little Pilgrims told +the little Dutchmen, and the little Dutchmen told it to all +the little Rumours, and the grandchild of one of these little +Rumours told it to me, so you see I have it straight and on +good authority, this Sixth Secret of the Woods.</p> + +<p>The story runs that every year the wise Woodchuck retires +to sleep in his cozy home off the subway that he made, +when the leaves begin to fall, and he has heard the warning. +Mother Carey has sung the death-song of the red leaves; +sung in a soft voice that yet reaches the farthest hills:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Gone are the summer birds.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: .5em;">Hide, hide, ye slow-foots.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: .5em;">Hide, for the blizzard comes."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>And Mother Earth, who is Maka Ina, cries to her own: +"Come, hide in my bosom, my little ones." And the wise +Woodchuck waits not till the blizzard comes, but hides +while he may make good housing, and sleeps for three long +moons.</p> + +<p>But ever on the second sun of the Hunger-moon (and this +is the Sixth Secret) he rouses up and ventures forth. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +if so be that the sun is in the sky, and the snow on the bosom +of his Mother Earth, so that his shadow shall appear on it, +he goeth back to sleep again for one and a half moons more—for +six long weeks. But if the sky be dark with clouds +and the earth all bared of snow so that no shadow shows, +he says, "The blizzard time is over, there is food when the +ground is bare," and ends his sleep.</p> + +<p>This is the tale and this much I know is true: In the +North, if he venture forth on Woodchuck Day, he sees both +sun and snow, so sleeps again; in the South there is no snow +that day, and he sleeps no more; and in the land between, +he sleeps in a cold winter, and in an open winter rouses to +live his life.</p> + +<p>These things I have seen, and they fit with the story of +Monapini, so you see the little Rumour told me true.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> +<h2>THINGS TO KNOW</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 262px;"> +<img src="images/i168.png" width="262" height="400" alt="How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story" title="How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story" /> +<span class="caption">How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Things to Know</h2> + + +<h3>TALE 60<br /> +How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Suppose</span> you are in the woods, and your woods in +Canada, or the Northern States; you would see +at once two kinds of trees: Pines and Hardwoods.</p> + +<p>Pines, or Evergreens, have leaves like needles, and are +green all the year round; they bear cones and have soft wood.</p> + +<p>The Hardwoods, or Broadleaves, sometimes called Shedders, +have broad leaves that are shed in the fall; they bear +nuts or berries and have hard wood.</p> + +<p>Remember this, every tree that grows has flowers and +seeds; and the tree can always be told by its seeds, that is, +its fruit. If you find a tree with cones on it, you know it belongs +to the Pine family. If you find one with broad leaves +and nuts or berries, it belongs to the Hardwoods.<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p> + +<p>Of these the Pines always seem to me more interesting.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In September, 1002, I had a good chance to study Pine +trees in the mountains of Idaho. There was a small one +that had to be cut down, so I made careful drawings of it. +It was fourteen years old, and across the stump it showed one +ring of wood for each year of growth, and a circle of branches +on the trunk for each year. Notice that between the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +branches, the trunk did <i>not</i> taper; it was an even cylinder, +but got suddenly smaller at each knot by the same +amount of wood as was needed by those branches for their +wood.</p> + +<p>If we begin in the centre of the stump, and at the bottom +of the trunk, we find that the little tree tells us its own story +of its life and troubles. Its first year, judging by the bottom +section of the trunk (No. 1) and by the inmost ring, was just +ordinary. Next year according to section 2 and ring 2, +it had a fine season and grew nearly twice as much as the +first year. The third year the baby Pine had a very hard +time, and nearly died. Maybe it was a dry summer, so +the little tree grew only 2-1/2 inches higher while the ring +of wood it added was no thicker than a sheet of paper. +Next year, the fourth, it did better. And the next was +about its best year, for it grew 7-1/2 inches higher, and put on +a fine fat ring of wood, as you see.</p> + +<p>In its eleventh year, it had some new troubles; either the +season was dry, or the trees about too shady, or maybe +disease attacked it. For it grew but a poor shoot on the +top, and the ring of wood on the stump is about the thinnest +of all.</p> + +<p>Of course, a saw-cut along the second joint showed but +thirteen rings, and the third but twelve while one through +the top joint, the one which grew this year, showed but a +single ring.</p> + +<p>Thus the Pine tree has in itself a record of its whole life; +and this is easy to read when the tree is small; but in later +life the lower limbs disappear, and the only complete record +is in the rings of growth that show on the stump. These +never fail to tell the truth.</p> + +<p>Of course, you are not to go around cutting down trees +merely to count their rings and read their history, but you +should look at the rings whenever a new stump gives you a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +good chance. Then Hardwoods as well as Pines will spread +before you the chapters of their life; one ring for each year +that they have lived.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> The Guide will note that there are rare exceptions to these rules.</p></div> +</div> + + +<h3>TALE 61<br /> +Blazes</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> hunters and Indians have signs to let their people +know the way. Some of these signs are on trees, and are +called "Blazes." One of those much used is a little piece +of bark chipped off to show the white wood; it means: "This +is the way, or the place." Another sign is like an arrow, +and means: "Over there," or "Go in that direction." No +matter what language they speak, the blazes tell everyone +alike. So a blaze is a simple mark that tells us something +without using words or letters, and it depends on +where it is placed for part of its meaning.</p> + +<p>On the following page are some blazes used in our towns +to-day. You will find many more if you look, some in +books; some on the adjoining page.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 263px;"> +<img src="images/i172.png" width="263" height="400" alt="BLAZES." title="BLAZES." /> +</div> +<h3>TALE 62<br /> + +Totems<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor"><small>[D]</small></a></h3> + + + +<p>A Totem is a simple form used as the emblem or symbol of +a man, a group of men, an animal, or an idea; it does not use +or refer to words or letters, so it is the same in all languages. +Unlike the blaze it does not depend on its position for part +of its meaning.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 277px;"> +<img src="images/i173.png" width="277" height="400" alt="Some well known TOTEMS" title="Some well known TOTEMS" /> +</div> +<div class="figright" style="width: 276px;"> +<img src="images/i174.png" width="276" height="400" alt="Indian Symbols" title="Indian Symbols" /> +<span class="caption">Indian Symbols</span> +</div> +<p>Among peoples that cannot read or write, each leading +man had a Totem that he used, instead of writing his name.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +He put this mark on his property, and at length put it on +his shield and armour to distinguish him in battle. Out +of this grew heraldry.</p> + + + +<p>Modern trade-marks are Totems though often spoiled +by words or letters added. The Totem continues in use +because it is so easy to see a long way off, and can be understood +by all, no matter what their language. Most of +the great railway companies have a Totem and the use of +such things is increasing to-day.</p> + +<p>Here in the drawing are some Totems seen daily in our +towns. Doubtless you can add to the number.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> The Guide will remember that Totemism and Tabuism were ideas which +grew up long after the use of Totems began.</p></div></div> + + +<h3>TALE 63<br /> +Symbols</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">If you</span> have thought much about it, O Guide! you +will surely find that, for decoration, it is better to use a +beautiful symbol of anything, rather than a good +photograph of it. For the symbol lets the imagination +loose, and the other chains it to the ground; the one is +the spirit, and the other the corpse. These things you +cannot tell to the little folks, but you can prove them to +yourself, and you will see why I wish to give some symbols +here for use.</p> + +<p>There is another reason, one which you <i>can</i> give to them. +It is this: Only the highly trained artist can make a good +portrait drawing, while the smallest child, if it sticks to +symbols, is sure, in some degree, of a pleasant success in its +very first effort.</p> + +<p>These that I give, are copied from Indian art, and whether +in colour, in raised modelling, or in black lines, can be used +successfully to decorate anything that you are likely to +make.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 64<br /> +Sign Language</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 256px;"> +<img src="images/i176.png" width="256" height="400" alt="Seventeen Gestures Currently Used in the Sign Language" title="Seventeen Gestures Currently Used in the Sign Language" /> +<span class="caption">Seventeen Gestures Currently Used in the Sign Language</span> +</div><p><span class="smcap">All</span> men, especially wild men, and some animals have +a language of signs. That is, they talk to each other without +making any sounds; using instead, the movements of +parts of the body. This is "eye talk," while words are +"ear talk."</p> + +<p>Among the animals, horses bob their heads when they are +hungry and paw with a front foot when thirsty or eager to be +off. Dogs wag their tails when pleased, and cows shake +their heads when angry.</p> + +<p>Policemen, firemen, railway men, and others use signs +because there is too much noise to be heard. School children +use signs because they are not allowed to talk in school. +Most children know the signs for "yes" and "no," "come +here," "go away," "hurry up," "you can't touch me," +"hush!", "shame on you!", "up," "down," "word of +honour," "swimming," etc.</p> + +<p>The traffic policeman is using signs all day long. By a +movement of the hand he signals:—stop, go on, come here, +hurry up, wait, turn around, go by, stay back, over there, +you look out, right here, and one or two others.</p> + +<p>How many signs can you add to these two lists?</p> + + +<h3>TALE 65<br /> +The Language of Hens</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Yes</span>; Hens talk somewhat as we do; only they haven't +so many words, and don't depend on them as we have to.</p> + +<p>There are only ten words in ordinary hen-talk.</p> + +<p>The <i>cluck, cluck</i> of the mother means "Come along, +kiddies."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>The low <i>kawk</i> of warning, usually for a hawk.</p> + +<p>The <i>chuck, chuck</i> of invitation means, "Good food."</p> + +<p>The <i>tuk-ut-e-ah-tuk</i> means, "Bless my soul, what is that?"</p> + +<p>The <i>cut, cut, get your hair cut</i>, of a Hen that has just laid +and is feeling greatly relieved; no doubt, saying, "Thank +goodness, that's done!" or maybe it is a notice to her mate +or friend that "Business is over, let's have some fun. Where +are you?"</p> + +<p>The soft, long-drawn <i>tawk—tawk—tawk</i>, that is uttered +as the Hen strolls about, corresponds to the whistling of the +small boy; that is, it is a mere pastime, expressing freedom +from fear or annoyance.</p> + +<p>The long, harsh, <i>crauk, crauk</i> of fear when captured.</p> + +<p>The quick <i>clack, clack, clatter</i> when springing up in fear +of capture.</p> + +<p>The <i>put, put</i> of hunger.</p> + +<p>And, of course, the <i>peep, peep</i> of chickens and the <i>cock-a-doodle-doo</i>, +which is the song of the Rooster.</p> + +<p>Some Hens may have more; but these given here are hen-talk +for mother-love, warning, invitation, surprise, exultation, +cheerfulness, fear, astonishment, and hunger. Not a +bad beginning in the way of language.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 66<br /> +Why the Squirrel Wears a Bushy Tail</h3> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Oh, Mother</span>, look at that Gray Squirrel!" shouted +Billie. "What a beautiful bushy tail he has!" Then, +after a pause he added, "Mother, what is its tail for? Why +is it so big and fluffy? I know a 'Possum has a tail to hang +on a limb with, and a Fish can swim with his tail, but why +is a Gray Squirrel's tail so bushy and soft?"</p> + +<p>Alas! Mother didn't know, and couldn't tell where to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +find out. It was long after, that little Billie got the answer +to his childish, but really important question. The Alligator +may use his tail as a club, the Horse, his tail as a fly-flapper, +the Porcupine his tail as a spiked war-club, the +'Possum his as a hooked hanger, the Fox his as a muffler, +the Fish his as a paddle; but the Gray Squirrel's tail is a +parachute, a landeasy. I have seen a Gray Squirrel fall +fifty feet to the ground, but his tail was in good condition; +he spread it to the utmost and it landed him safely right +side up.</p> + +<p>I remember also a story of a Squirrel that lost his tail +by an accident. It didn't seem to matter much for a while. +The stump healed up, and the Squirrel was pert as ever; +but one day he missed his hold in jumping, and fell to the +ground. Ordinarily, that would have been a small matter; +but without his tail he was jarred so severely that a dog, +who saw him fall, ran up and killed him before he could +recover and climb a tree.