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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONCE UPON A TIME ANIMAL STORIES ***





  Transcriber’s Note
  Italic text displayed as: _italic_




[Illustration: “There was one vacant space though. The woodchuck had
not yet come.”

  _How the Squirrel Got Wings._]




  ONCE UPON A TIME
  ANIMAL STORIES


  BY
  CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY

  Author of

  “For the Children’s Hour,” “Stories Children Need,”
  “For the Story Teller,” “Tell Me Another
  Story,” “Firelight Stories”


  1918
  MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
  SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS




  COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
  MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY
  SPRINGFIELD, MASS.




INTRODUCTION.


Since the childhood of the races, certain old-world stories have
appeared in different form in the folklore of different nations, all
bearing the stamp of the same source; the interest of primitive people
in attributing human impulses and human lines of conduct to the animal
world.

Perhaps the earliest of all is The Kid Who Would Not Go, which
corresponds to the old New England nursery tale of the Old Woman
and Her Pig, and which, in its original form, dates back to Hebrew
translations. How They Brought Hairlock Home is a typical cumulative
tale of Norway. The Story of Ibbity is one of the few obtainable
Madagascar folk tales, and symbolizes the search of a primitive people
for the source of natural phenomena. Our own southern negroes have
given us the stories of Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog, Why the Bear Sleeps
All Winter, Little Bear, and Brother Wolf and the Rock. The American
Indians have given us a varied collection of animal myths including
How the Rabbit Tried to Coast, How the Squirrel Got Wings, The Talking
Grass, and many other camp fire tales that have a nature background.

The reason for using these animal stories for story telling and
supplementary reading lies in the instinctive interest which all
children have in those stories that express the interpretation of life
made by primitive races. This interest, and the indirect moral teaching
of many of the stories included in this volume, give them a point of
departure over and above that held by the modern story.

  CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY.

 NEW YORK, 1918.




TABLE OF CONTENTS.


                                                                    PAGE

  HOW THE EAGLE WENT HUNGRY                                            1

  LITTLE FOOTSTEPS UPON THE WATER                                      6

  THE STORY OF LAMBIKIN                                               12

  BROTHER WOLF AND THE ROCK                                           18

  LITTLE BEAR                                                         22

  HOW THE PIGS CAN SEE THE WIND                                       27

  THE TALKING GRASS                                                   33

  HOW THE FOX PLAYED HERDSMAN                                         38

  MR. ELEPHANT AND MR. FROG                                           43

  HOW DRAKESTAIL WENT TO THE KING                                     48

  THE GREEDY CAT                                                      53

  THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF                                         58

  THE HOBYAHS                                                         63

  THE KID WHO WOULD NOT GO                                            68

  THE ROBIN’S CHRISTMAS SONG                                          71

  THE STORY OF IBBITY                                                 76

  THE CHIPMUNK WHO CHATTERED TOO MUCH                                 80

  HOW THE SQUIRREL GOT WINGS                                          86

  HOW THEY BROUGHT HAIRLOCK HOME                                      91

  THE BEAR WHO LOST HIS SUPPER                                        95

  THE RABBIT WHO WAS AFRAID                                          100

  HOW MAPLE SUGAR CAME                                               106

  THE RABBIT WHO WANTED RED WINGS                                    111

  HOW THE FIRST MAYFLOWERS CAME                                      116

  HOW THE RABBIT TRIED TO COAST                                      122

  WHY THE FIELD MOUSE IS LITTLE                                      127

  HOW THE FIRST BEARS CAME                                           132

  WHY THE BEAR HAS A STUMPY TAIL                                     138

  WHY THE BEAR SLEEPS ALL WINTER                                     140




HOW THE EAGLE

WENT HUNGRY.


Once upon a time, before there were white men on the earth, the Beavers
were a family like men. They were thrifty and honest, and spent their
time building in the lakes and ponds. They had hands like our hands.
They were dressed in gray fur, warm enough for the winters, and dark
enough for all the digging which they had to do.

There was no family of all the forest so hard working as the Beavers.
The Beaver men had a secret trade of making arrows. They dug flint out
of the rocks along the bank and shaped it into arrowheads. These had
such magic that the Beavers always had dried meat hanging in their
houses.

Most wonderful of all, though, was their skill in building. With no
tools but their broad, flat hands, the Beavers built strong dams which
made pools in the streams where the fish could hatch. They built their
own homes, with many halls and rooms, of the mud at the bottom of the
water. All the Beavers worked, even the women and children. Here they
lived in honesty and peace and asked nothing of any one.

In the same days the Eagle was a proud warrior, dressed from head to
foot in colored feathers. He lived on a mountain top, and when he came
down to the forest he wished great honor. The winds blew their trumpets
for him, and the thunder beat drums. All the creatures were asked to
bow before the Eagle, and he expected fish and berries to be brought
him for a feast.

One spring when the ice had gone out of the streams and ponds and the
forest had put on new green leaves, the Eagle came down for a sudden
visit. He stopped at the edge of a small lake, and there he saw an old
Beaver woman digging in the mud. She bent low over her work. With her
large, wrinkled hands she was making the clay into bricks for building
a new wall for a Beaver house. The Eagle looked at her with scorn.

“I am hungry,” he said.

The Beaver woman raised her brown head out of the water, and looked up
at the Eagle.

“The Beaver family would be hungry, too, sir,” she said, “if we did not
work, all of us, to get a living.”

“But think of the kind of work you do,” screamed the Eagle, going up to
the branch of a tree to sit so that he need not step in the mud.

“Look at your hands,” he went on. “They are not the hands of a person
of rank, like myself, but are stained with earth. You live in houses
that are made of mud. You cut down trees with your teeth, and eat weeds
and bark. You were made only to wait on others such as myself.”

The Beaver woman went on with her work. When the Eagle had finished,
she said:

[Illustration: “What do you want to eat?” she asked.]

“We Beavers are humble, but there are no other workers in the forest
like us. We deepen and dam the streams and make them more useful.
Our work takes us into the mud. In the mud we must live, but we are
honest, thrifty people, sir. What do you want to eat?” she asked.

“Fish,” said the Eagle. “Go down and catch some for me.”

The Beaver woman wiped her hands and then dived down into the water.
The Eagle watched her go, for he was half starved. He longed for a meal
of rich, freshly caught fish. He watched the smooth water for some
time, but he could see not even a ripple. After he had waited an hour,
the water stirred and the brown head of the Beaver woman showed.

“Your feast of fish awaits you, O Eagle,” the Beaver woman said.

“But where are the fish?” the Eagle demanded.

“They wait for you on my table, down in the Beaver lodge,” she said,
and then she went under the water again.

The Eagle went hungry for a long time. Even now, when the Beaver family
walks on four feet, and the Eagle is a bird, all go hungry who are too
proud to work for their food.




LITTLE FOOTSTEPS UPON THE WATER.


Once upon a time there was a little Indian boy, and his name was
Footsteps Upon the Water because he could run so fast and so softly.

One day, little Footsteps Upon the Water was chasing a squirrel, and
he ran so far and so wide that he lost sight of home, and he could not
find his way back. On and on ran the squirrel until it came at last to
a hollow tree, and it went inside to hide. Footsteps Upon the Water
went inside, too, but he was not so small as the squirrel. Out of the
log ran the squirrel, but the little boy could not get out. He was
stuck fast inside the hollow tree.

His father looked for the little boy many moons. His mother sat at home
in the wigwam, crying, but Footsteps Upon the Water did not come back.
He lay in the log, and he pounded and shouted, and he thought no one
was ever coming to let him out.

But one morning, as he rapped, he heard, on the outside, _rap, rap,
rap_, and a shrill voice calling:

“Footsteps Upon the Water, are you there? Are you there?”

Then a wrinkled, brown face, with a fringe of arrows for a cap, peered
in at the end of the log. It was Grandmother Porcupine come to help the
little boy out.

“I traveled three days and three nights, little Footsteps Upon the
Water, because I heard you cry,” said Grandmother Porcupine.

Then she scratched and she scratched at the end of the log, but she
could not get the little boy out.

“I will bring my three grandsons,” said Grandmother Porcupine, and she
hurried away to the old hemlock tree where her grandsons lived. She
brought them back with her, and they all scratched at the end of the
hollow log until at last the little boy was able to crawl out.

Footsteps Upon the Water winked and blinked his eyes when he came
outside, for he had not seen the sun in many days. There, in a circle,
sat Grandmother Porcupine, her three grandsons, the old Bear, the Deer,
and the Wolf.

“Now, who will be a mother to this little boy?” said Grandmother
Porcupine; “I am too old to take care of him.”

“I will be his mother,” said the Wolf.

“No, indeed,” said Grandmother Porcupine, “your teeth are too sharp.”

“I will be his mother,” said the Deer.

“No, indeed,” said Grandmother Porcupine, “you are always traveling.
Your husband would carry little Footsteps Upon the Water on his back
wherever he went, and the little boy would have no home in the winter.”

“I will be his mother,” said the good old Bear; “I have a warm house
in the rocks with plenty to eat in my pantry,—berries, and nuts, and
honey.”

“You may have little Footsteps Upon the Water,” said Grandmother
Porcupine, “but be sure that your cubs do not teach him any rough
tricks.”

So Footsteps Upon the Water went home to the Bear’s house, a cave in
the rocks, with little rooms just like a real house. It was a fine
place in which to live.

All summer the little boy played with the cubs. When it was late in
the fall, and the days were short and dark, and the nights were cold,
Mother Bear tucked them all in bed and they slept until spring.

Then came another summer, and other Bear people stopped to call upon
them, saying:

“We know a fine berry patch.”

So they would all go away together to pick strawberries, or
blackberries, or gooseberries. After a while, they went for chestnuts,
and that was the most fun of all.

But Mother Bear taught Footsteps Upon the Water and the little cubs to
run always when they saw a man with a bow and arrows. One day, a man
came very close to the Bear’s house, but Mother Bear chased him with a
forked stick, and he went away.

The next day, the man came again, just as the family was starting out
for chestnuts. Mother Bear threw a bag of feathers at the man so that
he was not able to see, and he ran away.

The third day, the man came again. Mother Bear was starting out for a
neighbor’s house with a bundle upon her back. She chased the man with
her forked stick, she threw some more feathers at him, but it did no
good. The man shot an arrow at Mother Bear, and she fell to the ground.

“Oh, good Mother Bear,” cried little Footsteps Upon the Water, running
out to help her, “such a cruel man to hurt my good Mother Bear!”

But the arrow had stuck fast in Mother Bear’s bundle, and she was not
hurt at all. And the man ran up to little Footsteps Upon the Water,
crying:

“My little lost boy, my little lost boy,” for it was Footsteps Upon the
Water’s own father.

Then he told Mother Bear how sorry he was that he had tried to hurt
her, and he invited her and all the cubs to come for a visit to the
wigwam.

And little Footsteps Upon the Water went home, but he never forgot how
good old Mother Bear had been to him.




THE STORY OF LAMBIKIN.


Once upon a time there was a wee, wee Lambikin, and he thought he would
go over the hill to see his granny.

So he frolicked along on his teetery legs, as happy and frisky as ever
a Lambikin in the spring could be.

But he had not gone very far when he met a roaring lion, and the lion
said:

“Lambikin, I will eat you.”

Then Lambikin could not think what to do, for he did not wish to be
eaten just then. So he said to the lion:

    “Lambikin goes to Grannikin,
     Where fatter he will grow,
     Then you may eat him so.”

The lion wanted a very fat lamb to eat, so he let Lambikin go on his
way, but he said:

“Be sure to come back this way, Lambikin.”

Lambikin frolicked along on his teetery legs a little farther, when he
suddenly saw a great vulture, with a huge bill, flying toward him.

“I will eat you, Lambikin,” said the vulture.

Now Lambikin was not ready to be eaten yet, so he said to the vulture:

    “Lambikin goes to Grannikin,
     Where fatter he will grow,
     Then you may eat him so.”

And the vulture flew off, but he said to Lambikin as he went:

“Be sure to come back this way, Lambikin.”

Lambikin frolicked along a little farther on his teetery legs, when he
suddenly saw a striped tiger coming to meet him, and the tiger said to
him:

“Lambikin, I will eat you.”

Now Lambikin did not wish to be eaten by a striped tiger, so he said:

    “Lambikin goes to Grannikin,
     Where fatter he will grow,
     Then you may eat him so.”

The tiger was sure that a fat lamb would taste better than a wee, wee
one with teetery legs, so he let Lambikin go along, but he said as he
went:

“Be sure that you come back this way, Lambikin.”

Lambikin reached his granny’s house, and he told her how glad he was
to see her, and then he said he was very hungry, and he would like
something to eat.

“I must grow fat, granny,” said Lambikin.

So his granny led the way to the corn bin, and Lambikin ate and ate and
ate until his sides stuck out, and his legs were not teetery any more,
and he was a fat little lamb. But the more corn he ate and the fatter
he grew the less did he want to be eaten. So he said to his granny:

“Grannikin, lion and vulture and tiger will eat Lambikin. What shall he
do?”

