The Toad Woman

Great good luck once happened to a young woman who was living all alone in the woods with nobody near her but her little dog; for, to her surprise, she found fresh meat every morning at her door. She was very curious to know who it was that supplied her, and watching one morning, just as the sun had risen, she saw a handsome young man gliding away into the forest. Having seen her, he became her husband, and she had a son by him.

One day, not long after this, he did not return at evening, as usual, from hunting. She waited till late at night, but he came no more.

The next day, she swung her child to sleep in its cradle, and then said to her dog, "Take care of your brother while I am gone, and when he cries, halloo for me."

The cradle was made of the finest wampum, and all its bandages and ornaments were of the same precious stuff.
After a short time, the woman heard the cry of the dog, and running home as fast as she could, she found her child gone, and the dog too. On looking around, she saw scattered upon the ground pieces of the wampum of her child's cradle, and she knew that the dog had been faithful, and had striven his best to save her child from being carried off, as he had been, by an old woman, from a distant country, called Mukakee Mindemoea, or the Toad-Woman.

The mother hurried off at full speed in pursuit, and as she flew along, she came, from time to time, to lodges inhabited by old women, who told her at what time the child-thief had passed; they also gave her shoes that she might follow on. There was a number of these old women who seemed as if they were prophetesses, and knew what was to come long beforehand. Each of them would say to her that when she had arrived at the next lodge, she must set the toes of the moccasins they had given her pointing homeward, and that they would return of themselves. The young woman was very careful to send back in this manner all the shoes she borrowed.

She thus followed in the pursuit, from valley to valley, and stream to stream, for many months and years; when she came at length to the lodge of the last of the friendly old grandmothers, as they were called, who gave her the last instructions how to proceed. She told her that she was near the place where her son was to be found; and she directed her to build a lodge of cedar-boughs, hard by the old Toad-Woman's lodge, and to make a little bark dish, and to fill it with the juice of the wild grape.

"Then," she said, "your first child (meaning the dog) will come and find you out."

These directions the young woman followed just as they had been given to her, and in a short time she heard her son, now grown up, going out to hunt, with his dog, calling out to him, "Peewaubik—Spirit-Iron—Twee! Twee!"

The dog soon came into the lodge, and she set before him the dish of grape-juice.

"See, my child," she said, addressing him, "the pretty drink your mother gives you."

Spirit-Iron took a long draught, and immediately left the lodge with his eyes wide open; for it was the drink which teaches one to see the truth of things as they are. He rose up when he got into the open air, stood upon his hind legs, and looked about. "I see how it is," he said; and marching off, erect like a man, he sought out his young master.

Approaching him in great confidence, he bent down and whispered in his ear (having first looked cautiously around to see that no one was listening), "This old woman here in the lodge is no mother of yours. I have found your real mother, and she is worth looking at. When we come back from our day's sport, I'll prove it to you."

They went out into the woods, and at the close of the afternoon they brought back a great spoil of meat of all kinds. The young man, as soon as he had laid aside his weapons, said to the old Toad-Woman, "Send some of the best of this meat to the stranger who has arrived lately."

The Toad-Woman answered, "No! Why should I send to her, the poor widow!"

The young man would not be refused; and at last the old Toad-Woman consented to take something and throw it down at the door. She called out, "My son gives you this." But, being bewitched by Mukakee Mindemoea, it was so bitter and distasteful, that the young woman immediately cast it out of the lodge after her.

In the evening the young man paid the stranger a visit at her lodge of cedar-boughs. She then told him that she was his real mother, and that he had been stolen away from her by the old Toad-Woman, who was a child-thief and a witch. As the young man appeared to doubt, she added, "Feign yourself sick when you go home to her lodge; and when the Toad-Woman asks what ails you, say that you wish to see your cradle; for your cradle was of wampum, and your faithful brother the dog, in striving to save you, tore off these pieces which I show you."
They were real wampum, white and blue, shining and beautiful; and the young man, placing them in his bosom, set off; but as he did not seem quite steady in his belief of the strange woman's story, the dog Spirit-Iron, taking his arm, kept close by his side, and gave him many words of encouragement as they went along. They entered the lodge together; and the old Toad-Woman saw, from something in the dog's eye, that trouble was coming.