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 67<br /> +Why a Dog Wags His Tail</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is an old story that the Dog said to the Cat: "Cat, +you are a fool; you growl when you are pleased and wag your +tail when you are angry." Which happens to be true; +and makes us ask: Why does a Dog wag his tail to mean +friendship?</p> + +<p>The fact is, it is part of a wig-wag code, which is doubly +interesting now that all our boys are learning wig-wagging +with a white flag. We think that our army people invented +this method; but Woodcraft men know better.</p> + +<p>First, notice that any Dog that has any white on his +body has at least a little white on the end of his tail. This<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +is well known; and the reason is that the wild ancestor had a +white brush on the end of his tail; a white flag, indeed; +and this was the flag of his signal code.</p> + +<p>Suppose, then, that a wild Dog, prowling through the +woods, sights some other animal. Instantly he crouches; +for it is good woodcraft to avoid being seen and then watch +from your hiding-place. As the stranger comes near, the +crouching Dog sees that it is one of his own kind, and that +it is needless to hide any longer; indeed, that it is impossible +to remain hidden. So the moment the stranger stops and +looks at the crouching Dog, the latter stands straight up +on all fours, raises his tail up high, and wags the white tip +from side to side in the sign which means, "Let's be friends."</p> + +<p>Every Dog knows the sign, every Dog in every town does +it yet; every boy has seen it a thousand times. We flatter +ourselves that we invented the wig-wag code with our little +white flag. Maybe so; but the Dog had it long before +we did.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 68<br /> +Why the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before +Lying Down</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Yes</span>, they all do it; the big St. Bernard, the foolish littlest +lap Dog, the ragged street Dog; give them bare boards, or a +silken cushion, or snow, three turns around and down they +go.</p> + +<p>Why? Not so hard to answer as some simple questions. +Long, long ago, the wild great-great-grandfather of the +Dog—a yellow creature with black hair sprinkled on his +back, sharp ears, light spots over his eyes, and a white tail-tip—used +to live in the woods, or on the prairies. He did +not have a home to which he might return every time he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +wanted to rest or sleep; so he camped wherever he found +himself, on the plains, in a thicket, or even in some hole in a +rock; and he carried his bedclothes on his back. But he +always found it worth while to add a little comfort by +smoothing the grass, the leaves, the twigs, or the pebbles +before lying down; and the simplest way to do this was by +curling up, and turning round three times, with the body +brushing the high grass or pebbles into a comfortable shape +for a bed.</p> + +<p>Yes, and they all do it to-day just the same, big and little, +which is only one of the many proofs that they are descended +from the same wild-wood great-grandfather, and +still remember his habits.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 69<br /> +The Deathcup of Diablo</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 313px;"> +<img src="images/i182.png" width="313" height="400" alt="The Deathcup Toadstool" title="The Deathcup Toadstool" /> +<span class="caption">The Deathcup Toadstool</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> world went very well in those bright days of the +long ago, when the wedding of El Sol and Maka Ina set all +living things rejoicing. Green youth and sparkling happiness +were everywhere. Only one there was—Diablo—who +found in it poor comfort. He had no pleasure in the +growing grass. The buttercups annoyed him with the gayness +of their gold. It was at this time he chewed their +stalks, so that many ever since have been flattened and +mangled. And the cherry with its fragrant bloom he +breathed on with his poison breath, so its limbs were burnt +and blackened into horrid canker bumps. And poisonous +froth he blew on the sprouting rose leaves, so they blackened +and withered away. The jewel weed, friend of the humming +birds, he trampled down, but it rose so many times and so +bravely, that he left the yellow dodder like an herb-worm, +or a root-born leech to suck its blood all summer long, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +break it down. Then to trail over the trunks of trees and +suck their life, he left the demon vine, the Poison Ivy with +its touch of burning fire. He put the Snapping Turtle +in the beautiful lakes to destroy its harmless creatures and +the Yellow-eyed Whizz he sent, and the Witherbloom with +its breath of flame.</p> + +<p>And last he made the Deathcup Toadstool, and sowed +it in the woods.</p> + +<p>He saw the Squirrels eating and storing up the sweet red +russula. He saw it furnish food to mice and deer, so he +fashioned the Deathcup Amanita to be like it; and scattered +it wherever good mushrooms grew, a trap for the unwary.</p> + +<p>Tall and shapely is the Deathcup; beautiful to look upon +and smelling like a mushroom. But beware of it, a very +little is enough, a morsel of the cup; the next night or maybe +a day later the poison pangs set in. Too late perhaps for +medicine to help, and Amanita, the Deathcup, the child +of Diablo, has claimed another victim.</p> + +<p>How shall we know the deadly Amanita among its kindly +cousins, the good mushrooms? Wise men say by these:—The +poison cup from which its springs; the white kid collar +on its neck; the white or yellow gills; and the white spores +that fall from its gills if the cup, without the stem, be laid +gills down on a black paper for an hour.</p> + +<p>By these things we may know the wan Demon of the +woods, but the wisest Guides say to their tribe:—"Because +death lurks in that shapely mushroom, though there are a +hundred good for food, they are much alike, and safety +bids you shun them; let them all alone."</p> + +<p>So Diablo went on his way rejoicing because he had +spoiled so much good food for good folk.</p> + +<p>This, the danger of the Deathcup, is the Seventh Secret +of the Woods.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 70<br /> +Poison Ivy or the Three-Fingered Demon of the +Woods</h3> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 275px;"> +<img src="images/i184.png" width="275" height="400" alt="The Poison Ivy" title="The Poison Ivy" /> +<span class="caption">The Poison Ivy</span> +</div> +<p><span class="smcap">You</span> have been hearing about good fairies and good +old Mother Carey and Medicine in the Sky. Now +I am going to warn you against the three-fingered +Demon, the wicked snakevine that basks on stone walls +and climbs up the tree trunk, and does more harm than +all the other plants, vines, trees, and bushes put together; +for it is not like the Deathcup, easy to see and easy to +let alone.</p> + +<p>This is the Poison Ivy. Does it not look poisonous as +it crawls snake-like up some trunk, sending suckers out into +the tree to suck the sap; and oozing all over its limbs with +poison in tiny wicked little drops? Sometimes it does not +climb but crawls on the ground, but by this ye may always +know it: It has only three fingers on its hand; that is, only +three leaflets on each stalk.</p> + +<p>The one thing that looks like it, is the Boston Ivy, but +that does not grow in the woods, and the Poison Ivy leaf +always has the little bump and bite out on the side of the +leaf as you see in the drawing.</p> + +<p>It is known and feared for its power to sting and blister +the skin when it is handled or even touched. The sting +begins with an unpleasant itching which gets worse, especially +if rubbed, until it blisters and breaks open with sores +which are very hard to heal.</p> + +<p>The cause of the sting is a blistering oil, which is found +in tiny drops on all parts of the leaf and branches; it is a +fixed oil; that is, it will not dry up, and as long as it is +on the skin, it keeps on burning and blistering, worse +and worse.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'>THE CURE</div> + +<p>And this is the cure for the sting of the Demon Vine:—</p> + +<p>Anything that will dissolve and remove oil without injuring +the skin:—</p> + +<p>Hot water, as hot as you can stand it, is good; a little salt +in it helps.</p> + +<p>Hot soapy water is good.</p> + +<p>Hot water with washing soda is good.</p> + +<p>A wash of alcohol is good.</p> + +<p>But best of all is a wash of strong alcohol in which is a +little sugar of lead as an antiseptic.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Guide should remember that three persons out of +five are immune from Poison Ivy, while a few are so sensitive +that they are poisoned by flies carrying it to them on +their feet. It can be easily cured if treated at once; if +neglected it often becomes very bad and may need the help +of a doctor.</p> + +<p>This is the Eighth Secret of the Woods.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 71<br /> +The Medicine in the Sky</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is one of the greatest and best secrets of Woodcraft—The +Medicine in the Sky.</p> + +<p>Let me tell you a story about it. There was once an +Indian who left his own people, to live with the white man, +in the East. But the Great Spirit was displeased, for he +did not mean the Indian to live in houses or cities. After a +year, the red man came back very thin and sick, coughing +nearly all night, instead of sleeping. He believed himself +dying.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>The wise old Medicine Man of his tribe said, "You need +the Medicine of the Sky." He took it and got quite well +and strong.</p> + +<p>Another Indian, who had gone to visit with a distant tribe +of red men, came back with some sickness on his skin that +made it very sore. It was far worse than Poison Ivy, for it +began to eat into his flesh. The Medicine Man said, "Sky +Medicine will cure you." And it did.</p> + +<p>One day a white man, a trader, came with chest protectors +to sell to the Indians. He was sure they needed them, +because he did; and, although so well wrapped up, he was +always cold. He suffered whenever the wind blew. The +old Medicine Man said, "We don't need your chest pads, +and you would not if you took the Sky Medicine." So +the trader tried it, and by and by, to his surprise and joy, +no matter whether it was hot or cold outdoors, he was comfortable.</p> + +<p>This man had a friend who was a learned professor in a +college, and he told him about the great thing he had learned +from the old Indian. The professor was not old, but he +was very sick and feeble in body. He could not sleep nights. +His hair was falling out, and his mind filled with gloomy +thoughts. The whole world seemed dark to him. He +knew it was a kind of disease, and he went away out West +to see his friend. Then he met the Medicine Man and +said to him, "Can you help me?"</p> + +<p>The wise old Indian said, "Oh, white man, where do +you spend your days?"</p> + +<p>"I spend them at my desk, in my study, or in the classroom."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and your nights?"</p> + +<p>"In my study among my books."</p> + +<p>"And where do you sleep?"</p> + +<p>"I don't sleep much, though I have a comfortable bed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"In the house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course."</p> + +<p>"Listen, then, O foolish white man. The Great Spirit +set Big Medicine in the sky to cure our ills. And you hide +from it day and night. What do you expect but evil? +This do and be saved. Take the Sky Medicine in measure +of your strength."</p> + +<p>He did so and it saved him. His strength came back. +His cheeks grew ruddy, his hands grew steady, his hair +ceased falling out, he slept like a baby. He was happy.</p> + +<p>Now what is the Sky Medicine? It is the glorious sunlight, +that cures so many human ills. We ask every Woodcrafter +to hold on to its blessings.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And in this wise, O Guide, you must give it to the little +ones. Make it an honourable exploit to be sunburnt to the +elbows without blistering; another to be sunburnt to the +shoulders; another to the waist; and greatest of all, when +sunburnt all over. How are they to get this? Let them +go to some quiet place for the last, and let the glory fall +on their naked bodies, for ten minutes each day. Some +more, and some less, according to their strength, and this +is the measure—so long as it is pleasant, it is good.</p> + +<p>In this way they will inherit one of the good things of +the woods and be strong and hardened, for there is no greater +medicine than the Sun in the sky.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 72<br /> +The Angel of the Night</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">O Guide</span> of the young Tribe! Know you the Twelfth +Secret of the Woods? Know you what walked around +your tent on that thirtieth night of your camp out? No!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +I think you knew, if you continued for thirty nights, but +you knew not that you knew. These things, then, you +should have in heart, and give to those you are leading.</p> + +<p>The Great Spirit does not put out good air in the daytime +and poison air at night. It is the same pure air at night, +only cooler. Therefore use more clothing while you sleep. +But while the outdoor air is pure, the indoor may be foul. +Therefore sleep out of doors, and you will learn the blessedness +of the night, and the night air, with its cooling kindly +influence laden.</p> + +<p>Those who come here to our Camp from life in town and +sleeping in close rooms, are unaccustomed, and nervous +it may be, so that they sleep little at first. But each night +brings its balm of rest. Strength comes. Some know it +in a week. The town-worn and nerve-weary find it at +farthest in half a moon. And in one full moon be sure of +this, when the night comes down you will find the blessed +balm that the Great Spirit meant for all of us. You will +sleep, a calm sweet vitalizing sleep.