Then said his granny:

“I will make a drum of a bit of old skin. Do you get inside and roll
past the lion and the vulture and the tiger.”

So granny made a drum of a bit of skin, and Lambikin jumped inside the
drum, and off he rolled toward home.

But before he had gone very far he met the lion, who was waiting for
him, and the lion said:

“Drummikin, have you seen Lambikin?”

But Lambikin called out from inside the drum:

    “Fallen into the fire, and so will you.
     On, little Drummikin, tum, tum, too.”

Then the lion thought the woods must be on fire, so he ran off as fast
as he could.

But Lambikin had not gone very far when the vulture flew down for his
dinner.

“Drummikin, have you seen Lambikin?” asked the vulture.

    “Fallen into the fire, and so will you.
     On, little Drummikin, tum, tum, too,”

said Lambikin in a gruff voice from the inside of the drum.

Then the vulture thought that the woods must surely be on fire, so he
flew far above the treetops.

[Illustration: The tiger caught his tail and was not able to move.]

Lambikin rolled merrily along a little way farther, but soon he met the
striped tiger, who was waiting for his dinner.

“Drummikin, have you seen Lambikin?” asked the striped tiger.

    “Fallen into the fire, and so will you.
     On, little Drummikin, tum, tum, too,”

said Lambikin; but the striped tiger had very sharp ears.

“Lambikin is inside Drummikin,” he said, and he started after the drum
as fast as he could go. He nearly caught it, for he went so very fast,
but they came to a bramble bush. The tiger caught his tail and was not
able to move, and out of the drum jumped Lambikin.

Then off he frolicked home again as frisky and happy as ever a lamb
could be.




BROTHER WOLF AND THE ROCK.


Once upon a time Brother Wolf dressed himself up very finely, just like
an Indian. He put feathers on his head, and moccasins on his feet, and
beads around his neck. Then he bought a very gay blanket, just like a
chief’s blanket. He wrapped it all around him, and then he started on a
journey.

As he traveled, he came to a big Rock. Brother Wolf thought that he
had never seen such a nice Rock, such a smooth, round, shining Rock.
But Brother Wolf thought that the Rock looked cold. So he took off his
blanket and wrapped it around the Rock to keep the old Rock warm.

Then Brother Wolf started traveling again, but he had not gone very
far when he heard a loud noise—that was the thunder; and he saw a
bright light—that was the lightning; and he felt something wet on his
nose—that was the rain. So Brother Wolf ran back in great haste to the
Rock.

“Oh, Rock,” cried Brother Wolf, “it is storming, and I shall be wet.
Give me back my blanket to keep off the rain.”

But, no, Rock would not. Old Rock said he would just keep Brother
Wolf’s blanket a little longer.

Then Brother Wolf hid under a tree, and, by and by, along came Brother
Fox.

“Oh, Brother Fox,” said Brother Wolf, “go to Rock and bring back my
blanket.”

So Brother Fox went to old Rock and told him that Brother Wolf wanted
back his blanket to keep the rain off his nose. But, no, old Rock would
not give up the blanket.

Then Brother Fox went back and told Brother Wolf, and Brother Wolf
cried because he knew his feathers would be spoiled. They sat under a
tree, and the rain poured and poured, the lightning flashed, and the
thunder roared. Brother Wolf asked Brother Fox to please go again to
old Rock and ask for the blanket, but Brother Fox said, “No.”

After a while they heard a great noise, and a loud roaring. The stones
in the road began to come skipping by. Brother Wolf peeped out from
under the tree. There was old Rock rolling down the road. The rain had
started him, and he was coming so hard that he tore great furrows of
earth, and uprooted the trees. He came so fast that he could not stop
himself.

Brother Fox scampered into a hole to hide, but he left the tip end of
his tail sticking out. Old Rock just grazed it as he went by, and that
is why the tip of Brother Fox’s tail is pointed.

On and on went old Rock until he came to a river. Splash, in he went,
and that was the last that anybody saw of Rock, for he went straight to
the bottom.

When the rain was over, Brother Wolf and Brother Fox went down to the
river bank to look for old Rock, but they could not find him anywhere.
On the top of the water floated Brother Wolf’s gay blanket, so they
waited until it came ashore, and they dried it in the sun.

Then Brother Wolf said “Good-by” to Brother Fox, and put on his blanket
again, and traveled.




LITTLE BEAR.


Once upon a time, there was an Indian boy and he had a little sister.
Now the little sister was not like an Indian child, for she was a bear.

Early one morning the boy started out to seek his fortune, but Little
Bear wished to go too.

“No, no, Little Bear, you cannot go. You must stay at home and watch
the fire,” said her brother. Then he tied Little Bear to the door posts
that she might not run away.

He had not gone very far on his journey when he heard TRAMP, TRAMP,
TRAMP, in the path behind him. There was Little Bear following with the
door posts on her back.

“Oh, Little Bear, I told you to stay at home and watch the fire,” said
the boy.

He led Little Bear back, and this time he tied her to a pine tree.

He had not gone very far when he heard once more, TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP,
in the path behind him. There was Little Bear following with the pine
tree on her back.

“Oh, Little Bear, you must stay at home and watch the fire,” said the
boy.

He led Little Bear back, and this time he tied her to a rock.

He started on his journey again, but he had not gone a stone’s throw,
when he heard THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, in the path behind him. There was
Little Bear following him with the rock on her back.

“What shall I do with you, Little Bear?” said the boy. But just then
they came to a wide brook with no bridge to span it.

“How shall I cross?” said the little boy.

Little Bear pushed the rock into the water. She laid the pine tree
across the rock for a bridge. They both walked across the brook in
safety.

“Well, you may come with me, Little Bear,” said the boy.

They journeyed for many days until they came, at last, to some very
dark woods. In the woods they met Brother Wolf carrying a candle to
light him on his way.

“The sun is lost from the sky,” said Brother Wolf; “the old squaw
pulled it down.”

“Oho, I can find the sun,” said Little Bear, “but you must first give
me two lumps of maple sugar.”

Brother Wolf gave Little Bear two lumps of maple sugar and she hurried
along until she came to the old squaw’s wigwam. The old squaw was
stirring a kettle of rice over her fire. Little Bear crept up behind
her. Little Bear dropped the two lumps of maple sugar into the kettle.
As the old squaw stirred, she tasted her rice.

“It is too sweet,” she said; “I must go to the field for more.”

While she was gone, Little Bear found the sun, which the old squaw had
hid in her wigwam. Little Bear tossed it back to the sky again.

When the old squaw came back from the rice fields and missed her sun,
she was very angry. She looked for it many, many days, but the clouds
hid it from her. Then, one night, she pulled the moon down, and hid
that away in her wigwam.

So there was no light in the evening. Brother Wolf lighted his candle
again, and he hurried after the boy and Little Bear, who had started on
their journey again.

“The moon is gone from the sky,” said Brother Wolf, “the old squaw has
pulled it down.”

“Oho, I can find the moon,” said Little Bear; “give me two pinches of
salt, Brother Wolf.”

Brother Wolf gave Little Bear two pinches of salt, and Little Bear
crept up to the old squaw again, and threw the salt in her kettle of
rice.

“The rice is too salty,” said the old squaw, tasting as she stirred; “I
must go to the field for more.”

While she was gone, Little Bear snatched the moon from the wigwam,
where the old squaw had hid it, and tossed it up to the sky again.

Brother Wolf snuffed his candle, for he did not need it any more, but
the old squaw was very angry. The old squaw ran after Little Bear. She
caught her, and she put her in a bag, and tied the bag to a tree. Then
she went for her spoon with which to beat Little Bear.

But while she was gone, Little Bear bit a hole in the bag with her
teeth. She slipped out. Then she filled the bag with the old squaw’s
pots and pans. When the old squaw came back, and began beating the bag,
she broke all her dishes.

Then the boy and Little Bear picked up enough sun gold and moon silver
which had fallen by the road to make them rich for always. And Little
Bear traveled with her brother wherever he went after that. Was she not
a clever Little Bear?




HOW THE PIGS CAN SEE THE WIND.


Once upon a time, Mrs. Pig lived in a fine house of her own with her
five little pigs. Four of the little pigs were black, but the smallest
pig was white and he was as the apple of his mother’s eye.

Around the hill from Mrs. Pig’s house lived Brother Wolf, and Brother
Wolf had a mighty good mouth for pig meat. Every night Mr. Wolf came
through the garden gate, and he walked round and round Mrs. Pig’s
house, sniffing and snuffing, and calling in a soft voice:

    “Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
     The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”

But Mrs. Pig always locked her door fast, and Brother Wolf had to go
home without any pig meat.

One night Brother Wolf thought of a trick. He put a very high hat on
his head. He put shoes on his feet. He tied a necktie around his neck,
and he looked just like Mr. Man.

Then he put a bag of corn over his shoulder, and he walked, TRAMP,
TRAMP, up the brick walk that led to Mrs. Pig’s house, and he rapped
loudly on Mrs. Pig’s door.

    “Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
     The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin,”

he said.

“Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig, peeping through the window, the little
white pig under her arm.

“Mr. Man, come to put a mark on your little pigs,” said Brother Wolf.

Then Mrs. Pig opened the door, and she turned out the four little black
pigs. But the little white pig was as the apple of her eye, and she hid
him in the cupboard.

So Brother Wolf emptied all the corn out of his bag, and he put in the
four little pigs, and he carried them home with him.

By and by, Brother Wolf was hungry for more pig meat, so he dressed
himself in his clothes again. He put his bag of corn over his shoulder,
and he rapped loudly at Mrs. Pig’s door, calling:

    “Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
     The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”

“Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig.

“Mr. Man, come to put a mark on your little white pig,” said Brother
Wolf.

But Mrs. Pig barred the door, and locked the window, and hid the little
white pig in the dresser, for he was as the apple of her eye.

Then Brother Wolf was very angry, and he took off his hat and his shoes
and his necktie. He hurried up and down the roads until he met Mr.
Wind, who wore a red cloak, and was sweeping the fields.

Brother Wolf told Mr. Wind how he had a mighty good mouth for pig meat.
Mr. Wind said he would help Brother Wolf, for he always liked a romp.

So Mr. Wind and Brother Wolf went to Mrs. Pig’s house and they rapped
loudly on the door, and Brother Wolf called out:

    “Mrs. Pig, Mrs. Pig, let me come in,
     The corn is ripe, and the frosts begin.”

But never a word did Mrs. Pig say.

[Illustration: “Who knocks?” asked Mrs. Pig.]

“Blow, Mr. Wind,” said Brother Wolf.

Then Mr. Wind began to puff himself out bigger and bigger. He huffed
and he puffed and he blew a mighty gale. He blew round the garden,
and he pulled up the corn and threw it down on the ground. He slammed
the gate and he rattled the window. He shook the door, and he cried,
“WHE-EE, WHE-EE,” in the keyhole, did Mr. Wind.

Brother Wolf was so frightened that his hair stood up straight on his
back. Out of the garden he ran, and around the hill. He never stopped,
nor looked behind him, and no one ever saw him in Mrs. Pig’s garden
again.

“WHE-EE, WHE-EE, let me in,” called Mr. Wind.

Mrs. Pig opened her door a crack, and peeped out with the little white
pig under her arm, for he was the apple of her eye.

HUFF, PUFF, the door blew open wide. When Mrs. Pig saw Mr. Wind in his
red cloak running around the garden, she hurried off to the woods with
her little white pig, and she never came home for a day and a night.

And that is how the pigs first came to see the wind. If you do not
believe it, just watch them run when Mr. Wind comes huffing and puffing
through the garden.




THE TALKING GRASS.


Once upon a time when there were only Indians and animals in our land,
there was a green hill covered with long talking grass. The four winds
of heaven brought the grasses news of what was going on in the world,
and of the coming of hunters. Then the grasses whispered this news to
their friends, the little red Fox, the Hare, the Deer, and the Wolf. If
the animals were too far away to hear the soft voices of the grasses,
they gave the messages to the Butterflies. The hill was the refuge of
these animals, and the talking grasses were their friends.

One day a great band of hunters came from their camp in the valley, up
the hill. They were armed with bows and arrows. They planned to kill
enough game to give them food for a long time. But the grasses knew
that the hunters were on their way. They warned the animals, who hid at
once. When the hunters reached the hill, they saw nothing but green
grass waving in the wind. Many bright butterflies flew above it.

The hunters listened and heard the grasses talking to one another. They
saw, too, the trails of the animals as they had passed through it. They
guessed at once what had happened.

“The grasses have told the animals to flee and hide from us,” they
said. “We must kill them. To-night we will rest and sleep among them,
for we are tired with our long journey. But to-morrow we will tear
every blade of grass up by its roots.”