"Mother," said the young man, placing his hand to his head, and leaning heavily upon Spirit-Iron, as if a sudden faintness had come upon him, "why am I so different in looks from the rest of your children?"

"Oh," she answered, "it was a very bright, clear blue sky when you were born; that is the reason."

He seemed to be so very ill that the Toad-Woman at length asked what she could do for him. He said nothing could do him good but the sight of his cradle. She ran immediately and brought a cedar cradle; but he said:

"That is not my cradle."

She went and got another of her own children's cradles, of which there were four; but he turned his head, and said:

"That is not mine; I am as sick as ever."

When she had shown the four, and they had been all rejected, she at last produced the real cradle. The young man saw that it was of the same stuff as the wampum which he had in his bosom. He could even see the marks of the teeth of Spirit-Iron left upon the edges, where he had taken hold, striving to hold it back. He had no doubt, now, which was his mother.

To get free of the old Toad-Woman, it was necessary that the young man should kill a fat bear; and, being directed by Spirit-Iron, who was very wise in such a matter, he secured the fattest in all that country; and having stripped a tall pine of all its bark and branches, he perched the carcass in the top, with its head to the east and its tail due west. Returning to the lodge, he informed the old Toad-Woman that the fat bear was ready for her, but that she would have to go very far, even to the end of the earth, to get it. She answered:

"It is not so far but that I can get it;" for of all things in the world, a fat bear was the delight of the old Toad-Woman.

She at once set forth; and she was no sooner out of sight than the young man and his dog, Spirit-Iron, blowing a strong breath in the face of the Toad-Woman's four children (who were all bad spirits, or bear-fiends), they put out their life. They then set them up by the side of the door, having first thrust a piece of the white fat in each of their mouths.

The Toad-Woman spent a long time in finding the bear which she had been sent after, and she made at least five and twenty attempts before she was able to climb to the carcass. She slipped down three times where she went up once. When she returned with the great bear on her back, as she drew near her lodge she was astonished to see the four children standing up by the door-posts with the fat in their mouths. She was angry with them, and called out:

"Why do you thus insult the pomatum of your brother?"

She was still more angry when they made no answer to her complaint; but when she found that they were stark dead, and placed in this way to mock her, her fury was very great indeed. She ran after the tracks of the young man and his mother as fast as she could; so fast, indeed, that she was on the very point of overtaking them, when the dog, Spirit-Iron, coming close up to his master, whispered to him—"Snakeberry!"

"Let the snakeberry spring up to detain her!" cried out the young man; and immediately the berries spread like scarlet all over the path, for a long distance; and the old Toad-Woman, who was almost as fond of these berries as she was of fat bears, could not avoid stooping down to pick and eat.

The old Toad-Woman was very anxious to get forward, but the snakeberry-vines kept spreading out on every side; and they still grow and grow, and spread and spread; and to this day the wicked old Toad-Woman is busy picking the berries, and she will never be able to get beyond to the other side, to disturb the happiness of the young hunter and his mother, who still live, with their faithful dog, in the shadow of the beautiful wood-side where they were born.

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THE ORIGIN OF THE ROBIN

An old man had an only son, named Iadilla, who had come to that age which is thought to be most proper to make the long and final fast which is to secure through life a guardian genius or spirit. The father was ambitious that his son should surpass all others in whatever was deemed wisest and greatest among his people. To accomplish his wish, he thought it necessary that the young Iadilla should fast a much longer time than any of those renowned for their power or wisdom, whose fame he coveted.

He therefore directed his son to prepare with great ceremony for the important event. After he had been several times in the sweating-lodge and bath, which were to prepare and purify him for communion with his good spirit, he ordered him to lie down upon a clean mat in a little lodge expressly provided for him. He enjoined upon him at the same time to endure his fast like a man, and promised that at the expiration of twelve days he should receive food and the blessing of his father.
The lad carefully observed the command, and lay with his face covered, calmly awaiting the approach of the spirit which was to decide his good or evil fortune for all the days of his life.

Every morning his father came to the door of the little lodge and encouraged him to persevere, dwelling at length on the vast honor and renown that must ever attend him, should he accomplish the full term of trial allotted to him.

To these glowing words of promise and glory the boy never replied, but he lay without the least sign of discontent or murmuring until the ninth day, when he addressed his father as follows:

"My father, my dreams forbode evil. May I break my fast now, and at a more favorable time make a new fast?"