</p> + +<p>You will know this the twelfth secret of the woods: What +walked around your tent that thirtieth night? You know +not, you heard nothing, for you slept. Yet when the morning +comes you feel and know that round your couch, with +wings and hands upraised in blessed soothing influence, +there passed the Angel of the Night, with healing under her +wings, and peace. You saw her not, you heard her not, but +the sweet healing of her presence will be with you for many +after moons.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THINGS TO DO</h2><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 294px;"> +<img src="images/i192.png" width="294" height="400" alt="Nests of Kingbird, Oriole, Vireo, Robin, Goldfinch, Phoebe (1/4 life size)" title="Nests of Kingbird, Oriole, Vireo, Robin, Goldfinch, Phoebe (1/4 life size)" /> +<span class="caption">Nests of Kingbird, Oriole, Vireo, Robin, Goldfinch, Phoebe (1/4 life size)</span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Things to Do</h2> + + +<h3>TALE 73<br /> +Bird-nesting in Winter</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">What</span> good are old bird-nests? These are some +of the ends they serve. A Deermouse seeking +the safety of a bramble thicket and a warm house, +will make his own nest in the forsaken home of a Cat-bird. +A Gray Squirrel will roof over the open nest of a Crow or +Hawk and so make it a castle in the air for himself. But +one of the strangest uses is this: The Solitary Sandpiper +is a bird that cannot build a tree nest for itself and yet loves +to give to its eggs the safety of a high place; so it lays in the +old nest of a Robin, or other tree bird, and there its young +are hatched. But this is only in the Far North. There +are plenty of old bird-nests left for other uses, and for you.</p> + +<p>Bird-nesting in summer is wicked, cruel, and against the +law. But bird-nesting in winter is good fun and harms no +one, if we take only the little nests that are built in forked +twigs, or on rock ledges. For most little birds prefer to +make a new nest for themselves each season.</p> + +<p>If you get: A Goldfinch, floss nest;</p> + +<p>A Phoebe, moss nest;</p> + +<p>A Robin, mud nest;</p> + +<p>A Vireo, good nest;</p> + +<p>A Kingbird, rag nest;</p> + +<p>An Oriole, bag nest;</p> + +<div class='unindent'>you have six different kinds of beautiful nests that are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +easily kept for the museum, and you do no harm in taking +them.</div> + + +<h3>TALE 74<br /> +The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 258px;"> +<img src="images/i194.png" width="258" height="400" alt="The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite" title="The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite" /> +<span class="caption">The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Do you</span> know that "Daisy" means "day's eye," because +the old country Daisy opens its eyes when day comes, and +shuts them every night. But our Daisy is different and +much bigger, so we have got into the way of calling it +"Ox-eye." Some of our young people call it "Love-me; love-me-not," +because they think it can tell if one is loved. They +pull out the white rays of the flower one by one, saying, +"He loves me; he loves me not; he loves me; he loves me +not." Then what they are saying as the last is pulled, settles +the question. If the Daisy says "He loves me," they take +a second Daisy and ask the next question, "Will he marry +me?" Then, pulling the rays as before, "This year, next +year, some time, never." And in this way they learn +all that the Daisies know about these important matters.</p> + +<p>We call it "our Daisy," but it is not a true native of America. +Its home is Europe. The settlers of New England, +missing the flower of their homeland, brought it over and +planted it in their gardens. It spread widely in the North; +but it did not reach the South until the time of the Civil +War, when it is said to have gone in with the hay for Sherman's +Army, to become a troublesome weed in the fields.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>This scrap of history is recorded in a popular ballad.</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +There's a story told in Georgia<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis in everybody's mouth,</span><br /> +That 'twas old Tecumseh Sherman<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brought the Daisy to the South.</span><br /> +Ne'er that little blossom stranger<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In our land was known to be,</span><br /> +Till he marched his blue-coat army<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Atlanta to the sea.</span><br /></div><p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 75<br /> +A Monkey-hunt</h3><div class="figright" style="width: 280px;"> +<img src="images/i196.png" width="280" height="400" alt="The Monkeys in the Tree Tops" title="The Monkeys in the Tree Tops" /> +<span class="caption">The Monkeys in the Tree Tops</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">We all</span> love to go a-hunting; every one of us in some way; +and it is only the dislike of cruelty and destruction that +keeps most of us from hunting animals continually, as our +forebears did.</p> + +<p>Some of my best days were spent in hunting. The Arabs +say, "Allah reckons not against a man's allotted span the +days he spends in the chase."</p> + +<p>I hope that I may help many of you to go a-hunting, and +to get the good things of it, with the bad things left out.</p> + +<p>Come! Now it is the spring of the year, and just the +right time for a Monkey-hunt. We are going prowling +along the brookside where we are pretty sure of finding +our game. "See, there is a Monkey tree and it is full of +the big Monkeys!"</p> + +<p>"What! That pussy-willow?"</p> + +<p>Yes, you think they are only pussy-willows, but wait +until you see. We shall take home a band of the Monkeys, +tree and all, and you will learn that a pussy-willow is only +a baby Monkey half done.</p> + +<p>Now let us get a branch of live elderberry and one or two +limbs of the low red sumac. It is best to use sumac because +it is the only handy wood that one can easily stick a pin +through, or cut. The pieces should be five or six inches +long and about half an inch to an inch thick. They should +have as many odd features as possible, knots, bumps, fungus, +moss, etc.; all of which add interest to the picture.</p> + +<p>To these we must add a lot of odd bits of dry cane, dry +grasses, old flower-stalks, moss, and gravel, etc., to use for +background and foreground in the little jungle we are to +make for our Monkeys to play in. It is delightful to find<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +the new interest that all sorts of queer weeds take on, when +we view them as canes or palms for our little jungle.</p> + +<p>Now with the spoils of our hunt, let us go home and preserve +the trophies.</p> + +<p>Cut off about three inches of the elderberry wood and have +it clear of knots; cut a flat ended ramrod so as just to fit the +bore, and force out the pith with one clean sharp push: or +else whittle away the surrounding wood. The latter way +gives a better quality of pith.</p> + +<p>Now take a piece of the pith about one-third the size of a +big pussy-willow, use a very sharp knife and you will find it +easy to whittle it into a Monkey's head about the shape of +"a" and "b."</p> + +<p>Use a very sharp-pointed, soft black pencil to make the +eyes, nose, the line for the mouth and the shape of the ears; +or else wait till the pith is <i>quite dry</i>, then use a fine pen with +ink.</p> + +<p>If you are skilful with the knife you may cut the ears +so that they hang as in "d."</p> + +<p>Stick an ordinary pin right down through the crown of +the head into a big pussy-willow that will serve as a body +(e). If you glue the head on it is harder to do, but it +keeps the body from being mussed up. Cut two arms +of the pith (ff) and two feet (gg), drawing the lines for the +fingers and toes, with the sharp black pencil, or else ink +as before.</p> + +<p>Cut a long, straight pointed piece of pith for a tail, dip it +in boiling water, then bend it to the right shape "h."</p> + +<p>Cut a branch of the sumac so that it is about four inches +high, and of the style for a tree; nail this on a block of wood +to make it stand. Sometimes it is easier to bore a hole in +the stand and wedge the branch into that.</p> + +<p>Set the Monkey on the limb by driving the pin into it +as at "i," or else glueing it on; and glue on the limbs and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +tail. Sometimes a little wad of willow-down on the +Monkey's crown is a great help. It hides the pin.</p> + +<p>Now set this away for the glue to harden.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile take an ordinary cigar box about two inches +deep, line it with white paper pasted in; or else paint it with +water colour in Chinese white. Colour the upper part +sky colour; the lower, shaded into green, getting very +dark on the bottom. Lay a piece of glass or else a scrap +of an old motor-car window-isinglass on the bottom, +and set in a couple of tacks alongside to hold it; this is +for a pool.</p> + +<p>Make a mixture of liquid glue, one part; water, five parts; +then stir in enough old plaster of Paris, whitening, or even +fine loam to make a soft paste. Build banks of this paste +around the pool and higher toward the back sides. Stick +the tree, with its stand and its Monkeys, in this, to one side; +dust powder or rotten wood over the ground to hide its +whiteness; or paint it with water colours.</p> + +<p>Use all the various dry grasses, etc., to form a jungle; +sticking them in the paste, or glueing them on.</p> + +<p>And your jungle with its Monkeys is complete.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Many other things may be used for Monkeys. I have +seen good ones made of peanuts, with the features inked +on, and a very young black birch catkin for tail. Beautiful +birds also can be made by using a pith body and bright +feathers or silks glued on for plumes. The pith itself is +easily coloured with water colours.</p> + +<p>You will be delighted to see what beautiful effects you +can get by use of these simple wild materials, helped with a +little imagination.</p> + +<p>And the end of the Monkey-hunt will be that you have +learned a new kind of hunting, with nothing but pleasant +memories in it, and trophies to show for proof.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 76<br /> +The Horsetail and the Jungle</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 312px;"> +<img src="images/i200.png" width="312" height="400" alt="The Horsetail and the Jungle" title="The Horsetail and the Jungle" /> +<span class="caption">The Horsetail and the Jungle</span> +</div><p><span class="smcap">Long</span>, long ago, millions of years ago, this world was +much hotter than it is now. Yes, in mid-winter it was hotter +than it is now in mid-summer. Over all Pennsylvania there +were huge forests of things that looked a little like palms, +but some looked like pipes with joints, and had wheels of +branches or limb wheels at every joint. They were as +tall as some palms, and grew in swamps.</p> + +<p>When one of those big joint-wheels fell over, it sank into +the mud and was forgotten. So at last the swamp was +filled up solid with their trunks.</p> + +<p>Then for some unknown reason all the big joint-trees +died, and the sand, mud, and gravel levelled off the swamp. +There they lay, and slowly become blacker and harder under +the mud, until they turned into coal.</p> + +<p>That is what we burn to-day, the trunks of the wheel-jointed +swamp trees. But their youngest great-grandchild +is still with us, and shows, in its small way, what its great +ancestors were like.</p> + +<p>You will find it along some railway bank, or in any damp +woods. Country people who know it, call it Joint Grass +or Horsetails; the books call it Equisetum. The drawing +will show you what to look for.</p> + +<p>Gather a handful and take them home. Then get some +of the moss known as ground-pine, a small piece of glass +(the Guide should see that the edges of the glass are well +rubbed with a stone, to prevent cutting the fingers), a cigar +box, and white paste or putty, as in the Monkey-hunt.</p> + +<p>Make a pool with the glass, and banks around it of the +paste. Now cover these banks with the ground pine; using +a little glue on the under side of each piece, but leave an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +open space without moss at the back, near the pool. Take +a pointed stick and make holes through the moss into the +clay or putty, and in each hole put one of the Horsetails, +cutting it off with scissors if too tall for the top, till you +have a thicket of these stems on each side; only make more +on one side than on the other.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Now for the grand finish. You must make an extinct +monster. Get half a walnut shell; cut a notch at one end +where the neck will be; fill the shell with putty; stick in +wooden pegs for legs, tail, and head. The central stalk of a +tulip-tree fruit makes a wonderful sculptured tail; the unopened +buds of dogwood do for legs, also cloves have been +used. Any nobby stick serves for head if you make eyes and +teeth on it.</p> + +<p>When dry this makes a good extinct monster. Set it +on the far bank of the water, and you have a jungle, the +old Pennsylvania jungle of the days when the coal was +packed away.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 77<br /> +The Woods in Winter</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Go out</span> to the nearest chestnut tree, and get half a small +burr; trim it neatly. Fill it with putty; set four wooden +pegs in this for legs, a large peg for a head and a long thin +one for a tail. On the head put two little black pins for +eyes. Now rub glue on the wooden pegs and sprinkle them +with powdered rotten wood, or fine sand, and you have a +Burr Porcupine. Sometimes carpet tacks are used for +legs. You will have to wear strong leather gloves in making +this, it is so much like a real Porcupine.