At these cruel words the grasses became still. They loved their life on
the hill, with their roots in the earth and their green blades reaching
up to the sunshine. Now they knew that they were going to die in the
morning. They could neither sing nor talk any more. But the Butterflies
knew the grasses’ peril. They flew away, one by one, so that the
hunters would suspect nothing, until they came to the Fox’s den. They
told him of the great danger of the talking grasses. They begged him
to do anything that he could to save them.

The Fox set off at once. He did not stop until he came to a dark cave
on the side of a mountain. Here the Fire Manito lived. Few dared speak
to him, for he was a very mighty Manito. He was able to destroy man or
beast at his will. But when he saw the eager, trembling little Fox,
waiting outside, the Fire Manito asked him his errand. The Fox told him
that the grasses were to be killed in the morning, unless something was
done to save them.

The Manito went to the back of his cave and brought out a heap of black
stones. There was no light in them. He told the Fox about them.

“They came from the depths of the earth,” he said. “The Great Spirit
mixed a million sunbeams in each. Then he hid them in the earth until
they should be needed to give heat and light to man. Now we will use
the black stones to save the grasses.”

The Manito heated the stones in his wood fire and they glowed like
red rubies. He sent the Fox ahead to tell the grasses to be brave. He,
himself, followed with his arms full of the glowing stones which did
not burn him because he was the Fire Manito.

The hunters had arisen early and waited at the foot of the hill, ready
to rush up and tear up the grasses. But the Manito laid the brightly
burning stones in a circle about the hill. The hunters were not able
to get through. It was a ring of fire and it frightened them. They had
never seen burning coals before. They went back to their camp and the
grasses were safe, for the coals burned to ashes without touching them.

The grasses soon found their voices again, and they have been talking
to their friends, the animals, ever since. In the summer they tell
the Field Mouse and the Hare where to hide safely. In the spring they
tell the Deer that they are fresh and green for his food. When it is
winter, a few of the grasses stand up, stiff and tall, above the snow
as the lone gray Wolf runs by. They guide him to food. In the fall the
whispering of the dry grasses helps the Fox to double his trail so that
no one may catch him.

Who of you have heard the voices of the grasses?




HOW THE FOX PLAYED HERDSMAN.


Once upon a time there was a little old woman who had a farm of her
very own with sheep, and cows, and swine. But the little old woman was
so busy making butter and minding the dairy that she had no time to
look after the herds.

One fine morning she started out to hire a herdsman. Now she had not
gone very far when she met a bear.

“Whither away, Goody?” asked Bruin of the little old woman.

“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody in reply.

“Why not hire me, Goody?” asked Bruin.

“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.

“You should just hear me,” said Bruin, and he called in a very loud and
gruff voice, “OW, OW.”

“No, no, I won’t have you,” said the little old woman as soon as she
heard his gruff voice, and off she went on her way.

She had not gone a day’s journey farther when she met a wolf.

“Whither away, Goody?” asked the wolf of the little old woman.

“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody.

“Why not hire me, Goody?” asked the wolf.

“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.

“You should just hear me,” said the wolf, and he called in a shrill
voice, “UH, UH.”

“No, no,” said the little old woman as soon as she heard that, and off
she went on her way.

But before the end of another day’s journey, whom should the little
old woman meet but Brother Fox, sitting beside a blackberry bush, and
sunning himself.

“Whither away, Goody?” asked Brother Fox.

“Oh, I am off to engage a herdsman for my farm,” said Goody in reply.

“Why not hire me, Goody?” said Brother Fox.

“Can you call the flocks at evening?” asked the little old woman.

“Ah, you should hear me,” said Brother Fox. He opened his mouth very
wide, and sang in a sweet voice:

“Tum-ti-ti, tum-ti-ti-tra-la-la.”

“You will do very well,” said the little old woman, quite carried away
with the fox’s sweet singing. “You shall come home with me, and be my
herdsman.”

Things went very well for a little while at the farm. Early each
morning Brother Fox led the sheep and the cows and the swine to
pasture, and at night he led them home again, and locked the barn, and
bolted the pigpen.

But, somehow, after a week, the flocks and the herds seemed smaller
each night when the little old woman went out to make the rounds of the
farm.

“Where is the small black pig?” she asked of Brother Fox.

“Loitering in the meadow,” said Brother Fox, wiping his mouth with his
paw.

“Where is the old ram?” asked the little old woman.

“He stops behind at the brook,” said Brother Fox, turning his head away
that Goody might not see him laughing.

So Goody went back to the dairy, and she wondered and wondered what
made the flocks grow smaller.

At last she had churned enough butter to make a fine cake and she went
out to the poultry roost for eggs with which to enrich it.

Alas, such a hubbub, and cackling, and fussing did she find.

The cock stood on the pump, crying loudly, “Cock-a-doodle-do.”

The hens ran about cackling, and out of their midst walked Brother Fox
with a chicken over his back, and his hat full of eggs.

And as he went along he sang to all the poultry yard:

    “Tum-ti-ti, Tum-ti-ti,
     Tum, tum, ti,
     Old Goody’s herdsman,
     Sly Reynard, am I.”

“Well, it’s certainly a very poor herdsman you are,” cried the little
old woman. “Where is the small black pig? Where is the old ram?”

She ran after Brother Fox, who dropped his eggs and broke every one,
and tipped over the churn as he passed the dairy. The little old woman
picked up the dasher, and would have beaten Brother Fox, but he was too
quick for her, and reached the woods, with a drop of cream on the tip
end of his tail.

So the little old woman learned what had become of her herds, and
Brother Fox was never able to get that cream from off his tail, The tip
end has been white ever since he played at being a herdsman.




MR. ELEPHANT AND MR. FROG.


Once upon a time, when Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog lived together in the
same wood with Mr. Fox and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Hare and Mr. Lion, the
animals were all very good friends.

Mr. Elephant was very, very big, and Mr. Frog was very, very little,
but every day they went walking together, Mr. Elephant going in front,
tramp, tramp, tramp; and Mr. Frog going on behind, hop, hop, hop.

One night when they came home, Mr. Hare, who was a saucy little fellow,
ran to meet them, and he said:

“Oho, Mr. Frog says Mr. Elephant is his horse.”

Then Mr. Fox and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Lion all followed after Mr. Hare,
crying:

“Oho, oho, Mr. Elephant is Mr. Frog’s horse.”

Mr. Elephant turned around, and he said in a very gruff voice to Mr.
Frog:

“Did you tell them, grandson, that I was your horse?”

And Mr. Frog said in a high, squeaky voice:

“No, no, grandfather.”

But all the time Mr. Frog was thinking of a trick to play on Mr.
Elephant.

The next day, Mr. Elephant and Mr. Frog started off for a long walk.
Mr. Frog had heard of a place where the swamps were deep and muddy. Mr.
Elephant knew a place where the bananas grew ripe and thick. And they
spent a pleasant day. On the way home Mr. Frog hopped up close to Mr.
Elephant, and he said in his high, squeaky voice:

“Grandfather, I have no strength to walk. Let me get up on your back.”

“Climb up, my grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.

[Illustration: And just then they came toward home.]

He put his trunk down for a ladder, and Mr. Frog climbed up. They had
not gone very far when Mr. Frog hopped up close to Mr. Elephant’s ear,
and he said:

“I am going to fall, grandfather. Give me some small cords from the
roadside that I may bind your mouth, and hold myself upon your back.”

“I will, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.

So Mr. Elephant stripped some small cords from a birch tree by the
roadside, and handed them to Mr. Frog. Then Mr. Frog bound Mr.
Elephant’s mouth, and they went on a little farther. It was not long,
though, before Mr. Frog spoke again to Mr. Elephant.

“Grandfather,” he said, “find me a small, green twig that I may fan the
mosquitoes from your ears.”

“I will, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant, so he broke a small, green twig
from the birch tree, and reached it up to Mr. Frog; and just then they
came toward home.

“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Hare.

“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Tiger.

“See Mr. Elephant,” cried Mr. Lion and all the others, “Mr. Elephant is
Mr. Frog’s horse.”

Mr. Elephant turned himself about, and he saw Mr. Frog on his back,
holding the reins and the whip.

“Why, so I am, grandson,” said Mr. Elephant.

Then Mr. Frog jumped down to the ground, and he laughed and he laughed
until he nearly split his coat, because he had played a trick on Mr.
Elephant.




HOW DRAKESTAIL WENT TO THE KING.


Once upon a time there was a wee little duck, with a very long tail, so
he was called Drakestail. Now, Drakestail had some money of his very,
very own, and the king asked if he might take it. So Drakestail loaned
all his money to the king.

But the king kept Drakestail’s money for a year and a day, and still he
did not send it back. Drakestail said he would go to the king and bring
back the money himself.

So off he started, one very fine morning, for the king’s house. The sun
was shining on the ponds, and Drakestail waddled along in the middle of
the road, feeling very fine. As he traveled, he met a fox, and the fox
said, “Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?”

“To the king,” said Drakestail, “for he owes me money.”

“I will travel along with you,” said the fox.

“Ah,” said Drakestail, “your four legs would soon tire. Come along with
me this way,” and he opened his wee little bill very wide, and down his
wee little throat went the fox.

Then Drakestail traveled on a little farther. As he went he came to a
ladder lying beside the road.

“Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?” asked the
ladder.

“To the king,” said Drakestail, “for he owes me money.”

“I will travel along with you,” said the ladder.

“Your wooden legs would soon tire,” said Drakestail. “Come along with
me this way,” and he opened his little bill very wide, and down his wee
little throat went the ladder.

Then Drakestail traveled on a bit farther until he came to his friend,
the river, lying and glistening in the sunshine.

“Where do you go this fine morning, Friend Drakestail?” asked the
river.

“To the king, for he owes me money,” said Drakestail.

“I will travel with you,” said the river.

“You would soon tire if you ran so far, my friend,” said Drakestail.
“Come along with me this way.” He opened his wee bill very wide, and
down his wee little throat went the little river.

Then Drakestail traveled and traveled until he came to the king’s
house. Now Drakestail thought that the king would meet him at the gate,
so he called out very loudly:

“_Honk! Honk!_ Drakestail waits at the gate.”

But the king did not come out to meet him. Who should appear at the
gate but the king’s cook, and the cook took Drakestail by his two
little legs and flung him into the poultry yard. The other fowls, who
were ill-bred birds, ran up to Drakestail and bit him, and jeered at
his large tail. It would have gone very badly with Drakestail, but he
called to his friend, the fox:

    “Reynard, Reynard, come out to the earth,
     Or Drakestail’s life is of little worth.”

So the fox came out, and he ate up all the ill-bred fowls in the king’s
poultry yard. But still Drakestail was badly off. He heard the king’s
cook putting the broth pot over the fire.

    “Ladder, ladder, come out to the wall,
     Drakestail does not wish to be broth at all,”

he cried. So the ladder came out and leaned against the wall, and
Drakestail climbed over in safety. But the king’s cook saw Drakestail
and set out after him. He caught poor Drakestail and clapped him into
the broth pot, and hung him over the fire.

    “River, my sweetheart, put out this hot fire,
     The flames that would cook me rise higher and higher,”

cried Drakestail. So the river put out the fire with a great noise and
sputtering, which the king heard. And the king came running to the
kitchen.

“Good morning to you, King,” said Drakestail, hopping out of the broth
pot, and making a very low bow, “are you through with my money, which
you have kept for a year and a day?”

“That I am, Drakestail,” said the king. “You shall have it at once.”

So the king gave Drakestail the money that he owed him, and Drakestail
waddled home again to tell of all his travels.




THE GREEDY CAT.


Once upon a time there lived a cat and a mouse, and they thought they
would ask each other to dinner, turn and turn about. First it was the
cat’s turn to ask the mouse, and he set his table and invited her, but
he did not have much to eat; only a dry crust of bread and some water.
But the mouse, who was very polite, ate it and thanked the cat.

When it was the mouse’s turn to give a dinner, she spread a fine feast,
platters of fish, and saucers of milk, and joints of meat. Then she
baked a large cake with sugar on the top for the cat, and for herself
she made a very tiny cake with no frosting.

The cat came to the mouse’s dinner, and he ate the fish and the meat,
and lapped the milk, and ate the cake. Then he looked around in a
greedy way, and he said:

“What a very light dinner. Have you nothing more in the house to eat,
mouse?”

“Here is my cake,” said the mouse, who was not at all greedy.

So the cat ate the mouse’s cake, and then he looked about again in a
greedy way, and he said:

“Have you anything more to eat, mouse?”

“Nothing, kind sir,” said the mouse, “unless you eat me.”

She thought the cat would never be so greedy as that, but he opened his
mouth wide, and down his throat went the mouse.

Then the greedy cat walked out of the mouse’s house and down the road,
swinging his tail, for he felt very fine.

On his way he met an old woman. Now the old woman had been peeping in
at the window, and she had seen what that greedy cat had done.

“You greedy cat,” she said, “to eat your friend, the mouse.”

“Greedy, indeed,” said the cat, “I have a mind to eat you.”

Then he opened his mouth very wide, and down his throat went the old
woman.

Then on down the road went the cat, swinging his tail, and feeling
finer than ever. As he went he met an old man taking his load of
apples to market. The old man was beating his donkey to make it go
faster.

“Scat, scat, pussy,” said the man, “my donkey will tread on you.”

“Tread on me, indeed,” said the cat, shaking his fat sides, “I have
eaten my friend the mouse, I have eaten an old woman. What is to hinder
my eating you?”

So the greedy cat opened his mouth very wide, and down his throat went
the man and his donkey.

Then he walked along in the middle of the road again. After a while he
spied a great cloud of dust, and he heard a great tramping of feet.
It was the king riding in his chariot, and behind him marched all his
soldiers and his elephants.

“Scat, scat, pussy,” said the king, “my elephants might step on you.”

“Step on me, indeed,” said the cat, “I have eaten my friend the mouse,
I have eaten an old woman, I have eaten an old man and a donkey. What
is to hinder my eating a king and a few elephants?”

So the cat opened his mouth wide, and down his throat went the king and
the soldiers and all the elephants.

Then the cat started on again, but more slowly. He was really not
hungry any more. As he traveled he met two land crabs, scuttling along
in the dust.

“Scat, scat, pussy,” squeaked the crabs.

“I have eaten my friend the mouse,” said the cat, “I have eaten an old
woman, and a man and a donkey, and a king and all his soldiers and all
his elephants. What is to hinder my eating you, too?”

Then the cat opened his mouth wide, and down his throat went the two
crabs.

But the crabs began to look about them there in the dark. There
were the soldiers trying to form in fours, but there was not room.
The elephants were stepping on each other’s toes. The old woman was
scolding, and in a corner sat the poor little mouse, her paws and ears
all drooping.

“We must go to work,” said the crabs.

Then they began snipping and snipping with their sharp little claws.
Soon there was a hole large enough, and they crept out.

Then out came the king and his soldiers and all his elephants. Out came
the old woman scolding her cat. Out came the man and his donkey. Last
of all, out came the little mouse with one little cake under her arm,
for one cake was all that she had wanted.

But the greedy cat had to spend all the rest of the day sewing up the
hole in his coat.




THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF.


Once upon a time there were three Billy Goats, and one was a very large
Goat, and one was a middle-sized Goat, and one was a tiny Goat, but the
three had the very same name, which was Gruff.

One morning the three Billy Goats started away from home, for they had
decided to go far, far to a hillside where there was a quantity of
green grass, and they might eat of it and make themselves fat.

Now, on the way to the hillside there ran a brook, and over the brook
was a bridge, and under the bridge lived a Troll with eyes as large
as saucers, and a nose as long as a poker. And this Troll was fond of
eating Billy Goats.

First of all came the youngest Billy Goat Gruff to cross over the
bridge. Trip trap, trip trap, his little feet pattered upon the boards.

“Who is that tripping over my bridge?” called up the Troll in a surly
voice.

“Oh, it’s only I, the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff, going over to the
hillside to make myself fat,” the Goat called back in a wee small voice.

“I am going to gobble you up, Billy Goat Gruff,” said the Troll.

“Oh, no, pray do not take me,” said the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff; “I
am too little, that I am. Wait until the second Billy Goat Gruff comes
along. He is ever so much bigger than I.”

“Well, be off with you,” said the Troll.

Then came the middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff, to cross the bridge. Trip
trap, trip trap, his middle-sized feet pattered upon the boards.

“Who is that tripping over my bridge?” called up the Troll.

“Oh, it’s only I, the middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff, going over to the
hillside to make myself fat,” the Goat called back in a middle-sized
voice.

“I am coming to gobble you up, Billy Goat Gruff,” said the Troll.

“Oh, no, pray do not take me,” said the middle-sized Billy Goat Gruff;
“I am a little larger than the tiniest Billy Goat, but I am not large
enough to make a mouthful for you. Of that I am quite sure.”

“Well, be off with you,” said the Troll.

Then, last of all, came the great Billy Goat Gruff, to cross over the
bridge.

Trip trap, trip trap, his great feet tramped across the boards.

“Who is that tramping over my bridge?” called up the Troll.

“It is I, the great Billy Goat Gruff, going over to the hillside to
make myself fat,” the Goat called back in a great voice.

“I am coming to gobble you up, Billy Goat Gruff,” said the Troll.

“Come along,” said the great Billy Goat Gruff.

So the Troll, whose eyes were as large as saucers and his nose as long
as a poker, came hurrying up to the top of the bridge,—but, ah, this is
what happened to him.

[Illustration: The Goat tossed the Troll so high with his horns.]

There on the bridge stood the great Billy Goat Gruff with his feet
firmly planted on the boards and his head lowered, and as soon as the
Troll came near—rush, scamper—the Goat tossed the Troll so high with
his horns that no one has ever seen a Troll under a bridge from that
day to this.

Then the great Billy Goat Gruff went on to the hillside, and the three
Billy Goats ate, and ate, and made themselves so fat that they could
scarcely walk home again.




THE HOBYAHS.


Once upon a time there lived a little old man and a little old woman in
a house all made of hemp stalks. And they had a little dog named Turpie
who always barked when any one came near the house.

One night when the little old man and the little old woman were fast
asleep, creep, creep, through the woods came the Hobyahs, skipping
along on the tips of their toes.

“Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat up the little old man, and carry away
the little old woman,” cried the Hobyahs.

Then little dog Turpie ran out, barking loudly, and he frightened the
Hobyahs so that they ran away home again. But the little old man woke
from his dreams, and he said:

“Little dog Turpie barks so loudly that I can neither slumber nor
sleep. In the morning I will take off his tail.”

So when it came morning, the little old man took off little dog
Turpie’s tail to cure him of barking.

The second night along came the Hobyahs, creep, creep through the
woods, skipping along on the tips of their toes, and they cried:

“Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat the little old man, and carry away the
little old woman.”

Then the little dog Turpie ran out again, barking so loudly that he
frightened the Hobyahs, and they ran away home again.

But the little old man tossed in his sleep, and he said:

“Little dog Turpie barks so loudly that I can neither slumber nor
sleep. In the morning I will take off his legs.”

So when it came morning, the little old man took off Turpie’s legs to
cure him of barking.

The third night the Hobyahs came again, skipping along on the tips of
their toes, and they called out:

“Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat up the little old man, and carry away
the little old woman.”

Then little dog Turpie barked very loudly, and he frightened the
Hobyahs so that they ran away home again.

But the little old man heard Turpie, and he sat up in bed, and he said:

“Little dog Turpie barks so loudly that I can neither slumber nor
sleep. In the morning I will take off his head.”

So when it came morning, the little old man took off Turpie’s head, and
then Turpie could not bark any more.

That night the Hobyahs came again, skip-ping along on the tips of their
toes, and they called out:

“Tear down the hemp stalks. Eat the little old man, and carry off the
little old woman.”

Now, since little dog Turpie could not bark any more, there was no one
to frighten the Hobyahs away. They tore down the hemp stalks, they took
the little old woman away in their bag, but the little old man they
could not get, for he hid himself under the bed.

Then the Hobyahs hung the bag which held the little old woman up in
their house, and they poked it with their fingers, and they cried:

“Look you! Look you!”

But when it came daylight, they went to sleep, for Hobyahs, you know,
sleep all day.

The little old man was very sorry when he found that the little old
woman was gone. He knew then what a good little dog Turpie had been to
guard the house at night, so he brought Turpie’s tail, and his legs,
and his head, and gave them back to him again.

Then Turpie went sniffing and snuffing along to find the little old
woman, and soon came to the Hobyahs’ house. He heard the little old
woman crying in the bag, and he saw that the Hobyahs were all fast
asleep. So he went inside.

Then he cut open the bag with his sharp teeth, and the little old woman
hopped out and ran home; but Turpie got inside the bag to hide.

When it came night, the Hobyahs woke up, and they went to the bag, and
they poked it with their long fingers, crying:

“Look you! Look you!”

But out of the bag jumped little dog Turpie, and he ate every one of
the Hobyahs. And that is why there are not any Hobyahs now.




THE KID WHO WOULD NOT GO.


Once upon a time I was walking across London Bridge, and I found a
penny. So I bought a little kid. But the kid would not go. And I saw
by the moonlight it was long past midnight. It was time kid and I were
home an hour and a half ago.

Then I met a staff, and to the staff I said:

“Staff, staff, drive kid. I see by the moonlight it is long past
midnight. It is time kid and I were home an hour and a half ago.”

But the staff would not drive kid.

Then I met a hatchet, and to the hatchet I said:

“Hatchet, chop staff, staff will not drive kid. I see by the moonlight
it is long past midnight. It is time kid and I were home an hour and a
half ago.”

But the hatchet would not chop staff.

Then I met a torch, and to the torch I said:

“Torch, burn hatchet, hatchet will not chop staff, staff will not drive
kid. I see by the moonlight it is long past midnight. It is time kid
and I were home an hour and a half ago.”

But the torch would not burn the hatchet.

Then I met the wind, and to the wind I said:

“Wind, put out torch, torch will not burn hatchet, hatchet will not
chop staff, staff will not drive kid. I see by the moonlight it is long
past midnight. It is time kid and I were home an hour and a half ago.”

But the wind would not put out the fire.

Then I met a tree, and to the tree I said:

“Tree, stop wind, wind will not put out torch, torch will not burn
staff, staff will not drive kid. I see by the moonlight it is long past
midnight. It is time kid and I were home an hour and a half ago.”

But the tree would not.

Then I met a wee mouse, and to the mouse I said:

“Mouse, gnaw tree, tree will not stop wind, wind will not put out
torch, torch will not burn staff, staff will not drive kid. I see by
the moonlight it is long past midnight. It is time kid and I were home
an hour and a half ago.”

Then the wee, wee mouse began to gnaw the tree, the tree began to stop
the wind, the wind began to put out the torch, the torch began to burn
the staff, the staff began to drive the kid, and the kid began to go.

See by the moonlight it is almost midnight. But kid and I were home an
hour and a half ago.




THE ROBIN’S CHRISTMAS SONG.


Once upon a time there was an old gray Pussy and she was down by the
waterside when the trees and ground were white with snow. And there she
saw a wee, wee Robin Redbreast hopping upon a branch, so Pussy said to
him:

“Where are you going, Robin Redbreast, this frosty Yuletide weather?”

Then the wee, wee Robin said to the Pussy, “I am going to the King to
sing him a song this good Yule morning.”

And the gray Pussy replied, “Go not yet. Come here, Robin Redbreast,
and I will let you see the bonny white necklace I wear around my neck.”

But the wee, wee Robin said, “No, no, gray Pussy. You may show the
bonny white necklace that you wear around your neck to the little mice,
but not to me.”

[Illustration: “Where are you going, Robin Redbreast?”]

Then off flew the wee, wee Robin until he came to a wall of turf and
there he saw a greedy Hawk sitting and watching to see what small
birds passed by. And the greedy Hawk called to him and said, “Where are
you going, Robin Redbreast, this frosty Yuletide weather?”

Then the wee, wee Robin said to the Hawk, “I am going to the King to
sing him a song this good Yule morning.”

And the greedy Hawk replied, “Go not yet. Come here, Robin Redbreast,
and I’ll let you see a bonny green feather that I wear in my wing.”

But the wee, wee Robin said, “No, no, greedy Hawk. You have pecked all
the tiny birds but you’ll not peck me.”

Then off flew the wee, wee Robin until he came to a hollow in the
hillside and there he saw a sly Fox sitting. The sly Fox saw Robin
and called to him, “Where are you going, Robin Redbreast, this frosty
Yuletide weather?”

Then the wee, wee Robin said to the Fox, “I am going to the King to
sing him a song this good Yule morning.”

And the sly Fox replied, “Go not yet. Come here, Robin Redbreast, and
I will show you a bonny spot on the tip of my tail.”

But the wee, wee Robin said, “No, no, sly Fox. You may show the bonny
spot on the tip of your tail to the lambs but not to me.”

Then off flew the wee, wee Robin until he came to a little shepherd Lad
sitting beside his cot. The little shepherd Lad saw Robin and called
to him, “Where are you going, Robin Redbreast, this frosty Yuletide
weather?”

Then the wee, wee Robin said to the shepherd Lad, “I am going to the
King to sing him a song this good Yule morning.”

And the shepherd Lad replied, “Go not yet. Come here and I will give
you some crumbs from my pouch.”

But the wee, wee Robin said, “No, no, little shepherd Lad. You caught
the goldfinch but you’ll not catch me.”

Then off flew the wee, wee Robin until he came to the King, and he sat
down upon a plowshare just outside of the King’s window, and he sang
him a pretty song because it was such a good Yule morning. The King
was very much pleased indeed and he said to the Queen, “What shall we
give the wee, wee Robin Redbreast for singing us such a pretty song?”