</p> + +<p>Now go into your woods and get a handful of common +red cedar twigs with leaves on, or other picturesque branches,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +some creeping moss of the kind used by flower dealers to +pack plants, various dried grasses, and a few flat or sharp-cornered +pebbles. Take these home. Get a cigar box +or a candy-box, some paper, clay or putty and glass, as already +described for the Monkey-hunt. Make a pond with +the glass and a bank with the clay and pebbles. Paint +the top of the clay, and tops of the pebbles with the thin +glue, and also part of the glass; then sprinkle all with powdered +chalk, whitening, plaster of Paris or talcum powder for +snow. Put the Porcupine in the middle, and you have the +"Woods in Winter."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 78<br /> +The Fish and the Pond</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 308px;"> +<img src="images/i204.png" width="308" height="400" alt="The Fish and the Pond—and the Cone" title="The Fish and the Pond—and the Cone" /> +<span class="caption">The Fish and the Pond—and the Cone</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Go out</span> and get the cone of a Norway Spruce tree, or a +White Spruce; this is the body of your Fish. Cut two round +spots of white paper for eyes, glue them on, and when dry, +put a black ink spot in the middle of each. Add a curved +piece of paper on each side for gills. Then with an awl +or with the point of the scissors make holes in the sides, in +which put fins cut out of brown paper, fixing them in with +glue. Then, with the knife blade, make a long cut in the +back, and split the tail, and in each cut glue a thick piece +of brown paper cut fin shape. When dry, draw lines on +these with ink. Now you have a good Fish.</p> + +<p>For the pond, take a cigar-box, paint the lower quarter +of it dark green, and the upper part shaded into light blue, +for sky. Glue a piece of glass or else carwindow celluloid +level across this near the bottom. This is for water. Hide +all the back and side edges of the glass with clay banks as +described in the Monkey-hunt, or with moss glued on. +Put a fine black thread to the Fish's back, another to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +tail, and hang him level above the water by fastening the +threads to the top of the box. Label it "Pond Life" or +the "Fish at Home."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 79<br /> +Smoke Prints of Leaves</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 283px;"> +<img src="images/i206.png" width="283" height="400" alt="Smoke Prints of Leaves" title="Smoke Prints of Leaves" /> +<span class="caption">Smoke Prints of Leaves</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Collect</span> one or two leaves that have strongly marked +ribs; elm and raspberry are good ones. Take a piece of +paper that is strong, but rather soft, and about as big +as this page. Grease, or oil it all over with paint-oil, butter, +or lard. Then hold it, grease-side down, in the smoke of a +candle, close to the flame, moving it about quickly so that +the paper won't burn, until it is everywhere black with soot.</p> + +<p>Lay the paper flat on a table, soot-side up, on a piece +of blotting paper. Lay the leaf on this; then, over that, a +sheet of paper. Press this down over all the leaf. Lift the +leaf and lay it on a piece of soft, white paper; press it down +as before, with a paper over it, on which you rub with one +hand while the other keeps it from slipping; lift the leaf, +and on the lower paper you will find a beautiful line-drawing +of the leaf, done in black ink; which, once it is dry, will +never rub out or fade away.</p> + +<p>At one corner write down the date and the name of the +leaf.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 80<br /> +Bird-boxes</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 253px;"> +<img src="images/i207.png" width="253" height="400" alt="Bird-boxes" title="Bird-boxes" /> +<span class="caption">Bird-boxes</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">You</span> can win honours in Woodcraft if you make a successful +bird-box. That is one made by yourself, and used +by some bird to raise its brood in.</p> + +<p>There are three kinds of birds that are very ready to use +the nesting places you make. These are the Robin, Wren,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +and Phoebe. But each bird wants its own kind exactly +right, or will not use it.</p> + +<p>First the Robin wants a shelf, as in the picture. It +should be hung against a tree or a building, about ten feet +up, and not much exposed to the wind. It should also be +in a shady place or at least not where it gets much sun.</p> + +<p>The nails sticking up on the floor are to hold the nest so +the wind will not blow it away. The Phoebe-shelf is much +the same only smaller.</p> + +<p>The Wren-box should be about four or five inches wide +and six inches high inside, with a hole exactly seven eighths +inch wide. If any bigger, the Wren does not like it so well, +and other birds may drive the Wren away. Many Wren-boxes +are made of tomato tins, but these are hard to cut a +hole in. The Wren-box should be hung where the sun never +shines on it all summer, as that would make it too hot inside.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 81<br /> +A Hunter's Lamp</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 283px;"> +<img src="images/i208.png" width="283" height="356" alt="A Hunter's Lamp" title="A Hunter's Lamp" /> +<span class="caption">A Hunter's Lamp</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">In the</span> old pioneer days, every hunter used to make himself +a lamp, for it was much easier to make than a candle. +It is a good stunt in Woodcraft to make one. Each woodcrafter +should have one of his own handiwork. There are +four things needed in it: The bowl, the wick, the wick-holder +and some fat, grease, or oil.</p> + +<p>For the bowl a big clam shell does well.</p> + +<p>For wick a strip of cotton rag rolled into a cord as thick +as a slate pencil, and about two inches long; a cotton cord +will do, or perhaps the fibrous bark of milkweed or other +native stuff is the truly woodcraft thing.</p> + +<p>For wick-holder get a piece of brick, stone, or a small clam +shell about as big as a half dollar. Bore a hole through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +middle to hold the wick. It is not easy to get the hole +through without splitting the stone, but sometimes one +can find a flat pebble already bored. Sometimes one can +make a disc of clay with a hole in it, then burn this hard in +a fierce fire, but the most primitive way is to rub the bump +of a small clam shell on a flat stone till it is worn through.</p> + +<p>For oil use the fat, grease, lard, or butter of any animal, +if it is fresh, that is without salt in it.</p> + +<p>Fill the bowl with the grease, soak the wick in grease and +set it in the holder so that half an inch sticks up; the rest is +in the grease. The holder rests on the bottom of the bowl.</p> + +<p>Light the end that sticks up. It will burn with a clear, +steady light till all the oil is used up.</p> + +<p>To have made a lamp that will burn for half an hour is +counted an "honour" in Woodcraft, and may win you a +badge if you belong to a Woodcraft Tribe.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 82<br /> +The Coon Hunt</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Take</span> a little bundle of white rags, or paper, as large as +a walnut; call this the "Coon." While all the young folks +hide their eyes or go out of the room, the Guide puts the +Coon on some place, high or low, but in plain view; then, +going away from it, shouts "Coon!"</p> + +<p>Now the young scouts have to find that Coon, each +looking about for himself. As soon as one sees it, he says +nothing, but sits down. Each must find it for himself, +then sit down silently, until all are down. Last down is +the "booby"; first down is the winner; and the winner has +the right to place the Coon the second time, if the Guide +does not wish to do it.</p> + +<p>This is often played indoors and sometimes a thimble is +used for the Coon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 83<br /> +The Indian Pot</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is something everyone can make, no matter how +young, and each, including the Guide, should make one.</p> + +<p>Get a lump of good stiff clay; yellow is better than blue, +only because it is a better colour when finished.</p> + +<p>Work the clay up with water till soft, pick out all stones, +lumps, and straws. Then roll it out like a pancake; use a +knife to cut this into laces a foot long and about as thick as +a pencil.</p> + +<p>Dip your fingers in water, take one of these laces and +coil it round and round as in "a," soldering it together with +water rubbed on and into the joints. Keep on adding, +shaping and rubbing, till you have a saucer about three +inches across and a quarter of an inch thick. Put this away +in some shady place to set, or harden a little; otherwise it +would fall down of its own weight.</p> + +<p>After about an hour, wet the rim, and build up on that +round and round with laces as before, until you have turned +the saucer into a cup, about four inches across, and, maybe +three inches high. Set this away to stiffen. Then finish the +shape, by adding more coils, and drawing it in a little. +When this has stiffened, make a "slip" or cream of clay +and water, rub this all over the pot inside and out; use your +fingers and a knife to make it smooth and even. When +this is done, use a sharp point, and draw on the pot any of +the Indian designs show in the sketches, using lines and +dots for the shading.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 298px;"> +<img src="images/i212.png" width="298" height="400" alt="The Indian Pot" title="The Indian Pot" /> +<span class="caption">The Indian Pot</span> +</div> + +<p>Now set the pot in some shady place to dry. High above +the stove in the kitchen is a good place, so long as it is not +too near the stove-pipe. After one day bring it nearer the +heat. Then about the second day, put it in the oven.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +Last of all, and this is the hardest part to do, let the Guide +put the bone-dry pot right into the fire, deep down into +the red coals at night, and leave it there till next day. In +the morning when the fire is dead, the pot should be carefully +lifted out, and, if all is well, it will be of hard ringing +red terra cotta.</p> + +<p>The final firing is always the hardest thing to do, because +the pots are so easily cracked. If they be drawn out of the +fire while they are yet hot, the sudden touch of cold air +usually breaks them into pieces.</p> + +<p>Now remember, O Guide! A pot is made of the earth, +and holds the things that come out of the earth to make +life, that feed us and keep us. So on it, you should draw +the symbols that stand for these things. At the foot of +preceding page you see some of them.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 84<br /> +Snowflakes, the Sixfold Gems of Snowroba</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 297px;"> +<img src="images/i214.png" width="297" height="400" alt="Snowflakes" title="Snowflakes" /> +<span class="caption">Snowflakes</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">You</span> have heard of the lovely Snowroba, white calm beautiful +Snowroba, the daughter of King Jackfrost the Winter +King, whose sad history was told in the first Tale. You +remember how her robe was trimmed with white lace and +crystal gems, each gem with six points and six facets and +six angles, for that is one of the strange laws of the white +Kingdom, the sixfold rule of gems. I did not give a good +portrait of the White Princess, but I can show you how +to make the Jewels which sparkled on her robe.</p> + +<p>Take a square of thin white paper three or four inches wide +(a). Fold it across (b), and again, until it is a square (c), half as +wide as "a." Mark on it the lines as in "d," and fold it in three +equal parts as in "e." Now with pencil draw the heavy black +lines as in "f, g, h." Cut along these lines with scissors, open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +out the central piece, and you have your snow-gems as +on facing page.</p> + +<p>You can see for yourself that these are true to the gem-law +of the White Kingdom, if, when next the snow comes down, +you look for the biggest flakes as they lie on some dark +surface. You will find many patterns all of them beautiful, +and all of them fashioned in accordance with the law.</p> + + +<h3>Are You Alive?</h3> + +<p>Little boy or girl, are you all alive? Just as alive as an +Indian? Can you see like a hawk, feel like a blind man, +hear like an owl? Are you quick as a cat? You do not +know! Well, let us find out in the next eight tales. In +these tests 100 is kept in view as a perfect score in each department, +although it is possible in some cases to go over +that.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 85<br /> +Farsight</h3> + +<p>1. <span class="smcap">Hold</span> up a page of this book, and see how far off you +can read it. If at 60 inches, measured with a tapeline +from your eye to the book, then your eye number is 60, +which is remarkably good. Very few get as high as 70.</p> + +<p>2. Now go out at night and see how many Pleiades you +can count; see Tale 52. If you see a mere haze, your star +number is 0; if you see 4 little pin points in the haze, your +number is 8; if you see 6, your number is 12. If you see +7 your number is 14; and you will not get beyond that.</p> + +<p>3. Now look for the Pappoose on the Squaw's back, as +in Tale 50. If you do not see it, you score nothing. If +you can see it, and prove that you see it, your number is +14 more.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now add up these, thus: 60 plus 14 plus 14; this gives +88 as your <i>farsight</i> number. Anything over 60 means you +can see like a hawk.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 86<br /> +Quicksight</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Take</span> two boards, cards or papers, each about half a +foot square; divide them with black lines into 25 squares +each, i. e. 5 each way; get 6 nuts and 4 pebbles, or 6 pennies +and 4 beans; or any other set of two things differing in +size and shape.</p> + +<p>Let the one to be tested turn his back, while the Guide +places 3 nuts and 2 pebbles on one of the boards, in any +pattern he pleases, except that there must be only one on +a square.</p> + +<p>Now, let the player see them for 5 seconds by the watch; +then cover it up.