The Queen thought and thought and at last she decided. “I think we will
give the wee, wee Robin Redbreast a wee Wren to be his wife,” the Queen
said to the King.

So the wee, wee Robin Redbreast and the wee Wren were married and the
King, and the Queen, and all the court, and the whole countryside
danced at their wedding. And after the wedding the two flew home to the
Robin’s own waterside.




THE STORY OF IBBITY.


Once upon a time there was a little brown boy named Ibbity. He lived in
a warm country where there are jungles and tigers and sandy deserts.
Now Ibbity was always wondering about things, and one day he said to
his mother:

“I wonder, oh, I do wonder what is the strongest thing in the world.”

But his mother could not tell him, so Ibbity started off by himself to
find out.

He went a long, long way, and at last he came to a tree. Up the tree
climbed Ibbity and looked abroad over the jungle and the desert for
something very big and strong. But just then the top of the tree broke.
Bump, down fell little Ibbity to the ground.

“Oh, Tree, you are the strongest thing, are you not?” cried Ibbity,
sitting up and rubbing his head. “You are able to throw Ibbity to the
ground.”

“No, I am not as strong as the wind,” sighed the tree, “it was the
wind that broke my branch.”

Then Ibbity ran far away to the place where the wind was blowing the
sand in the desert, and he said:

“Oh, Wind, the tree threw Ibbity, but you broke the tree. Are you not
the strongest one?”

“No, I am not the strongest one,” said the wind, “the hill is able to
stop my blowing.”

So Ibbity ran on and on, until he came to a high hill, and to the hill
he said:

“Oh, Hill, the tree threw Ibbity, and the wind broke the tree, but you
are able to stop the wind. Are you not the strongest one?”

“Not I,” said the hill. “At my feet lives a small mouse. She is cutting
a tunnel straight through me.”

So Ibbity went down the hill, and looked around in the bushes until he
found a small brown mouse. To the mouse he said:

“O Mouse, the tree threw Ibbity, the wind broke the tree, and the hill
can stop the wind, but you have dug a tunnel through the hill. Are you
not the strongest one?”

“No,” said the mouse. “Cannot the tiger catch me?”

So Ibbity traveled to the jungle, where the tiger lives, and he said:

“Oh, Tiger, the tree threw Ibbity, the wind broke the tree, the hill is
able to stop the wind, and the mouse has dug a tunnel through the hill,
but you can catch the mouse. Are you not the strongest one?”

But the tiger was caught fast in a net, and he said to Ibbity:

“No, this rope is stronger than I.”

And Ibbity said to the rope:

“Oh, Rope, the tree threw Ibbity, the wind broke the tree, the hill can
stop the wind, the mouse has dug a tunnel under the hill, the tiger is
able to catch the mouse, but you have caught the tiger. Are you not the
strongest one?”

“No,” said the rope, “for the fire burns me.”

So Ibbity ran and ran until he came to a fire, and to the fire he said:

“Oh, Fire, the tree threw Ibbity, the wind broke the tree, the hill
stops the wind, the mouse tunnels the hill, the tiger catches the
mouse, the rope catches the tiger, but you are able to burn the rope.
Are you not the strongest one?”

“No,” said the fire, “my heat is less than that of the great sun.”

Then Ibbity looked up at the sky, and he called loudly to the sun:

“Oh, great Sun, the tree threw Ibbity, the wind broke the tree, the
hill stops the wind, the mouse tunnels the hill, the tiger catches the
mouse, the rope catches the tiger, the fire burns the rope, but your
heat is greater than that of the fire. Are you not the strongest one?”

Then the sun winked its large yellow eye at Ibbity, and never a word
did it say, for it was too far off to hear Ibbity’s little voice.

So Ibbity clapped his hands and cried, “I have found the strongest one.
It is the sun.”

And little Ibbity went home again to tell his mother.




THE CHIPMUNK WHO CHATTERED TOO MUCH.


Once upon a time, when Indians and animals lived together in the same
forest and animals could speak, the Chipmunk was the greatest talker of
them all.

He lived in a lodge in the middle of the woods with his grandfather who
was very old and wise as well. But the Chipmunk was young, and very
daring. He was able to run so fast and climb trees, and jump from one
branch to another that he thought nothing in the world could harm him.
He had a louder voice then than he has now. He chattered all day long,
boasting about himself. At last he became very tiresome to the other
animals.

They came at last and spoke to the Chipmunk’s grandfather about him.

“Your grandson chatters so loudly,” scolded the Blue Jay, “that the
birds are not able to hear me when I warn them of danger in the
forest.”

And the Frog came to the Chipmunk’s grandfather with tears in his eyes.
“Your grandson chatters so loudly,” croaked the Frog, “that no one can
hear me when I sing on the edge of the stream in the evening.”

It was quite true. The Chipmunk talked and boasted all the time. He
chattered as he started out from his lodge in the morning and all the
way down the path to let every one know that he was on his way. He
chattered when he came to a nut tree and when he picked up some nuts.
He had pockets in his cheeks, so he could chatter even when he came
home with a mouthful of nuts. There seemed to be no way of keeping this
young Chipmunk quiet, and at last his grandfather decided to speak to
him about it.

“You are not using your voice as it was meant that you should, my son,”
said the Chipmunk’s grandfather. “All the creatures in feathers and fur
in the forest speak for a reason. The Ground Hog whistles to call his
young, and the Frog croaks when wild beasts creep toward the lodges,
and the Robin sings of rain. But you, my son, chatter for no reason
except your foolish pride. Beware! the Great Chief will hear you and
catch you some day if you do not stop!”

The Chipmunk thought that night of what his grandfather had said.
But when morning came, he forgot all about it and took his noisy way
through the woods again. He made just as much noise as he could, even
after he had reached a hickory-nut tree, and climbed up among the
branches.

Suddenly, though, he was still. He heard the leaves on the ground
rustle and the twigs crackle with heavy footsteps. Peering down between
the branches, the Chipmunk saw the Great Chief of whom his grandfather
had warned him. He looked as tall as a young tree and as dark as a
thunder cloud. He carried a long bow and a quiver of arrows. He had
come for the Chipmunk, and he waited under the tree, looking up among
the branches to see when he should come down.

But the leaves on the branches hid the Chipmunk. He gathered a handful
of nuts and tossed them down. The Great Chief was thrown off his guard
by the trick. He jumped, thinking it was the Chipmunk, but the little
fellow scampered down the other side of the tree. He got home to his
lodge in safety.

The next day the Chipmunk was even more noisy than ever as he started
out. He reached a tree, climbed up in it, and again the Great Chief
came with his bow and arrows to kill the chattering little pest. But
the Chipmunk gathered a handful of twigs which he threw down at the
feet of the Great Chief.

“Here I come,” the Chipmunk chattered. As the Great Chief watched to
see him follow the twigs he dropped down on the other side of the tree
and once more reached home safe.

When the Chipmunk started out the third morning he had a great piece of
news to tell the whole world. He told it just as loudly as he could.

“The Great Chief can’t catch me. He can’t catch me,” boasted the
Chipmunk.

He kept on chattering this after he had scampered up a tree, and a very
bold plan entered his head.

The Great Chief came at last. He strode angrily until he came to the
tree where the Chipmunk sat looking down at him.

“Come down! Come down from this tree!” called the Great Chief in a loud
voice.

That was just what the Chipmunk planned to do. He was going to come
down and dare the Great Chief to catch him. He felt that he would be
safe in doing this. So the Chipmunk came down and stood a second,
chattering to the Great Chief, who was so surprised that he did not
move at first.

Then the Chipmunk ran and the Great Chief ran after him. It was a race
for life, the Chipmunk soon found out, for the Great Chief gained at
every step. The Chipmunk leaped and jumped, and panted for breath. On,
and on they went, in and out among the trees. The Chipmunk lost his
loud voice in fear and no other member of the family has had such a
loud one since that day. He could see his lodge with his grandfather
waiting for him in the door, but it did not seem possible that he could
reach it.

Oh, there he was at the door; but just as he went inside the Great
Chief took hold of the Chipmunk with his strong fingers. Although the
Chipmunk pulled himself loose, he had a row of long white stripes on
his back where the Great Chief had clutched him.

And every other Chipmunk, since then, has had white stripes on his
back, because of the first Chipmunk who chattered too much.




HOW THE SQUIRREL GOT WINGS.


Once upon a time the Indians tell us that the Manito was the good
spirit of the woods. He taught every wild creature, bird, beast, or
fish its own special work. It was then that the Beaver learned how to
be a mason, and the Oriole to be a weaver. The Mole learned how to dig
long, secret tunnels although he was blind. The Spider was taught to
spin and the Bee to make honey.

Then, too, the Manito made the Squirrel the little harvester of the
woods, gathering nuts in the fall and digging holes in the earth in
which to bury them for the winter. It was planned that the Squirrel
should be an example to man of the wisdom of working while others
feasted. He gathered food for the days when the wind would howl and the
snow drift about his lodge. So the Squirrel spent his days looking for
nuts and laying them away for cold weather. With him went his friend,
the Woodchuck.

In those days, the Woodchuck ate nuts, and as his legs were short
and his feet flat he could not climb trees. His feet were shaped like
shovels. He used them for digging himself a little house in the side of
a hill where he planned to sleep through the winter until spring should
come. But he was very fond of nuts. His friend, the Squirrel, was good
enough to take him about the woods and show him the places where nuts
were scattered on the ground. The Squirrel gave him half of all the
nuts there were. The Woodchuck cracked these with his sharp teeth and
ate them all.

The Manito was apt to walk through the forest at night to see if
everything was safe. He wished, too, to see if his little wild children
had done their work during the day. One evening in the late fall the
Manito went through the forest in the form of a night wind. He looked
in the door of the Woodchuck’s house in the side of the hill. It was
empty!

Taking his way through the trees the Manito saw a little creature in a
gray fur blanket creeping softly along from one spot to another. He
had short legs, and feet shaped like shovels. It was the Woodchuck. As
he came to a place for which he had been looking, the Woodchuck would
dig deep down in the earth with his paws. He would bring up a store of
nuts and carry them back to his hole in the side of the hill.

“This is not as it should be,” the Manito thought. “I did not plan that
my son, the Woodchuck, should harvest at night. Nor did I decree that
he should gather nuts.”

Then it came to the mind of the Manito what the Woodchuck was up to!

The next night the Manito had a council fire in the woods and bade all
the wild creatures to come to it. He, himself, dressed in fine blankets
and feathers like an Indian Chief, sat on a rock before the fire. All
his sons, the Squirrel, the Beaver, the Wolf, the Deer, the Otter,
the Fox, and the rest, sat in a circle around the fire. There was one
vacant place, though. The Woodchuck had not yet come.

At the time for the council to open, the Manito stood up and spoke.

“We are gathered here as a court of law,” he said. “I have learned
that my thrifty son, the Squirrel, has been the victim of a thief. He
has been busy and saving, as I have taught him to be. He has done his
harvesting for the winter. But while he slept a friend robbed him of
his nuts. What shall we do to such a false friend?”

“Drown him!” said the Beaver.

“Starve him!” said the Otter.

“Eat him!” barked the Fox and the Wolf.

“Who is he?” asked the gentle Deer.

Just then the Woodchuck tried to slip into his place in the circle
without being seen. He had a nut in his mouth so that every one knew
at once that he was the thief. He was the false friend of the thrifty
Squirrel! The animals rose in a body and would have torn the Woodchuck
to pieces at once, or thrown him into the fire. But the Manito raised
his hand to quiet them. Then he called the Woodchuck and the Squirrel
to come to his side.

“I gave you a place to harvest, in the corn field,” the Manito said to
the Woodchuck. “And I gave you a friend who was good enough to share
his nuts with you because you are so fond of them. You have disobeyed
me, and stolen from your friend. As a punishment I will take out your
sharp teeth so that you can never crack a nutshell again. You shall
have grinding teeth, for eating only corn.”

Then the Manito asked the Squirrel to come closer to him, and he
fitted a pair of wings to his back. “These wings are a reward for your
industry,” he said, “and to help you gather another harvest in place of
that which the Woodchuck stole from you.”

From the night of that council fire to the present time the Woodchuck
has eaten only grains and vegetables. And there have been flying
squirrels because of the first Woodchuck who stole from his friend.




HOW THEY BROUGHT HAIRLOCK HOME.


Once upon a time, at the foot of a hill, there lived little Boots and
his mother and their nanny goat, who was named Hairlock. Now Hairlock
loved to run away over the hill to the mountain, and she could never be
found when milking time came at night.

One day Boots was ready with his pail and his milking stool, and he
called, “Hairlock, Hairlock, come home to Boots,” but Hairlock did not
come.

Then Boots’s mother climbed to the top of the hill, and she looked, and
she looked, and there she spied Hairlock on the top of a crag, a long
way off.

“Naughty Hairlock,” she cried, “come home to Boots. Boots, run to
Reynard, the fox, and tell him to bite Hairlock.”

So Boots ran to Reynard, the fox, and he said:

“Good Reynard, bite my nanny goat, Hairlock, who stands on the top of
yonder crag, and will not come home to be milked.”

But Reynard said, “Not I, Boots; I’ll not dull my teeth on old
Hairlock’s skin, for I hunt to-night. Another time, Boots, another
time.”

And Boots went back and told his mother what Reynard had said.

“Then go to Greylegs, the wolf, Boots,” said his mother, “and tell him
to bark at naughty Hairlock.”

So Boots ran to Greylegs the wolf, and he said:

“Good Greylegs, bark at my nanny goat, Hairlock, who stands on the top
of yonder crag, and will not come home to be milked.”

But Greylegs said, “Some other time, Boots, some other time. The night
is cold. I must stay at home and sleep and cover my cubs.”

And Boots went back and told his mother what Greylegs had said.

“Then go to Bruin, the bear,” said his mother, “and bid him chase
naughty Hairlock.”

So Boots ran to Bruin, the bear, and he said:

“Good Bruin, chase my nanny goat, Hairlock, who stands on the top of
yonder crag, and will not come home to be milked.”

But Bruin said, “Ah, Boots, I am much too fat to chase Hairlock. Go to
the fir tree and ask him to trap Hairlock.”

So Boots ran to the fir tree, and he said:

“Good Fir Tree, trap my nanny goat, Hairlock, who stands on the top of
yonder crag, and will not come home to be milked.”

But the fir tree only bent and swayed in the wind, and said, “Ask the
woodcutter to fell me, Boots.”

So Boots ran to the woodcutter, and he said:

“Good Woodcutter, fell the fir tree, that he may trap my nanny goat,
Hairlock, who stands at the top of yonder crag, and will not come home
to be milked.”

But the woodcutter said, “Ask the joiner if he will buy my wood, Boots.”

So Boots went to the joiner, and he said:

“Good Joiner, will you buy wood from the woodcutter, that he may fell
the fir tree? Then the fir tree will trap my nanny goat, Hairlock, who
stands at the top of yonder crag and will not come home to be milked.”

“That I will, Boots,” said the joiner.

Then the woodcutter felled the fir tree and gave the wood to the
joiner. The joiner took the wood and made a strong yoke, which he gave
to Boots.

Then Boots and his mother ran to the top of the crag and put the yoke
on Hairlock.

And that is how they brought Hairlock home.




THE BEAR WHO LOST HIS SUPPER.


Once upon a time old Mother Red Cap was out walking in the forest and
she came to a wild cherry tree, the branches of which hung low with
cherries. She climbed up the tree to pick her apron full of cherries
when along came Bruin, the Bear, walking under the tree. He looked up
among the branches and there he saw old Mother Red Cap.

“Come down, Mother,” he growled, “that I may eat you.” Old Mother Red
Cap did not want to be eaten by Bruin, the Bear, so she thought, and
thought, and then she said:

“You do not want to eat an old woman like me. I will throw you down my
shoe and you may gnaw upon that until I can come down to the ground and
lead you to my house. I have two little kids there who will make you a
savory meal. Have patience, Bruin, until I can climb down.”

This was what old Mother Red Cap said, and she threw down her shoe.
Bruin gnawed and gnawed upon the shoe, but he found it very dry
eating, so he grew angry. He called up the tree to old Mother Red Cap:

“Come down, Mother, that I may eat you.”

“Just wait a little longer, Bruin, until I have gathered a few more
cherries,” said she, and she threw down her other shoe. “Gnaw on this,”
she said, “and I will climb down in a few minutes and show you the way
to my house.”

Bruin gnawed upon the second shoe but he found it no better than the
first. But he contented himself with the thought of the two little kids
that he would soon be eating, and he waited beneath the tree until old
Mother Red Cap climbed down.

Down she came, with her apron full of cherries; home she went, and
Bruin tramped along behind her. When they reached her house, old Mother
Red Cap took Bruin, the Bear, out to the barn and showed him the two
little kids. He was in a great hurry to get his paws around them, but,
“Wait,” said Old Mother Red Cap. “First I must give the two little
kids a fine supper that they may be fatter. Go back to the forest for
the night and return in the morning. Then the two little kids will be
fat enough for you to eat.”

So Bruin, the Bear, went back to the forest for the night. Old Mother
Red Cap gave the two little kids a fine, large supper and then she
locked the door of the barn and went to bed. Very early in the morning
she went out to the barn and unlocked the door and let out the two fat
little kids. They scampered off to pasture and were soon so far away
that neither hide nor hoof of them could be seen. Then old Mother Red
Cap locked the door of the barn again.

Almost as soon as the sun was up, Bruin, the Bear, tramped back from
the forest, growling:

“Open the barn door, Mother, that I may eat the two little kids.”

Mother Red Cap stooped down to peep through the key hole of the barn
door. Then she shook her head sadly.

“What a pity it is,” sighed old Mother Red Cap, “that the two little
kids are gone. Can it be that my two mischievous little grandchildren,
Janko and Mirko, unlocked the door and let the kids out?”

At that Bruin, the Bear, was very angry. “Then I must eat your two
little grandchildren, Janko and Mirko,” he growled.

This frightened old Mother Red Cap greatly. She thought and thought,
and then she said: “My two little grandchildren, Janko and Mirko, are
very thin indeed. I must give them three fine meals or they will not be
fat enough for you to eat. In the meantime, do you run about through
the forest to get yourself a better appetite.”

So Bruin, the Bear, went away and ran about in the woods all the rest
of the day. When it was evening he came back with a fine appetite and
rapped at the door of old Mother Red Cap’s house.

“Send out Janko and Mirko,” he growled, “and see what short work I will
make of them.”

“Oho, I’ll not do that,” laughed old Mother Red Cap from inside the
house. “You are too late, Bruin. Janko has just bolted the door so fast
that you will not be able to open it and I have put Mirko to bed, where
he is fast asleep. You must go back to the forest and come some other
day.”

So Bruin, the Bear, saw that old Mother Red Cap had got the best of him
and he went back to the forest, hungry, to look for his supper there.




THE RABBIT WHO WAS AFRAID.


Once upon a time, a very long way from here, a little wild Rabbit sat
under a tall palm tree. All about him were other tall palm trees and
larger animals than he, and the wild rabbit thought and thought. And
after the Rabbit had thought a while he said to himself, “What if the
earth should crack and swallow me up.”

Just then the wind blew a cocoanut down from a tree and it fell upon
the ground right beside the little wild Rabbit. Up he jumped in great
fear for now he was sure that what he had dreaded was happening.

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, and off he hopped as fast as
he could, never stopping to try and find out what it was that had made
the noise.

As he ran he met his Mother and she said to him, “Why do you run so
fast?”

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, “and I run that I may not be
swallowed up by it.”

On ran the Rabbit, and his Mother ran with him.

As they ran, they met his Father and he said to the Rabbit, “Why do you
run so fast?”

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, “and we run that we may not
be swallowed up by it.”

On ran the Rabbit and his Mother, and his Father ran with them.

As they ran they met an Elephant, and he said to the Rabbit, “Why do
you run so fast?”

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, “and we run that we may not
be swallowed up by it.”

On ran the Rabbit and his Mother and his Father, and the Elephant ran
with them.

As they ran they passed a Deer. “Why do you run so fast?” he asked of
the Rabbit.

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, “and we run that we may not
be swallowed up by it.”

On ran the Rabbit and his Mother and his Father and the Elephant, and
the Deer ran with them.

As they ran they met a Fox. “Why do you run so fast?” the Fox asked of
the Rabbit.

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, “and we run that we may not
be swallowed up by it.”

On ran the Rabbit and his Mother and his Father and the Elephant and
the Deer, and the Fox ran with them.

As they ran they met all his Relations, and they said to the Rabbit,
“Why do you run so fast?”

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, “and we run that we may not
be swallowed up by it.”

On ran the Rabbit and his Mother and his Father and the Elephant and
the Deer and the Fox, and a hundred of his Relations ran with him.

As they ran they came upon the Lion, who is the king of the beasts, and
the Lion said to the Rabbit, “Why do you run so fast?”

“The earth is cracking,” said the Rabbit, “and we run that we may not
be swallowed up by it.”

But the Lion, who is the king of the beasts, did not run. He spoke
again. “Which one of you is it who saw the earth cracking?” he asked,
because he felt sure that there must be some mistake about it.

“It was not I, O King,” replied the Elephant.

“Nor was it I, O King,” said the Deer and the Fox and each of the
Rabbit’s hundred Relations and his Father and his Mother, until all had
spoken except the Rabbit himself.

“Is it true that the earth is cracking?” asked the Lion of the Rabbit.

“It is true, O King,” replied the Rabbit. “I sat under a palm tree
thinking of what would happen to me if the earth were to break up.
Suddenly I heard a loud noise as it cracked.”

[Illustration: “What a foolish Rabbit you are!” said the Lion.]

“Then we must go back and see how wide the crack is,” said the Lion.
“Rabbit, jump upon my back and show me the way.”

So the Rabbit jumped upon the Lion’s back and away they went as fast
as the wind, while the other animals all waited for them. The Rabbit
guided the Lion to the place where he had sat beneath the palm tree,
and the Lion saw the cocoanut lying on the ground.

“What a foolish Rabbit you are!” said the Lion, who is king of all the
beasts. Then he went back to the other beasts and told them that the
earth had not yet cracked.

If it had not been for the Lion they might all have been running until
to-day.




HOW MAPLE SUGAR CAME.


Once upon a time there was a little Indian boy named Son-of-a-Brave. He
was very fond indeed of going to the lodge of the village medicine man.
Here he listened to all the wise stories that the medicine man told
about the forest.

This medicine man was very much thought of by the Indians and they had
made him the best lodge in the village. It stood in that part of the
forest where the trees were stately, and old, and straight. The lodge,
itself, was covered with the most valuable skins. It was filled with
gifts of beads, and drums, and arrow heads, and blankets with pictures
woven in them.

Son-of-a-Brave used to gather some of the herbs that the medicine man
brewed. In return, the Indian boy was allowed to sit inside the lodge,
beside the medicine man’s kettle, and listen to his sayings.

“The Indians have something to learn from every beast, and fish, and
bird of the forest,” the medicine man said one day.

Son-of-a-Brave felt very proud, because his father was one of the big
chiefs of the tribe. He was proud, too, that he, twelve years old,
could shoot an arrow as straight as the young braves. So he found it
hard to understand the medicine man.

“What does the clumsy Bear teach us?” Son-of-a-Brave asked.

“The value of sleep,” replied the medicine man. “You like to sit up
late at night, listening to the talk of your parents around the camp
fire. In the morning you have dull eyes and heavy limbs. The Bear comes
out from her winter sleep ready to rule the den and fight the whole
forest.”

“Well, what does the silly Salmon that hurls himself down the rapids
teach us?” asked Son-of-a-Brave.

“The greatest lesson of all—that home is the best place,” replied the
medicine man. “The Salmon swims far away from home, but always comes
back to the hatching ground through the rapids.”

As Son-of-a-Brave went out through the lodge he was thinking very hard.
There had been one question that he had wanted to ask the medicine man,
but he had not dared, Of what use was the great stupid Woodpecker that
flew from tree to tree? It ran up and down the trunks like a senseless
bird, and pounded like a drum with its huge bill.

There was a Woodpecker now. Son-of-a-Brave could see it, head down,
on the trunk of a tree, making a hole. It wore a bright red cap, and
its black eyes were as bright as those of an Indian. Its big black
claws looked like hands. The boy stopped to watch the odd bird. The
Woodpecker bored awhile, standing on its head. Then it righted itself
and made the hole larger. Last, it put its bill in the hole and pulling
it out, tipped its head back as if it were drinking. This was very
strange.

When the Woodpecker flew away, Son-of-a-Brave went up to the tree, for
he was curious about it. It was still too early in the spring for the
tree to have leaves. There was a little snow left on the ground. But
the boy knew what kind of tree it was by its bark. He could find others
like it all through the woods. He had a very sharp arrow head stuck in
his belt. He took it out and began chipping the hole in the tree trunk
which the Woodpecker had started, until it was larger. To the Indian
boy’s surprise thin sap began to run out of the tree. He put his lips
to the hole.

It was sweet sap—as sweet as wild honey!

Son-of-a-Brave stripped some bark from the tree and made a little cup.
He filled this with the sweet sap and ran from one lodge to another
in the village, asking the braves to taste it. They all said that the
sweet sap was good. All the village followed Son-of-a-Brave back to the
forest, while he pointed out trees like the one which the Woodpecker
had tapped. They bored holes in them, and from each there flowed the
first maple syrup. It proved that the medicine man had been right.
Even the Woodpecker, who worked upside down, could teach the Indians
something.

So the Indians tell us how maple sugar came. But the story tells us
also the great wisdom of our little wild brothers in feathers and fur.




THE RABBIT WHO WANTED RED WINGS.