</p> + +<p>From memory, the player must place the other 3 nuts +and 2 pebbles on the other board, in exactly the same pattern. +Counting one for every one that was right. Note +that a piece exactly on the line does not count; but one +chiefly in a square is reckoned to be in that square.</p> + +<p>Do this 4 times. Then multiply the total result by 5. +This gives his <i>quicksight</i> number, to be added to his <i>aliveness</i> +score.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 87<br /> +Hearing</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Can</span> you hear like an owl? An owl can find his prey by +hearing after dark. His ears are wonderful. Let us try +if yours are.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> + +<p>1. <i>Watch-test.</i> First, you must be blindfolded, and in +some perfectly quiet place indoors. Now have the Guide +hold a man's watch (open if hunting-cased), near your +head; if you can hear it at 40 inches, measured on a tapeline, +and prove that you do, by telling exactly where it is, in +several tries, your hearing number is 40, which is high. If +at 20 inches, it is low (20 pts.); if at 60 inches (60 pts.), it is +remarkable. Anything over 50 points means you can hear +like an owl. In this you go by your best ear.</p> + +<p>2. <i>Pindrop-test.</i> Sometimes it is difficult to get a good +watch-test. Then the trial may be made with an ordinary, +silvered brass stick-pin, 1-1/8 inches long, with small head. +Lay the pin on a block of wood that is exactly half an inch +thick. Set this on a smooth polished board, or table top +of hardwood, not more than an inch thick, and with open +space under it. Set it away from the edge of the table so +as to be clear of the frame and legs. After the warning +"ready," let the Guide tip the block of wood, so the pin +drops from the block to the table top (half an inch). If +you hear it at 35 feet in a perfectly still room, your hearing +is normal, and your hearing number is 35. If 20 feet is your +farthest limit of hearing it, your number is 20, which is low. +If you can hear it at 70 feet, your number is 70, which is +remarkable.</p> + +<p>You can use either the watch-test or the pin-test. If +you use both, you add the totals together, and divide by +2, to get your <i>hearing</i> number.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 88<br /> +Feeling</h3> + +<p>1. <span class="smcap">Have</span> you got wise fingers like a blind man?</p> + +<p>Put 10 nickels, 10 coppers and 10 dimes in a hat or in one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +hand if you like. Then, while blindfolded, separate them +into three separate piles, all of each kind in a separate pile, +within 2 minutes. If it takes you the full 2 minutes (120 +seconds), you are slow, and your feel number is 0. If you +do it without a mistake in 1 minute and 20 seconds, your +feel number is 40, one point for each second you are less +than 2 minutes. But you must take off 3 points for every +one wrongly placed, so 3 wrongly placed would reduce your +40 to 31. I have known some little boys on the East Side +of New York to do it in 50 seconds without a mistake, so +their feel-number by coins was 70. That is, 120 seconds +minus 50 seconds equals 70. This is the best so far.</p> + +<p>2. Now get a quart of corn or beans. Then when blindfolded, +and using but one hand, lay out the corn or beans +in "threes"; that is, three at a time laid on the table for +2 minutes. The Guide may move the piles aside as they +are made. Then stop and count all that are exactly three +in a pile (those with more or less do not count at +all). If there are 40 piles with 3 in each, 40 is your number, +by corn.</p> + +<p>3. The last test is: Can you lace your shoes in the +dark, or blind-folded, finishing with a neat double bow +knot?</p> + +<p>Arrange it so your two shoes together have a total of at +least 20 holes or hooks to be used in the test, i. e., which +do not have the lace in them when you begin. Allow 1 +point for each hole or hook, i. e., 20 points, finish the lacing +in 2 minutes, in any case stop when the 2 minutes is +up; then take off 2 points for each one that is wrongly laced, +or not laced. Thus: Supposing 4 are wrong, take off 4 +times 2 from 20, and your blindfold lacing number is 12; +if the number wrong was 10 or more, your lacing number is +0; if you had 3 wrong, your number is 14.</p> + +<p>Suppose by these three tests—coins, corn, and laces—you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +scored 40, 30, and 14; add these together and they give your +<i>feel</i> number; 84.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 89<br /> +Quickness</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Put</span> down 12 potatoes (or other round things) in a row, +each one exactly 6 feet from the last, and the last 12 feet +from a box with a hole in it, just large enough to take in one +potato. Now at the word "go," run and get the first potato, +put it through the hole into the box; then get the second, +bring it to the box, and so on, one at each trip. After one +minute, stop. Now multiply the number of potatoes in the +box by 10, and you have your <i>quickness</i> number. If you +have 8 in the box, you score 80 points, you are as quick as a +cat. Very few get over 80. No one so far has made 100 +points.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 90<br /> +Guessing Length</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Take</span> two common nails, or other thin bits of metal, +and lay them on a table or board, at what you guess to be +exactly one yard (36 inches) apart. Then let the Guide +lay the tape-line on it, and, allowing 20 points for exactly +right, take off 1 point for each half inch you are wrong, over +or under. Do not count quarter inches, but go by the nearest +half-inch mark. Do this 5 times, add up the totals, +that will give your <i>guessing-length</i> number.</p> + +<p>Thus, if your first guess turns out to be 37 inches, that +is, 2 half-inches too much, 2 from 20 gives 18 points. Your +next guess was 34 inches, that is 4 half-inches too little, 4 +from 20 gives 16 points. Your next guess gave 12 points, +your next 17, and your last 19. The total, 18 plus 16<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +plus 12 plus 17 plus 19, equals your number of <i>guessing +length</i> or 82.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 91<br /> +Aim or Limb-control</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Take</span> 25 medium-sized potatoes, and set up a bucket or +bag whose mouth is round and exactly one foot across. +Draw a line exactly 10 feet from the bucket or bag. Toe +that line, and throw the potatoes, one by one, into the +bag. Those that go in, then bounce out, are counted +as in. Do it four times, then add up all the four totals +of those that went in; that gives your <i>aim</i> or <i>control</i> +number.</p> + +<p>For example, suppose that in the 4 tries you got 10 in the +first time, 15 in the second, 20 in the third, 19 in the fourth. +Add these together, it gives your arm-control or <i>aim</i> number +as 64.</p> + +<div class='unindent'>Now add up all these high numbers:</div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Aliveness Number"> +<tr><td align='left'>Farsight</td><td align='right'>88</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Quicksight</td><td align='right'>50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Hearing</td><td align='right'>50</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Feeling</td><td align='right'>84</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Quickness</td><td align='right'>80</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Guessing Length</td><td align='right'>82</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Aim</td><td align='right'>64</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><br />Your aliveness number is </td><td align='right'><br />498</td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<p>But very few can score so high. If you can score 400 +you are surely alive; you can see like a hawk, you can take +in at a glance, you can hear like an owl, you can feel like a +blind man, you are quick as a cat, you are a good judge of +size, and you can aim true; That is, you are as <i>alive as an +Indian</i>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 92<br /> +A Treasure Hunt</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Make</span> 24 little white sticks, each about three inches long, +and as thick as a pencil. They are easy to make of willow +shoots, after the bark is peeled off. While the young folk +hide their eyes, the Guide walks off in the woods, ties a white +rag on a tall stake or limb, for the point of beginning. Then, +one step apart and in a very crooked line, sets each of the +little white sticks in the ground, standing straight up. +Under the last stick should be buried the treasure; usually +a stick of chocolate. This the players are to find by following +the sticks.</p> + +<p>When the young folk get used to it, the line should be +longer, the sticks farther apart, and the last one may be +ten steps from the last but one.</p> + +<p>When they are well trained at it, scraps of paper, white +beans, corn, or even chalk marks on trees, instead of sticks, +will serve for trail; and still later holes prodded in the ground +with a sharp pointed cane will do.</p> + +<p>This game can be played in the snow; in which case, the +track of the Guide, when he hides the treasure, takes the +place of the sticks.</p> + +<p>Finally it makes a good game for indoors on a rainy day. +In which case we use buttons, corn, or scraps of white cotton +for trail sticks. Of course the trail now should be upstairs +and down, and as long and crooked as possible.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 93<br /> +Moving Pictures</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> of the best developers of imagination is the Moving +Picture. Sometimes called Pantomime, or Dumb-show +which means all signs without sounds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> + +<p>The one who is to put on the "movie" is given a subject +and must then stand out on the stage or Council Ring, and +carry all the story to the spectators, without using any sound +and with as few accessories as possible.</p> + +<p>The "print between the reels" is supplied by the Guide +who simply announces what is needed to explain.</p> + +<p>The following subjects have been used successfully +(unless otherwise stated they are for one actor each):</p> + +<p>Miss Muffet and the Spider—the well-known Nursery +Rhyme</p> + +<p> +Old Mother Hubbard</p> +<p>Little Jack Horner</p> +<p>Mary and her Little Lamb</p> +<p>Red Ridinghood—walk through the woods, meeting the wolf, etc.</p> +<p>Robinson Crusoe—finding the track of a man in the sand</p> +<p>A Barber Shop—shaving a customer (two actors)</p> +<p>The Man's First Speech at a Dinner</p> +<p>The Politician who was rotten-egged after vainly trying to control a meeting</p> +<p>Joyride in a Ford Car—ending in a bad upset (two actors)</p> +<p>The Operation—a scene in a hospital following the accident (two or more)</p> +<p>The Professor of Hypnotism and His Subject (two actors)</p> +<p>The Man who Found a Hair in His Soup</p> +<p>The Young Lady Finds a Purse, on opening it a mouse jumps out and she remembers that it is 1st of April</p> +<p>A Young Man Telephoning to His Best Girl</p> +<p>A Man Meeting and Killing a Rattlesnake</p> +<p>Lighting a Lamp</p> +<p>Drawing a Cork</p> +<p>Looking for a Lost Coin—finding it in one pocket or shoe</p> +<p>A Musician Playing His Own Composition</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>The Sleeping Beauty and the Prince (two actors)</p> +<p>Goldilocks and the Three Bears</p> +<p>William Tell and the Apple (best rendered in caricature with a pumpkin and two actors)</p> +<p>Eliza Crossing the Ice</p> +<p>The Kaiser Signing His Abdication</p> +<p>The Judgment of Solomon (three actors)</p> +<p>Brutus Condemning His Two Sons to Death.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 94<br /> +A Natural Autograph Album</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">If you</span> live in the country, I can show you an old +Woodcraft trick. Look for a hollow tree. Sometimes you +can pick one out afar, by the dead top, and sometimes by +noting a tree that had lost one of the biggest limbs years +ago. In any case, basswoods, old oaks and chestnuts are apt +to be hollow; while hickories and elms are seldom so, for once +they yield to decay at all, they go down.</p> + +<p>Remember that every hollow tree is a tenement house of +the woods. It may be the home of a score of different +families. Some of these, like Birds and Bats, are hard to +observe, except at nesting time. But the fourfoots are +easier to get at. For them, we will arrange a visitors' +book at the foot of the tree, so that every little creature +in fur will write his name, and some passing thought, as +he comes to the tree.</p> + +<p>How?</p> + +<p>Oh, it is simple; I have often done it. First clear and +level the ground around the tree for three or four feet; +then cover it with a coat of dust, ashes, or sand—whichever +is easiest to get; rake and brush it smooth; then wait over +one night.</p> + +<p>Next morning—most quadrupeds are night-walkers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>—come +back; and you will find that every creature on four +feet that went to the tree tenement-house has left us its +trail; that is its track or trace.</p> + +<p>No two animals make the same trail, so that every Squirrel +that climbed, every 'Coon or 'Possum, every Tree-mouse, +and every Cottontail that went by, has clearly put himself +on record without meaning to do so; and we who study +Woodcraft can read the record, and tell just who passed +by in the night.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 95<br /> +The Crooked Stick</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> upon a time there was a girl who was very anxious +to know what sort of a husband she should get; so, of course, +she went to the old wood-witch.</p> + +<p>The witch asked a few questions, then said to the girl: +"You walk straight through that woods, turn neither to +right nor left, and never turn back an inch, and pick me out +a straight stick, the straighter the better; but pick only one, +and bring it back."</p> + +<p>So the girl set out. Soon she saw a fine-looking stick +close at hand; but it had a slight blemish near one end, so +she said: "No; I can do better than that." Then she saw +another that was perfect but for a little curve in the middle, +so she passed it by.