Once upon a time there was a little white Rabbit with two beautiful
long pink ears, and two bright red eyes, and four soft little
feet—_such_ a pretty little white Rabbit, but he was not happy.

Just think, this little white Rabbit wanted to be somebody else instead
of a rabbit!

When Mr. Bushy Tail, the gray squirrel, went by, the little white
Rabbit would say to his Mammy:

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a long gray tail like Mr. Bushy Tail’s.”

And when Mr. Porcupine went by, the little white Rabbit would say to
his Mammy:

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a back full of bristles like Mr. Porcupine’s.”

And when Miss Puddle-Duck went by in her two little red rubbers, the
little white Rabbit would say:

“Oh, Mammy, I wish I had a pair of red rubbers like Miss
Puddle-Duck’s.”

So he went on and on wishing until his Mammy was all tired out with his
wishing and Old Mr. Ground Hog heard him one day.

Old Mr. Ground Hog is very wise indeed, so he said to the little white
Rabbit:

“Why don’t you go down to the Wishing Pond? If you look in the water
at yourself and turn around three times in a circle you will get your
wish.”

So the little white Rabbit went off, all alone by himself, through the
woods until he came to a little pool of green water lying in a low tree
stump. That was the Wishing Pond. There was a little, little bird, all
red, sitting on the edge of the Wishing Pond to get a drink, and as
soon as the little white Rabbit saw him he began to wish again.

“Oh, I wish I had a pair of little red wings!” he said. Just then he
looked in the Wishing Pond and he saw his little white face. Then he
turned around three times and something happened. He began to have a
queer feeling in his shoulders, like the feeling in his mouth when he
was cutting his teeth. It was his wings coming through. So he sat all
day in the woods by the Wishing Pond waiting for them to grow, and by
and by, when it was almost sundown, he started home to see his Mammy
and show her. He had a beautiful pair of long, trailing red wings.

But by the time he reached home it was getting dark. When he went in
the hole at the foot of the big tree where he lived, his Mammy didn’t
know him. No, she really and truly did not know him, because she had
never seen a rabbit with red wings in all her life. And so the little
white Rabbit had to go out again, because his Mammy wouldn’t let him
get into his own bed. He had to go out and look for some place to sleep
all night.

He went and went until he came to Mr. Bushy Tail’s house, and he rapped
on the door and said:

“Please, kind Mr. Bushy Tail, may I sleep in your house all night?”

But Mr. Bushy Tail opened his door a crack and then he slammed it
tight shut again. You see he had never seen a rabbit with red wings in
all his life.

So the little white Rabbit went and went until he came to Miss
Puddle-Duck’s nest down by the marsh, and he said:

“Please, kind Miss Puddle-Duck, may I sleep in your nest all night?”

Miss Puddle-Duck poked her head up out of her nest just a little way.
Then she shut her eyes and stretched her wings out so far that she
covered her whole nest.

You see she had never seen a white rabbit with red wings in all her
life.

So the little white Rabbit went and went until he came to Old Mr.
Ground Hog’s hole and Old Mr. Ground Hog let him sleep with him all
night, but the hole had beech nuts spread all over it. Old Mr. Ground
Hog liked to sleep on them, but they hurt the little white Rabbit’s
feet and made him very uncomfortable before morning.

When it came morning, the little white Rabbit decided to try his wings
and fly a little. He climbed up on a hill, and spread his wings, and
sailed off, but he landed in a low bush all full of prickles. There his
four feet got mixed up with the twigs so he couldn’t get down.

“Mammy, Mammy, Mammy, come and help me!” he called.

His Mammy didn’t hear him, but old Mr. Ground Hog did. He came and
helped the little white Rabbit out of the prickly bush.

“Don’t you want your red wings?” Mr. Ground Hog asked.

“No, _no_!” said the little white Rabbit.

“Well,” said the Old Ground Hog, “why don’t you go down to the Wishing
Pond and wish them _off_ again?”

So the little white Rabbit went down to the Wishing Pond and he saw his
face in it. Then he turned around three times, and, sure enough, his
red wings were gone. Then he went home to his Mammy, who knew him right
away and was so glad to see him. And he never, _never_ wished again to
be something different from what he really was.




HOW THE FIRST MAYFLOWERS CAME.


Once upon a time everything in the woods was covered deep with snow,
the berries, the juicy young bushes, and the roots. The animals had
stowed themselves away for the winter to sleep; the bear in a deep
cave, the chipmunk in a hollow log, and the wild mouse in a cozy hole
beneath the roots of a tree. The wind sang a high, shrill song in the
tops of the pine trees, and the doors of the wigwams were shut tight.

But the door of Son-of-a-Brave’s wigwam suddenly opened a little way
and the Indian boy, himself, looked out. He had his bow and a newly
tipped arrow in his hands.

While the snow and the ice had been piling up outside in the Indian
village, Son-of-a-Brave had been very busy. He had been working beside
the home fire making his new arrow head. First, he had gone to the
wigwam of the village arrow maker to ask him for a good piece of stone.
The arrow maker had been good enough to give Son-of-a-Brave a piece
of beautiful white quartz. Then Son-of-a-Brave had set to work on it.
He had shaped it with a big horn knife and chipped it with a hammer.
He had polished it in a dish of sand until it shone like one of the
icicles outside. Then he had fitted it to a strong arrow and wished
that he had a chance to shoot. That was why Son-of-a-Brave stood at the
door of the wigwam, looking out across the snow. Not even a deer had
tracked it because the winter was so cold.

All at once Son-of-a-Brave saw something. An old Hare came out of a
snow bank and limped down the path that led by the wigwam. In the
summer the Hare was gray, the color of the trees among which he lived.
But in the winter he turned white so as not to be seen by hunters when
he went along through the snow. He did not care now whether any one saw
him or not. He was a very old Hare, and the winter was too hard for
him. He was lame and hungry and half frozen. He stopped right in front
of Son-of-a-Brave and sat up on his haunches, his ears drooping.

“Don’t shoot me,” he was trying to say. “I am at your mercy, too
starved to run away from you.”

Son-of-a-Brave slipped his newly tipped arrow in his bow and aimed at
the old Hare. It would be very easy indeed to shoot him, for the Hare
did not move. The boy thought what a warm pair of moccasin tops his
skin would make. Then Son-of-a-Brave took his arrow out again, for
another thought had come to him. He knew that he would be a coward to
shoot a Hare that was too weak to run away.

The boy stooped down and picked up the old Hare. He wrapped him close
up to his own warm body in his blanket. Then he went with him through
the snow of the woods until they came to a place where a stream ran.
There were young willow trees growing along the edge. Here he set down
the Hare. He began to dig away the ice and frozen earth with his
new arrow tip, until the roots of the trees and the soft bark could
be seen. How the Hare did eat these! Son-of-a-Brave left him, still
eating, and went home.

The Indian boy did not see the Hare again that winter. He knew that
he had dug a large enough hole so that the Hare could find shelter
and have enough food. His bow and arrow were hung on the wall, and
Son-of-a-Brave sat by the fire with his mother and father until spring
came.

One day a bird sang out in the forest. Then the streams began to sing.
The moss made a carpet all over the ground outside of the wigwam.
Son-of-a-Brave felt like running and shouting. He left off his blanket
and went out into the woods to play.

[Illustration: Oh, what did the boy see there!]

He had scarcely gone a rod from the wigwam when he saw a large gray
Hare following him. This was strange for hares usually ran away.
Son-of-a-Brave waited, and the Hare came close to him. Then he saw,
because it limped, that it was the old Hare that he had befriended in
the winter. He was now fat and well fed, and dressed in his summer
coat.

The Hare flopped his ears to Son-of-a-Brave and hopped a little way
ahead, so the boy followed. The Hare went on, without stopping, until
he came to the very spot beside the stream where Son-of-a-Brave had dug
away the snow to give the Hare food.

Oh, what did the boy see there!

Blossoming out of the bare earth were beautiful flowers, as white
outside as a hare’s ears in the winter time, and pink inside, like
their lining. They had a sweet perfume, different from anything that
had grown in the woods before. The grateful Hare stood beside them. He
seemed to say that these new flowers were his gift to the boy who had
helped him.

The Indians say that those were the first Mayflowers. They say the
Mayflowers have been blossoming in the woods ever since because the
Hare brought them out of thankfulness to Son-of-a-Brave.




HOW THE RABBIT TRIED TO COAST.


Once upon a time, the Rabbit lived in the woods in a lodge with his
old grandmother. Summer was a fat time for the two, but things went
very badly with them in the winter. Then, ice and snow covered up the
berries, and there were no juicy, green shoots to be had.

The Rabbit might have hunted, or gone to a field and dug down through
the snow to find some buried ears of grain. But he was a lazy young
fellow and disliked the cold. His grandmother had a hard time filling
the dinner pot, and their cupboard shelves were more often empty than
full.

The Rabbit wished very much that he might find some easy way of making
a living in the winter. With this thought in mind he went one frosty
day to the lodge of the Otter, just before dinner time.

The Otter lived in a lonely wigwam by the side of a river. It was quite
a long distance from the regular camp of the animals. But the Otter
seemed to be well fed and to have no trouble in getting his dinner. The
Rabbit watched him.

The Otter put his dinner pot full of water over the fire. Then he took
his fish line and hooks and went outside. He had built a long, smooth
ice slide that went from his door down the bank of the river. He slid
down this, diving into the water through a little hole in the ice. In
a very short time the Otter was up again, and carried a long string of
fat eels up to the bank to his lodge. He popped these into his dinner
pot and invited the Rabbit to stay and share the feast with him.

It was the first hot meal that the Rabbit had eaten in a long while.
Instead of saving some of the food for his grandmother, he ate of it
greedily. He tried to think how he could imitate his friend’s way of
getting a living. He was off as soon as dinner was over, for he had a
plan in his head.

As soon as the Rabbit reached his lodge, he told his grandmother to put
on her blanket and tie the kitchen pots together with a piece of deer
thong. He said that they were going to move. She begged him to think it
over. It was deep winter, she told him, and she, herself, was an old
rabbit. But the Rabbit took down the lodge poles while she was talking,
and they started away through the forest to the river beside which the
Otter lived. He set up his lodge on the opposite bank from that of the
Otter. As the weather was crisp and cold, the Rabbit had no trouble at
all in making an ice slide from his door to the river, just like the
Otter’s slide.

Then the Rabbit told his grandmother to build a fire, and hang the
dinner pot, and make ready for a great feast. He had invited the Otter
to take dinner with him. The Rabbit’s grandmother threw up her paws.

“What shall I cook?” she asked. “There is no food of any kind in the
house.”

“I will attend to all that,” the Rabbit said. Then he started out with
his fishing line to catch a mess of eels as the Otter had.

He stood a moment at the top of his ice slide, and then he started
down it. But, oh, it was hard for the Rabbit, who was used to hopping,
to keep a straight course on the ice. He went from one side to the
other, and then turned head over heels, growing quite dizzy. Then he
struck the ice cold water, and went under, numb with cold. He did not
know how to swim a stroke. He was almost drowned before he rose to the
surface and was able to cling to a cake of ice. From this he struggled
over to the bank. He crawled up wet, his teeth chattering, and his fur
freezing all over in tiny icicles.

The Otter had come across the river to the Rabbit’s dinner party and he
stood laughing on the bank as he saw the Rabbit.

“What ails him?” the Otter asked of the Rabbit’s grandmother.

“He saw somebody fishing,” she explained, “and he tried to do the same.
He never thinks for himself.”

The Otter laughed harder than before, as they helped the Rabbit into
the lodge and warmed him beside the fire. Then the Otter caught a
mess of eels. The Rabbit’s grandmother cooked them, and they had quite
a merry dinner after all. But the Rabbit was very much ashamed of
himself. He learned how to hunt in a rabbit’s way, after that, and took
good care of his grandmother all the rest of the winter.




WHY THE FIELD MOUSE IS LITTLE.


Once upon a time, before there were any big folks, or any real houses
in the world, the little First Man, and the little First Woman lived in
a tiny lodge on the banks of a big river. They were the only people in
the whole world, and they were very, very small, not any larger than
your finger.

They ate wild gooseberries, and twin berries, and black caps. One berry
made a very fine meal for them.

The little First Woman took very good care of the little First Man.
She made him a beautiful green bow and arrow from a blade of grass,
with which he could hunt crickets and grasshoppers. From the skin
of a humming bird she made him a most beautiful hunting coat, all
embroidered and jeweled with bits of gay shells and shining particles
of sand.

One day the little First Man was out hunting and he grew very weary,
wading through the deep grass, so he laid him down beneath a clover
leaf and fell fast asleep. A storm came up, and the thunder roared and
the lightning flashed, but it did not waken the little First Man. Then
the sun shone, warm, as it does in hot countries, and the little First
Man awoke. Alas, where was his gay little hunting coat? The rain had
soaked it, and the sun had scorched it, and it had fallen to pieces,
and dropped quite off the little First Man.

Then he was very angry and he shook his fist at the great sun. “It is
all your fault,” he cried. “I will pull you down from the sky.”