</p> + +<p>Thus she went, seeing many that were nearly perfect; but +walking on, seeking one better, till she was quite through +the woods. Then she realized her chances were nearly gone; +so she had to take the only stick she could find, a very +crooked one indeed, and brought it to the witch, saying that +she "could have got a much better one had she been more +easily satisfied at the beginning."</p> + +<p>The witch took the stick, waved it at the girl and said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +"then this is your fortune; <i>through the woods and through +the woods and out with a crooked stick</i>. If you were less hard +to please, you would have better luck; but you will pass +many a good man by, and come out with a crooked stick."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Maybe some of our Woodcraft girls can find an initiation +in this. Put it just as the witch did it, but let it be considered +a success if the stick is two feet long and nowhere half +an inch out of true line. Let me add a Woodcraft proverb +which should also have its mead of comfort—The Great +Spirit can draw a straight line with a crooked stick.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 96<br /> +The Animal Dance of Nana-bo-jou</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> this we need a Nana-bo-jou; that is, a grown-up who +can drum and sing. He has a drum and drumstick, and a +straw or paper club; also two goblins, these are good-sized +boys or girls wearing ugly masks, or at least black hoods +with two eyeholes, made as hideous as possible; and any +number of children, from three or four up, for animals. +If each has the marks, colours, etc., of some bird or beast, +so much the better.</p> + +<p>First, Nana-bo-jou is seen chasing the children around the +outside of the circle, trying to catch one to eat; but failing, +thinks he'll try a trick and he says: "Stop, stop, my brothers. +Why should we quarrel? Come, let's hold a council together +and I will teach you a new dance."</p> + +<p>The animals whisper together and the Coyote comes forward, +barks, then says:</p> + +<p>"Nana-bo-jou, I am the Coyote. The animals say that +they will come to council if you will really make peace and +play no tricks."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tricks!" says Nana-bo-jou, "I only want to teach you +the new songs from the South."</p> + +<p>Then all the animals troop in and sit in a circle. Nana-bo-jou +takes his drum and begins to sing:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"New songs from the South, my brothers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: .5em;">Dance to the new songs."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Turning to one, he says: "Who are you and what can you +dance?"</p> + +<p>The answers are, "I am the Beaver [or whatever it is] and +I can dance the Beaver Dance."</p> + +<p>"Good! Come and show me how."</p> + +<p>So the Beaver dances to the music, slapping the back of +his flat right hand, up and under his left hand for a tail, +holding up a stick in both paws to gnaw it, and lumbering +along in time to the music, at the same time imitating the +Beaver's waddle.</p> + +<p>Nana-bo-jou shouts: "Fine! That is the best Beaver +Dance I ever saw. You are wonderful; all you need to be +perfect is wings. Wouldn't you like to have wings so you +could fly over the tree-tops, like the Eagle?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says the Beaver.</p> + +<p>"I can make strong medicine and give you wings, if all the +animals will help me," says Nana-bo-jou. "Will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," they all cry.</p> + +<p>"Then all close your eyes tight and cover them with your +paws. Don't look until I tell you. Beaver, close your eyes +and dance very fast and I will make magic to give you +wings."</p> + +<p>All close and cover their eyes. Nana-bo-jou sings very +loudly and, rushing on the Beaver, hits him on the head with +the straw club. The Beaver falls dead. The two goblins +run in from one side and drag off the body.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Nana-bo-jou shouts: "Look, look, now! See how +he flies away! See, there goes the Beaver over the tree-tops." +All look as he points and seem to see the Beaver +going.</p> + +<p>Different animals and birds are brought out to dance their +dances and are killed as before. Then the Crow comes out, +hopping, flopping, cawing. Nana-bo-jou looks at him and +says: "You are too thin. You are no good. You don't +need any more wings," and so sends him to sit down.</p> + +<p>Then the Coyote comes out to do the Coyote Dance, +imitating Coyote, etc.; but he is very suspicious and, in +answer to the questions, says: "No; I don't want wings. +The Great Spirit gave me good legs, so I am satisfied"; +then goes back to his seat.</p> + +<p>Next the Deer, the Sheep, etc., come out and are killed; +while all the rest are persuaded that the victims flew away. +But the Coyote and the Loon have their doubts. They +danced in their turns, but said they didn't want any change. +They are satisfied as the Great Spirit made them. They +are slow about hiding their eyes. At last, they peek and +realize that it is all a trap and the Loon shouts: "Nana-bo-jou +is killing us! It is all a trick! Fly for your lives!"</p> + +<p>As they all run away, Nana-bo-jou pursues the Loon, +hitting him behind with the club, which is the reason that +the Loon has no tail and has been lame behind ever since.</p> + +<p>The Loon shouts the Loon battle-cry, a high-pitched +quavering LUL-L-L-O-O-O and faces Nana-bo-jou; the +animals rally around the Loon and the Coyote to attack +the magician. All point their fingers at him shouting +"Wakan Seecha" (or Black Magic). He falls dead in the +circle. They bury him with branches, leaves, or a blanket, +and all the animals do their dances around him.</p> + +<p>Before beginning, the story of the dance should be told +to the audience.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>TALE 97<br /> +The Caribou Dance</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 340px;"> +<img src="images/i229.png" width="340" height="400" alt="Horns for the Caribou Dance" title="Horns for the Caribou Dance" /> +<span class="caption">Horns for the Caribou Dance</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> easiest of our campfire dances to learn, and the best +for quick presentation, is the Caribou Dance. It has been +put on for public performance after twenty minutes' rehearsing, +with those who never saw it before, because it is +all controlled and called off by the Chief. It does equally +well for indoor gymnasium or for campfire in the woods.</p> + +<p>In the way of fixings for this, you need only four pairs +of horns and four cheap bows. Real deer horns may be +used, but they are scarce and heavy. It is better to go out +where you can get a few crooked limbs of oak, cedar, hickory +or apple tree; and cut eight pairs, as near like those in the +cut as possible, each about two feet long and one inch thick +at the butt. Peel these, for they should be white; round off +all sharp points of the branches, then lash them in pairs, +as shown. A pair, of course, is needed for each Caribou. +These are held in the hand and above the head, or in the +hand resting on the head.</p> + +<p>The four Caribou look best in white. Three or four +hunters are needed. They should have bows, but no arrows. +The Chief should have a drum and be able to sing the Muje +Mukesin, or other Indian dance tune. One or two persons +who can howl like Wolves should be sent off to one side, +and another that can yell like a Lynx or a Panther on the +other side, well away from the ring. Otherwise the Chief +or leader can do the imitations. Now we are ready for</p> + + +<div class='center'>THE DANCE OF THE WHITE CARIBOU</div> + +<p>The Chief begins by giving three thumps on his drum to +call attention; then says in a loud, singing voice: "The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +Caribou have not come on our hunting grounds for three +snows. We need meat. Thus only can we bring them +back, by the big medicine of the Caribou Dance, by the +power of the White Caribou."</p> + +<p>He rolls his drum, then in turn faces each of the winds, +beckoning, remonstrating, and calling them by name; +Kitchi-nodin (West); Keeway-din (North); Wabani-nodin +(East); Shawani-nodin (South). Calling last to the quarter +whence the Caribou are to come, finishing the call with +a long KO-KEE-NA. Then as he thumps a slow single +beat the four Caribou come in in single file, at a stately pace +timed to the drum. Their heads are high, and they hold the +horns on their heads, with one hand, as they proudly march +around. The Chief shouts: "The Caribou, The Caribou!" +After going round once in a sun circle (same way as the sun), +they go each to a corner. The Chief says: "They honour +the symbol of the Great Spirit." The drum stops; all +four march to the fire. They bow to it together, heads low, +and utter a long bellow.</p> + +<p>Then the Chief shouts: "They honour the four Winds, +the Messengers."</p> + +<p>Then the Caribou back up four paces each, turn suddenly +and make a short bow, with a short bellow, then turn and +again face the fire.</p> + +<p>The Chief shouts: "Now they live their wild free lives on +the plain." He begins any good dance song and beats +double time. The Caribou dance around once in a +circle.</p> + +<p>The Chief shouts: "Full of life they fight among themselves."</p> + +<p>The first and second Caribou, and third and fourth, close +in combat. They lower their heads, lock horns held safely +away from the head, snort, kick up the dust, and dance +around each other two or three times.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + +<p>The music begins again, and they cease fighting and dance +in a circle once more.</p> + +<p>The music stops. The Chief shouts: "They fight again." +Now the first and fourth and second and third lock horns +and fight.</p> + +<p>After a round or so the music begins again and they +cease fighting and again circle, dancing as before.</p> + +<p>The Chief calls out: "The Wolves are on their track."</p> + +<p>Now the howling of Wolves is heard in the distance, from +the fellows already posted.</p> + +<p>The Caribou rush toward that side and face it in a row, +threatening, with horns low, as they snort, stamp, and kick +up the dust.</p> + +<p>The Wolf-howling ceases. The Caribou are victorious. +The Chief shouts: "They have driven off the Wolves." +They turn away and circle once to the music, holding their +heads high.</p> + +<p>Now Panther-yelling (or other menacing sound) is heard +in the other direction. The Chief shouts: "But now the +Panthers have found them out."</p> + +<p>Again the Caribou line up and show fight. When it +ceases, the Chief cries out: "They have driven off the +Panther." Now they dance proudly around, heads up, +chests out as they step, for they have conquered every foe.</p> + +<p>Then the Chief calls out: "But another, a deadlier enemy +comes. The hunters are on their trail." The hunters +appear, crawling very low and carrying bows. They go +half around the ring, each telling those behind by signs, +"Here they are; we have found them," "Four big fellows," +"Come on," etc. When they come opposite the Caribou, +the first hunter lets off a short "yelp." The Caribou spring +to the opposite side of the ring, and then line up to defy this +new noise; but do not understand it, so gaze as they prance +about in fear. The hunters draw their bows together, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +make as though each lets fly an arrow. The first Caribou +drops, the others turn in fear and run around about half +of the ring, heads low, and not dancing; then they dash +for the timber. The hunters run forward with yells. The +leader holds up the horns. All dance and yell around the +fallen Caribou and then drag it off the scene.</p> + +<p>The Chief then says: "Behold, it never fails; the Caribou +dance brings the Caribou. It is great medicine. Now there +is meat in the lodge and the children cry no longer."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 98<br /> +The Council Robe</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Woodcraft Council Robe is something which every +one may have, and should make for himself. It may be +of any shade, of gray, buff, orange, or scarlet. The best ones +are of a bright buff. In size they are about five feet by six +feet, and the stuff may be wool, cotton, silk, or a mixture. +My own is of soft or blanket cotton.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 290px;"> +<img src="images/i233.png" width="290" height="400" alt="The Council Robe" title="The Council Robe" /> +<span class="caption">The Council Robe</span> +</div><p>The robe is used as a wall banner, a personal robe, or a bed +spread, and has for the first purpose two or more tag-loops +sewn on the top. For the second, it has a head-hole or +poncho-hole, an upright slit near one end (hh), and for +the last, there are one or two buttons or tie-strings to close +the poncho-hole. These are the useful features of the +robe.</p> + +<p>The ornamental features are the records on it. While +these vary with each owner, the following usually appear: +The Fourfold fire, near the middle; the Woodcraft shield, +the owner's totem, the symbols of each coup and each degree +won by the owner.</p> + +<p>To this many add a pictographic record of great events or +of camps they have visited.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>The easiest way to make the robe is to use paints on the +cotton fabric.</p> + +<p>The favourite way and more beautiful way, is to use +appliqués of coloured cloths for the design.</p> + +<p>The most beautiful is to embroider in silk or mercerized +cotton. But the last is very slow, and calls for much labour +as well as some money.</p> + +<p>On the preceding page are shown four different styles of +robe; you may choose or adapt which you please, except +that only a Sagamore may use the one with the 24 feathers +in the centre.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> +<h2>THINGS TO REMEMBER</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Things to Remember</h2> + + +<h3>TALE 99<br /> +How the Wren Became King of the Birds</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> story is very old, and it may not be true, but +this is how they tell it in many countries.