He went home and told the little First Woman, who cried many tears when
she thought of all the stitches she had put into the coat. And the
little First Woman stamped her little foot at the sun, and she, too,
said it should stay up in the sky no longer. The sun should be pulled
down.

The next thing was to arrange how to do it. They were such small
people, and the sun was so great and so far away. But they began
plaiting a long rope of grass that should be long enough to catch the
sun, and after they had worked for many moons, the rope was quite long.

Then they could not carry it, because it made such a heavy coil; so the
little First Man tried to think of one of the beasts who could help
him, and he decided that the Field Mouse would be the most willing.

In those far away days, the Field Mouse was much larger than he is
now, as large as a buffalo. The little First Man found the Field Mouse
asleep under a tree, and he had great trouble awaking him, but the
Field Mouse was very obliging. He took the coil of rope upon his back,
allowed the two little people to sit, one on each ear, and they started
away to find the woods where the sun first drops down in the evening.

It was a journey of many moons, and most tiresome. There were many
rivers to be forded, and at each one the Field Mouse was obliged to
take one end of the rope in his mouth, and swim over with it. Then he
would coil it up, and go back for the little First Man, and the little
First Woman.

But at last they came to some deep, dark woods where the beasts, the
elk, the hedgehog, and the others, assured them the great sun dropped
down every night, last of all.

Then the little First Man climbed to the tops of the trees, making slip
knots of the rope, and fastening it to the branches until he had made a
huge net, larger than any fish net you ever saw. When it was done, they
all hid to wait for evening, and to see what would happen.

Such a terrible thing happened! Lower, and lower, fell the sun toward
the woods that he always touched the last thing at night. And before he
could stop himself—down into the little First Man’s net he dropped, and
he could not get out.

No one had ever thought what would happen if the sun were caught. Of
course everything was set on fire. The trees smoked, and the grasses
blazed. The little First Man and the little First Woman started
running toward home as fast as ever they could, because of all the
mischief they had done. The elk had his antlers scorched. The hedgehog
was obliged to dance to keep his feet from burning, and the other
beasts crowded around the Field Mouse.

“Good, kind Field Mouse,” they cried, “will you not set the sun free?
Your teeth are sharp. Gnaw the rope, and loose him, we pray of you.”

So the Field Mouse, who was always most good natured, climbed to the
top of a tree and gnawed the rope with his sharp teeth, although it was
very hot and uncomfortable for him. Gnaw, gnaw, and at last the sun was
loose. With a bound it jumped to the sky, and there it has stayed ever
since.

But what do you think happened to the Field Mouse? The heat melted him
down to the size he is now, and that is the reason the Field Mouse is
so very little.




HOW THE FIRST BEARS CAME.


Once upon a time, there were only Indians upon the earth, and the
tribes had a Great Spirit who was their ruler. He had a little
daughter, the Wind-Child.

It was thought that the Great Spirit and his daughter lived in the
largest wigwam of the world. It was a mountain that stood, tall and
pointed, on the edge of the sea. The winds raged about the sea coast,
and no one seemed to have any power over them except the Wind-Child.
They would sometimes obey her, if she came out of her father’s wigwam,
the mountain, and begged them to be still.

No wonder the winds obeyed the Wind-Child. Her eyes were as bright
as the stars when the west wind blew the clouds away from the sky at
night. She was as fleet and strong as the north wind. She could sing as
sweetly as did the south wind. And her hair was as long and soft as the
mists that the east wind carried.

The Wind-Child had only one fault. She was very curious about matters
which did not concern her.

One day, when the winter was almost over, there was a gale at sea. The
surf rolled up and beat against the Great Spirit’s mountain. The wind
was so strong that the mountain shook. It seemed as if it would topple
over. The Great Spirit spoke to his daughter.

“Go out to the lodge of the cave, at the base of the mountain,” he
said, “and reach out your arm and ask the wind to cease. But do not go
beyond the cave, for the storm rages and it is not safe for you to go
any farther.”

So the Wind-Child did as her father had asked her. She stood at the
edge of the cave. She stretched out her arm and the wind quieted. Then
the Wind-Child forgot to obey her father. The sun came out, and she
saw many bright shells lying on the sand. The waves had washed them
up during the storm. She left the mountain, and ran along the beach
gathering shells.

As soon as the Wind-Child had picked up one shell, she dropped it to
go on farther in search of one that was larger. On and on she went,
always looking for a shell that was brighter. She suddenly found that
she had gone a long way from home. She could not see the wigwam. She
found herself, where the magic trail of the shells had led her, in a
deep, dark forest. It was a frightful place, and the trees shut the
Wind-Child in on all sides.

[Illustration: They seemed glad to see the Wind-Child.]

The forest was settled by a strange race of grizzly people. They were
dark, rough in their ways, and wore shaggy fur clothing. Their wigwams
were made of the trunks of trees. They had great fires in the open
places of the woods about which they sat. They seemed glad to see the
Wind-Child. The mothers crowded around her, and the children brought
her nuts. They gave her a fur cloak and one of the best wigwams in
which to live. When the Wind-Child begged to go home to her father,
these grizzly people of the forest gave her sweets to eat. They let
her taste of the thick, sweet maple syrup that they cooked in their
kettles. They gave her wild honey that the bees had left the season
before in the hollow trees. After eating these, the Wind-Child forgot
all about her home, and lived with and learned the ways of these forest
people. Years and years passed and she was still among them, grown as
wild and savage as they themselves were.

The Great Spirit looked for his daughter season after season all over
the earth, and still he could not find her. His mountain was deserted.
His voice could be heard calling her in every wind that blew. Great
drought and famine came upon the land because he neglected the earth.
It was a time of great suffering. But one day he came upon the grizzly
people. They were moving their camp from one part of the forest to
another. In their midst was the Wind-Child, looking almost like one of
them. She knew her father, though, and ran to him, begging to go home
with him. He took her in his arms, but he turned in anger toward her
captors.

As the Great Spirit gazed in anger upon the grizzly people they drew
their fur cloaks over their heads. They dropped down to the ground at
his feet to beg for mercy. The Great Spirit left the forest. As he
did so these wild people of the woods found that they could not rise
to their feet again. They were not able to draw their fur cloaks from
their heads. They went about on all fours, covered from head to foot
with shaggy fur. They could not speak, but could only growl.

They were the first bears, and there have been bears ever since in
place of the strange savages who captured the Wind-Child.

The Great Spirit took the Wind-Child to the top of the mountain and
they lived there always. On her return the rain fell and the sun shone,
and there was plenty in the earth again. But the bear tribe prowled the
earth, hunted by the Indians, because of the Wind-Child’s curiosity.




WHY THE BEAR HAS A STUMPY TAIL.


Once upon a time, in the far away days, when the beasts walked the
land, and talked like real people, the bear had a long, beautiful,
bushy tail, as fine as the tail of any other creature, and you may be
sure he was very proud of it.

One winter day the bear was out traveling, and whom should he meet but
Brother Fox, hastening along with a string of fish dangling down his
back.

“Ah,” said Bruin, “stop a bit, friend; where did you find such fat
fish?”

Now, very likely Brother Fox had helped himself to the fish from some
one’s larder, but he never told the bear; not he.

“It is a secret, about these fish,” he said to Bruin; “come close, and
I will tell you.”

So Bruin went close to Brother Fox, and Brother Fox said:

“You must go to the river where the ice is thick, make a hole in the
ice, sit down with your tail in the hole, and wait for the fish to
bite. When your tail smarts, pull it out, quickly. That is the way to
fish.”

“Oh, is it?” said Bruin. “Well, if you say it is so, it must be true,
Brother Fox,” and he walked toward the river swinging his tail as he
went, and Brother Fox hid behind a tree to laugh up his sleeve, and
watch.

Well, poor old Bruin got a stick, and made a hole in the ice. Then he
sat down with his long, beautiful, bushy tail in the water and waited,
and, oh, it was very cold indeed.

He waited, and waited, and then his tail began to smart. He gave a
quick pull to bring up the fish, and, alas, the ice had frozen fast
again.

Off came the bear’s beautiful, long, bushy tail, and he never was able
to put it on again.

And that is why the bear has a short, stumpy tail, because he tried to
fish, as Brother Fox told him to, through the ice.




WHY THE BEAR SLEEPS ALL WINTER.


Once upon a time, little Brother Rabbit lived, quite sober and
industrious, in the woods, and just close by lived a big, brown Bear.

Now little Brother Rabbit never troubled his neighbors in those days,
nor meddled with their housekeeping, nor played any tricks the way he
does now. In the fall, he gathered his acorns, and his pig nuts, and
his rabbit tobacco. On a frosty morning, he would set out with Brother
Fox for the farmer’s; and while Brother Fox looked after the chicken
yards, little Brother Rabbit picked cabbage, and pulled turnips, and
gathered carrots and parsnips for his cellar. When the winter came,
he never failed to share his store with a wandering field mouse, or a
traveling chipmunk.

Now, in those days, old Bear was not content to do his own
housekeeping, and doze in the sun, and gather wild honey in the summer,
and dig for field mice in the winter. He was full of mischief, and was
always playing tricks. Of all the beasts of the wood, the one he loved
best to trouble was sober little Brother Rabbit.

Just as soon as Brother Rabbit moved to a new tree stump, and filled
his bins with vegetables, and his pantry with salad, along came old
Bear and carried off all his stores.

Just as soon as Brother Rabbit filled his house with dry, warm leaves
for a bed, creepy, creepy, crawly, along came old Bear, and tried to
squeeze himself into the bed, too, and of course he was too big.

At last, Brother Rabbit could stand it no longer, and he went to all
his friends in the wood to ask their advice.

The first one he met was Brother Frog, sitting on the edge of the pond,
and sticking his feet in the nice, cool mud.

“What shall I do, Brother Frog?” asked Brother Rabbit; “Brother Bear
will not leave me alone.”

“Let us ask Brother Squirrel,” said Brother Frog.

So the two went to Brother Squirrel, cracking nuts in the hickory tree.

“What shall we do, Brother Squirrel?” asked Brother Frog; “Brother Bear
will not leave Brother Rabbit alone.”

“Let us ask Brother Mole,” said Brother Squirrel, dropping his nuts.

So the three went to where Brother Mole was digging the cellar for a
new house, and they said:

“What shall we do, Brother Mole? Brother Bear will not leave Brother
Rabbit alone.”

“Let us ask Brother Fox,” said Brother Mole.

So Brother Mole, and Brother Squirrel, and Brother Frog, and Brother
Rabbit went to where Brother Fox was combing his brush behind a bush,
and they said to him:

“What shall we do, Brother Fox? Brother Bear will not leave Brother
Rabbit alone.”

“Let us go to Brother Bear,” said Brother Fox.

So they all went along with little Brother Rabbit, and they hunted
and hunted for old Bear, but they could not find him. They hunted and
hunted some more, and they peeped in a hollow tree. There lay old Bear,
fast asleep.

“Hush,” said Brother Fox.

Then he whispered to Brother Frog, “Bring a little mud.”

And he whispered to Brother Squirrel, “Bring some leaves.”

And he whispered to Brother Mole, “Bring some dirt, little brother.”

And to Brother Rabbit he said, “Stand ready to do what I tell you.”

So Brother Frog brought mud, Brother Squirrel brought leaves, Brother
Mole brought dirt, and Brother Rabbit stood ready.

Then Brother Fox said to Brother Rabbit, “Stop up the ends of Brother
Bear’s log.”

So Brother Rabbit took the mud and the leaves and the dirt, and he
stopped up the ends of the log. Then he hammered hard with his two
back feet, which are good for hammering. And they all went home, for
they thought that old Bear would never, never get out of the log.

Well, old Bear slept and slept, but after a while he awoke, and he
opened one eye. He saw no sunshine, so he thought it was still night,
and he went to sleep again.

After another while, he awoke again, but he heard the rain and sleet
beating outside, and it was very warm and dry inside.

“What a very long night,” said old Bear, and he curled up his paws, and
he went to sleep again.

This time, he just slept, and slept, until it began to be very warm
inside the log, and he heard in his dreams the footsteps of birds
outside.

Then he awoke, and he stretched himself, and he shook himself. He
rubbed his eyes with his paws, and he poked away the mud, and the
leaves, and the dirt, and he went outside.

But was he not surprised?

It had been a frosty night when he had gone to sleep, and now the woods
were green. Old Bear had slept all winter.

“That was a fine, long sleep,” said old Bear, as he set out for little
Brother Rabbit’s house to see if he had anything good for breakfast; “I
shall sleep again, next fall.”

So every summer, old Bear plays tricks on little Brother Rabbit, but
when the fall comes, he creeps away to a warm, dark place to sleep
until spring.

And so have his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren ever since.




  Transcriber’s Notes

  pg 25 Changed: “The rice is too salt,”
             to: “The rice is too salty,”



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ONCE UPON A TIME ANIMAL STORIES ***