</p> + +<p>The animals had chosen the lion for their King +because his looks and his powers seemed to fit him best of +all for the place. So the birds made up their minds that +they also would have a royal leader.</p> + +<p>After a long council it was decided that, in spite of strong +opposition from the Ostrich and his followers, the one with +the greatest powers of flight should be King. And away +all flew to see which could go the highest.</p> + +<p>One by one they came down tired out, till only two were +to be seen in the air: the Eagle and the Turkey-buzzard still +going up. At last they got so high that the Turkey-buzzard +froze his ears off for they were naked. Then he +gave it up. The Eagle went still higher to show how strong +he was, then sailed downward to claim the royal honours.</p> + +<p>But just as they were about to give him the crown, the +Wren hopped off the top of the Eagle's head, where he had +been hiding in the long feathers, and squeaked out, "No +matter how high he was, I was a little bit higher, so I am +King."</p> + +<p>"You," said the Eagle; "Why I carried you up."</p> + +<p>"Nothing to do with it," said the Wren.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then let's try it over," said the Eagle.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said the Wren, "one try was agreed on, and it's +settled now, I was higher than you."</p> + +<p>And they have been disputing over it ever since. The +lawyers take the Wren's side and the soldiers take the +Eagle's side.</p> + +<p>The peasants in Europe sometimes speak of the Eagle +as "the King of the Birds," but they always call the Wren +the "Little King." And that is why we call our gold-crowned +Wrens, Kinglets, or Kingwrens and I suppose that +is why they wear a crown of gold.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 100<br /> +The Snowstorm</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">It was</span> at the great winter Carnival of Montreal not long +ago. Looking out of a window on a stormy day were five +children of different races: an Eskimo, a Dane, a Russian, +an Indian, and a Yankee. The managers of the Carnival +had brought the first four with their parents; but the Yankee +was the son of a rich visitor.</p> + +<p>"Look," cried the little Eskimo from Alaska, as he +pointed to the driving snow. "Look at the ivory chips +falling! El Sol is surely carving a big Walrus tusk into a +fine dagger for himself. See how he whittles, and sends the +white dust flying."</p> + +<p>Of course he didn't say "El Sol," but used the Eskimo +name for him.</p> + +<p>Then the Dane said: "No, that isn't what makes it. That +is Mother Earth getting ready for sleep. Those are the +goose feathers of her feather bed, shaken up by her servants +before she lies down and is covered with her white mantle."</p> + +<p>The little Indian, with his eyes fixed on the storm, shook<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +his head gravely and said: "My father taught me that these +are the ashes from Nana-bo-jou's pipe; he has finished his +smoke and is wrapping his blanket about him to rest. And +my father always spake true."</p> + +<p>"Nay, you are all wrong," said the little Russian. "My +grandmother told me that it is Mother Carey. She is out +riding in her strongest, freshest steed, the White Wind. +He has not been out all summer; he is full of strength and +fury; he spumes and rages. The air is filled with the foam +from his bridle, and froth from his shoulders, as she rides +him, and spurs him, and rides him. I love to see it, and +know that she is filling the air with strength and with messages. +They carry me back to my own dear homeland. +It thrills me with joy to see the whiteness."</p> + +<p>But the Yankee boy said: "Why, it's just snowing."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 101<br /> +The Fairy Lamps</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was once a little barelegged, brown-limbed boy +who spent all his time in the woods. He loved the woods +and all that was in them. He used to look, not at the +flowers, but deep down into them, and not at the singing +bird, but into its eyes, to its little heart; and so he got an +insight better than most others, and he quite gave up collecting +birds' eggs.</p> + +<p>But the woods were full of mysteries. He used to hear +little bursts of song, and when he came to the place he could +find no bird there. Noises and movements would just +escape him. In the woods he saw strange tracks, and one +day, at length, he saw a wonderful bird making these very +tracks. He had never seen the bird before, and would have +thought it a great rarity had he not seen its tracks every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>where. +So he learned that the woods were full of beautiful +creatures that were skillful and quick to avoid him.</p> + +<p>One day, as he passed by a spot for the hundredth time, +he found a bird's nest. It must have been there for long, +and yet he had not seen it; and so he learned how blind he +was, and he exclaimed: "Oh, if only I could see, then I +might understand these things! If only I knew! If I +could see but for once, how many there are, and how near! +If only every bird would wear over its nest this evening a +little lamp to show me!"</p> + +<p>The sun was down now; but all at once there was a soft +light on the path, and in the middle of it the brown boy saw +a Little Brown Lady in a long robe, and in her hand a rod.</p> + +<p>She smiled pleasantly and said: "Little boy, I am the +Fairy of this Woods. I have been watching you for long. +I like you. You seem to be different from other boys. +Your request shall be granted."</p> + +<p>Then she faded away. But at once the whole landscape +twinkled over with wonderful little lamps—long lamps, +short lamps, red, blue, and green, high and low, doubles, +singles, and groups; wherever he looked were lamps—twinkle, +twinkle, twinkle, here and everywhere, until the +forest shone like the starry sky. He ran to the nearest, +yes, a nest; and here and there, each different kind of lamp +stood for another kind of nest. A beautiful purple blaze +in a low tangle caught his eye. He ran to it, and found +a nest he had never seen before. It was full of purple eggs, +and there was the rare bird he had seen but once. It was +chanting the weird song he had often heard, but never traced. +But the eggs were the marvelous things. His old egg-collecting +instinct broke out. He reached forth to clutch +the wonderful prize, and—in an instant all the lights went +out. There was nothing but the black woods about him. +Then on the pathway shone again the soft light. It grew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +brighter, till in the middle of it he saw the Little Brown +Lady—the Fairy of the Woods. But she was not smiling +now. Her face was stern and sad, as she said: "I fear I +set you over-high. I thought you better than the rest. +Keep this in mind:</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +"Who reverence not the<br /> +<span style="margin-left: .5em;">lamp of life can neve</span>r<br /> +<span style="margin-left: .5em;">see its light."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Then she faded from his view, and he never saw the lamps +again.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 102<br /> +The Sweetest Sad Song in the Woods</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Once</span> a great American poet was asked which he thought +was the sweetest voice in the woods. He said: "The +sweetest sound in Nature is the calling of the Screech Owl."</p> + +<p>Sometimes, though rarely, it does screech, but the sound +it most often makes is the soft mournful song that it sings +in the woods at night, especially in the autumn nights.</p> + +<p>It seems to be moaning a lament for the falling leaves, a +sad good-bye to the dear dying summer.</p> + +<p>Last autumn one sat above my head in the dark October +woods, and put his little soul into a song that seemed to be</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +Ohhhh! Ohhhh!<br /> +The leaves are falling:<br /> +Ohhhh! Ohhhh!<br /> +A sad voice calling;<br /> +Ohhhh! Ohhhh!<br /> +The Woodbirds flying;<br /> +Ohhhh! Ohhhh!<br /> +Sweet summer's dying,<br /> +Dying, Dying.<br /></div><p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 336px;"> +<img src="images/i242.png" width="336" height="400" alt="The Lament of the Owl. Notation by Ann Seton" title="The Lament of the Owl. Notation by Ann Seton" /> +</div> +<div class="center">[<small><i>You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/i242.midi">here</a>.</small>]</div> +<div class="center">[<small><i>You can see the sheet music (PDF file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/i242.pdf">here</a>.</small>]</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>A mist came into my eyes as I listened, and yet I thanked +him. "Dear voice in the trees, you have said the things I +felt, and could not say; but voicing my sadness you have +given it wings to fly away."</p> + + +<h3>TALE 103<br /> +Springtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Oh, that</span> was a stirring, glowing time! All the air, and +the underwood seemed throbbed with pleasant murmuring +voices. The streams were laughing, the deep pools smiling, +as pussy-willows scattered catkins on them from above. +The oak trees and the birches put on little glad-hangers, +like pennants on a gala ship. The pine trees set up their +green candles, one on every big tip-twig. The dandelions +made haste to glint the early fields with gold. The song +toads and the peepers sang in volleys; the blackbirds wheeled +their myriad cohorts in the air, a guard of honour in review. +The woodwale drummed. The redbud draped its naked +limbs in early festal bloom; and Rumour the pretty liar +smiled and spread the news.</p> + +<p>All life was smiling with the frank unselfish smile, that +tells of pleasure in another's joy.</p> + +<p>The love of love is wider than the world. And one who +did not know their speech could yet have read in their +reflected joy a magnitude of joyful happening, could guess +that over two beings of the highest rank, the highest rank +of happiness impended.</p> + +<p>Yes, all the living world stood still at gaze: the story of +the bridegroom, the gracious beauty of the bride were sung, +for the wedding day had come. And Mother Carey, she +was there, for were they not her peers? And the Evil One—he +came, but slunk away, for the blessing of the one Great +Oversoul was on them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + +<p>Oh, virile, radiant one, El Sol! Oh, Maka Ina! bounteous +mother earth, the day of joining hand in hand passed +by. The joy is with us yet; renewed each year, when March +is three weeks gone. Look, then, ye wanderers in the woods! +Seek in the skies, seek in the growing green, but find it +mostly in your souls, and <i>sing!</i></p> + + +<h3>TALE 104<br /> +Running the Council</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Every</span> good Woodcrafter should know the way of the +Council Ring.</p> + +<p>Select some quiet level place out of doors; in the woods if +possible, for it is so much better if surrounded by trees.</p> + +<p>Make a circle of low seats; the circle should be not less +than 12 feet or more than 20 feet across, depending somewhat +on the number to take part.</p> + +<p>In the middle prepare for a small fire. At one side is a +special seat for the Chief; this is called the Council Rock.</p> + +<p>On very important occasions take white sand or lime, +and draw a circle around the fire. Then from that draw +the four lamps and the twelve laws as in Tale 105.</p> + +<p>When all is ready with the Guide on the Council Rock, +and the Scouts in their seats, the Guide stands up and says: +"Give ear my friends, we are about to hold a council. I +appoint such a one, Keeper of the fire and so-and-so, +Keeper of the tally. Now let the Fire-keeper light the +fire."</p> + +<p>Next the Tally-keeper calls the roll. After which the +business part of the Council is carried on exactly the same +as any ordinary meeting, except that instead of addressing +the "Chairman," they say, "O Chief"; instead of "yes" +they say "ho," instead of "no" they say "wah."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>The order of doings in Council is:—</p> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Order of Council"> +<tr><td align='left'>Opening and fire-lighting</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roll Call</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reading and accepting tally of last Council</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reports of Scouts (things observed or done)</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Left-over business</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">New business</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Honours</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Honourable mention</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">(For the good of the Tribe) Complaints and suggestions.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<i>Here business ends and entertainment begins.</i>)</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Challenges</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Games, contests, etc.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Close by singing Omaha Prayer (<a href="#Tale_108">Tale 108</a>)</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<h3>TALE 105<br /> +The Sandpainting of the Fire</h3> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/i246.png" width="300" height="287" alt="The Sandpainting of the Fire" title="The Sandpainting of the Fire" /> +<span class="caption">The Sandpainting of the Fire</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> I was staying among the Navaho Indians, I met +John Wetherall, the trader. He had spent half his life +among them, and knew more of their ways than any other +white man that I met. He told me that part of the education +of Navaho priest was knowing the fifty sandpaintings +of his tribe. A sandpainting is a design made on the ground +or floor with dry sands of different colours—black, white, +gray, yellow, red, etc. It looks like a rug or a blanket on +the ground, and is made up of many curious marks which +stand for some man, place, thing, or idea. Thus, the first +sandpainting is a map of the world as the Navaho knew +it, with rivers and hills that are important in their history. +These sandpaintings cannot be moved; a careless touch +spoils them, and a gust of wind can wipe them out. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +endure only in the hearts and memories of the people who +love them.</p> + +<p>In the Woodcraft Camp there is but one sandpainting +that is much used; that is, the Sandpainting of the Fourfold +Fire. When I make it in camp, I use only white sand +or powdered lime; but indoors, or on paper, I use yellow +(or orange) and white.</p> + +<p>This is the story of the sandpainting. The fire is the symbol +of the Great Spirit; around that we draw a great circle, +as in the diagram.</p> + +<p>At each of the four sides we light another fire; these four +are called Fortitude, Beauty, Truth, and Love, and come +from the Fire through Spirit, Body, Mind, and Service.</p> + +<p>Then from each of these we draw three golden rays. These +stand for the twelve laws of Woodcraft, and they are named +in this way:</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +Be Brave, Be Silent and Obey;<br /> +Be Clean, Be Strong, Protect Wild Life alway;<br /> +Speak True, Be Reverent, Play Fair as you Strive!<br /> +Be Kind; Be Helpful; Glad you are alive.<br /> +</div> + +<p>And the final painting is as in the drawing. Of course +the names are not written on the real thing though the +Woodcraft scout should know them.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 106<br /> +The Woodcraft Kalendar</h3> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 313px;"> +<img src="images/i248.png" width="313" height="400" alt="The Woodcraft Kalendar" title="The Woodcraft Kalendar" /> +<span class="caption">The Woodcraft Kalendar</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Woodcraft Kalendar is founded on the Indian way +of noting the months. Our own ancestors called them +"Moons" much as the Indians did. Our word "month" +was once written "moneth" or "monath" which meant a +"moon or moon's time of lasting." The usual names for the +moons to-day are Latin, but we find we get closer to nature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +if we call them by their Woodcraft names, and use the +little symbols of the Woodcraft Kalendar.</p> + + +<h3>TALE 107<br /> +Climbing the Mountain</h3> + +<p><span class="smcap">Afar</span> in our dry southwestern country is an Indian +village; and in the offing is a high mountain, towering up +out of the desert. It is considered a great feat to climb +this mountain, so that all the boys of the village were eager +to attempt it. One day the Chief said: "Now boys, you +you may all go to-day and try to climb the mountain. +Start right after breakfast, and go each of you as far as you +can. Then when you are tired, come back: but let each +one bring me a twig from the place where he turned."</p> + +<p>Away they went full of hope, each feeling that he surely +could reach the top.</p> + +<p>But soon a fat, pudgy boy came slowly back, and in his +hand he held out to the Chief a leaf of cactus.</p> + +<p>The Chief smiled and said: "My boy, you did not reach +the foot of the mountain; you did not even get across the +desert."</p> + +<p>Later a second boy returned. He carried a twig of sagebrush.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Chief. "You reached the mountain's +foot but you did not climb upward."</p> + +<p>The next had a cottonwood spray.</p> + +<p>"Good," said the Chief; "You got up as far as the springs."</p> + +<p>Another came later with some buckthorn. The Chief +smiled when he saw it and spoke thus: "You were climbing; +you were up to the first slide rock."</p> + +<p>Later in the afternoon, one arrived with a cedar spray, +and the old man said: "Well done. You went half way up."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>An hour afterward, one came with a switch of pine. To +him the Chief said: "Good; you went to the third belt; +you made three quarters of the climb."</p> + +<p>The sun was low when the last returned. He was a tall, +splendid boy of noble character. His hand was empty as +he approached the Chief, but his countenance was radiant, +and he said: "My father, there were no trees where I got +to; I saw no twigs, but I saw the Shining Sea."</p> + +<p>Now the old man's face glowed too, as he said aloud and +almost sang: "I knew it. When I looked on your face, I +knew it. You have been to the top. You need no twigs +for token. It is written in your eyes, and rings in your +voice. My boy, you have felt the uplift, you have seen the +glory of the mountain."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Oh Ye Woodcrafters, keep this in mind, then: the badges +that we offer for attainment, are not "<i>prizes</i>"; prizes are +things of value taken by violence from their rightful owners. +These are merely tokens of what you have done, of where +you have been. They are mere twigs from the trail to +show how far you got in climbing the mountain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 342px;"><a name="Tale_108" id="Tale_108"></a> +<img src="images/i251.png" width="342" height="400" alt="THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER. Harmonized by Prof. J. C. Fillmore." title="THE OMAHA TRIBAL PRAYER. Harmonized by Prof. J. C. Fillmore." /> +</div> +<div class="center">[<small><i>You can play this music (MIDI file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/i251.midi">here</a>.</small>]</div> +<div class="center">[<small><i>You can see the sheet music (PDF file) by clicking</i> <a href="music/i251.pdf">here</a>.</small>]</div> + +<p>This old Indian prayer is sung by the Council standing +in a great circle about the fire with feet close together, +hands and faces uplifted, for it is addressed to the Great +Spirit. At the final bars the hands and faces are lowered +to the fire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Books by Ernest Thompson Seton</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>WILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN, 1898</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The stories of Lobo, Silverspot, Molly Cottontail, Bingo, Vixen, +The Pacing Mustang, Wully and Redruff. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE TRAIL OF THE SANDHILL STAG, 1899</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The story of a long hunt that ended without a tragedy. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>BIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY, 1900</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The story of old Wahb from cubhood to the scene in Death Gulch. +(The Century Company.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>LOBO, RAG AND VIXEN, 1900</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>This is a school edition of "Wild Animals I Have Known," with +some of the stories and many of the pictures left out. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE WILD ANIMAL PLAY, 1900</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A musical play in which the parts of Lobo, Wahb, Vixen, etc., are +taken by boys and girls. Out of print. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE LIVES OF THE HUNTED, 1901</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The stories of Krag, Randy, Johnny Bear, The Mother Teal, Chink, +The Kangaroo Rat, and Tito, the Coyote. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>PICTURES OF WILD ANIMALS, 1901</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>Twelve large pictures for framing (no text), viz., Krag, Lobo, Tito +Cub, Kangaroo Rat, Grizzly, Buffalo, Bear Family, Johnny Bear, +Sandhill Stag, Coon Family, Courtaut the Wolf, Tito and her family. +Out of print. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>KRAG AND JOHNNY BEAR, 1902</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>This is a school edition of "The Lives of the Hunted" with some +of the stories and many of the pictures left out. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>TWO LITTLE SAVAGES, 1903</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A book of adventure and woodcraft and camping out for boys, telling +how to make bows, arrows, moccasins, costumes, teepee, war-bonnet, +etc., and how to make a fire with rubbing sticks, read Indian +signs, etc. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>MONARCH, THE BIG BEAR OF TALLAC, 1904</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The story of a big California grizzly that is living yet. (Scribners.)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>ANIMAL HEROES, 1905</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The stories of a Slum Cat, a Homing Pigeon, The Wolf That Won, +A Lynx, A Jackrabbit, A Bull-terrier, The Winnipeg Wolf, and a +White Reindeer. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>WOODMYTH AND FABLE, 1905</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A collection of fables, woodland verses, and camp stories. (The Century +Company.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>BIRCH-BARK ROLL, 1906</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The Manual of the Woodcraft Indians, first edition, 1902. (Doubleday, +Page & Co.)</p></div> + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, +1907</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>Showing the Ten Commandments to be fundamental laws of all +creation. 78 pages. (Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE BIOGRAPHY OF A SILVER FOX, 1909</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'>or Domino Reynard of Goldur Town, with 100 illustrations by the +author. 209 pages.</div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A companion volume to "Biography of a Grizzly." (The Century +Company.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>LIFE HISTORIES OF NORTHERN ANIMALS, 1909</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>In two sumptuous quarto volumes with 68 maps and 560 drawings +by the author. Pages, 1267.</p></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>Said by Roosevelt, Allen, Chapman, and Hornaday to be the best +work ever written on the Life Histories of American Animals. +(Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA, 1910</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A handbook of Woodcraft, Scouting, and Life Craft Including the +Birch-Bark Roll. 192 pages. Out of print. (Doubleday, Page & Co.) +The year-book of the Boy Scouts of America is now handled by the +American News Co.</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>ROLF IN THE WOODS, 1911</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The Adventures of a Boy Scout with Indian Quonab and little +dog Skookum. Over 200 drawings by the author. (Doubleday, +Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE ARCTIC PRAIRIES, 1911</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A canoe journey of 2,000 miles in search of the Caribou. 415 pages +with many maps, photographs, and illustrations by the author. +(Scribners.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE BOOK OF WOODCRAFT AND INDIAN LORE, 1912</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'>with over 500 drawings by the author. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE FORESTER'S MANUAL, 1912</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>One hundred of the best-known forest trees of eastern North +America, with 100 maps and more than 200 drawings. Out of print. +(Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>WILD ANIMALS AT HOME, 1913</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'>with over 150 sketches and photographs by the author. 226 pages. +In this Mr. Seton gives for the first time his personal adventures in +studying wild animals. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>MANUAL OF THE WOODCRAFT INDIANS, 1915</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>The fourteenth Birch-Bark Roll. 100 pages. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>WILD ANIMAL WAYS, 1916</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>More animal stories introducing a host of new four-footed friends, +with 200 illustrations by the author. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>WOODCRAFT MANUAL FOR BOYS, 1917</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A handbook of Woodcraft and Outdoor life for members of the +Woodcraft League. 440 pp. 700 ills. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>WOODCRAFT MANUAL FOR GIRLS, 1917</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>Like the foregoing but adapted for girls. 424 pp., Illus. (Doubleday, +Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>THE PREACHER OF CEDAR MOUNTAIN, 1917</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A novel. A tale of the open country. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>SIGN TALK, 1918</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A Universal Signal Code, Without Apparatus, for use in the Army, +the Navy, Camping, Hunting, Daily Life and among the Plains Indians. +(Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>WOODLAND TALES, 1921</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>Delightful children's stories, of fable and fairy-tale flavour, with the +wild things of the woodland for their heroes. In the heart of each +some nature secret is revealed. (Doubleday, Page & Co.)</p></div> + + +<h3>BY MRS. ERNEST THOMPSON SETON<br /> + +(Published by DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO.)</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>A WOMAN TENDERFOOT, 1901</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A book of outdoor adventures and camping for women and girls. +How to dress for it, where to go, and how to profit the most by +camp life.</p></div> + + +<div class='unindent'><br /><b>NIMROD'S WIFE, 1907</b></div> + +<div class='blockquot'><p>A companion volume, giving Mrs. Seton's side of the many campfires +she and her husband lighted together in the Rockies from Canada +to Mexico.</p></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Woodland Tales, by Ernest Seton-Thompson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODLAND TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 23667-h.htm or 23667-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/6/6/23667/ + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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