The father answered:

"My son, you know not what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory will depart. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but three days more, and your term will be completed. You know it is for your own good, and I encourage you to persevere. Shall not your aged father live to see you a star among the chieftains and the beloved of battle?"

The son assented; and covering himself more closely, that he might shut out the light which prompted him to complain, he lay till the eleventh day, when he repeated his request.
The father addressed Iadilla as he had the day before, and promised that he would himself prepare his first meal, and bring it to him by the dawn of the morning.

The son moaned, and the father added:

"Will you bring shame upon your father when his sun is falling in the west?"

"I will not shame you, my father," replied Iadilla; and he lay so still and motionless that you could only know that he was living by the gentle heaving of his breast.

At the spring of day, the next morning, the father, delighted at having gained his end, prepared a repast for his son, and hastened to set it before him. On coming to the door of the little lodge, he was surprised to hear his son talking to himself. He stooped his ear to listen, and, looking through a small opening, he was yet more astonished when he beheld his son painted with vermilion over all his breast, and in the act of finishing his work by laying on the paint as far back on his shoulders as he could reach with his hands, saying at the same time, to himself:

"My father has destroyed my fortune as a man. He would not listen to my requests. He has urged me beyond my tender strength. He will be the loser. I shall be forever happy in my new state, for I have been obedient to my parent. He alone will be the sufferer, for my guardian spirit is a just one.Though not propitious to me in the manner I desired, he has shown me pity in another way—he has given me another shape; and now I must go."

At this moment the old man broke in, exclaiming:

"My son! my son! I pray you leave me not!"

But the young man, with the quickness of a bird, had flown to the top of the lodge and perched himself on the highest pole, having been changed into a beautiful robin red-breast. He looked down upon his father with pity beaming in his eyes, and addressed him as follows:

"Regret not, my father, the change you behold. I shall be happier in my present state than I could have been as a man. I shall always be the friend of men, and keep near their dwellings. I shall ever be happy and contented; and although I could not gratify your wishes as a warrior, it will be my daily aim to make you amends for it as a harbinger of peace and joy. I will cheer you by my songs, and strive to inspire in others the joy and lightsomeness of heart I feel in my present state. This will be some compensation to you for the loss of glory you expected. I am now free from the cares and pains of human life. My food is spontaneously furnished by the mountains and fields, and my pathway of life is in the bright air."

Then stretching himself on his toes, as if delighted with the gift of wings, Iadilla caroled one of his sweetest songs, and flew away into a neighboring wood.

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WHITE FEATHER AND THE SIX GIANTS

There was an old man living in the depth of a forest, with his grandson, whom he had taken in charge when quite an infant. The child had no parents, brothers, or sisters; they had all been destroyed by six large giants, and he had been informed that he had no other relative living beside his grandfather. The band to whom he had belonged had put up their children on a wager in a race against those of the giants, and had thus lost them. There was an old tradition in the tribe, that, one day, it would produce a great man, who would wear a white feather, and who would astonish every one by his feats of skill and bravery.

The grandfather, as soon as the child could play about, gave him a bow and arrows to amuse himself with. He went into the edge of the woods one day, and saw a rabbit; but not knowing what it was, he ran home and described it to his grandfather. He told him what it was, that its flesh was good to eat, and that if he would shoot one of his arrows into its body he would kill it. The boy went out again and brought home the little animal, which he asked his grandfather to boil, that they might feast on it. He humored the boy in this, and he encouraged him to go on in acquiring the knowledge of hunting, until he could kill deer and the larger kinds of game; and he became, as he grew up, an expert hunter.

As they lived alone, and away from other Indians, the curiosity of the stripling was excited to know what was passing in the world. One day he came to the edge of a prairie, where he saw ashes like those at his grandfather's lodge, and lodge-poles left standing.

He returned, and inquired whether his grandfather had put up the poles and made the fire. He was answered, No. Nor did he believe that he had seen any thing of the kind. He must have lost his senses to be talking of such things.

Another day the young man went out to see what there was, within a day's hunt, that was curious; and on entering the woods he heard a voice calling out to him, "Come here, you destined wearer of the White Feather. You do not wear it, yet, but you are worthy of it. Return home and take a short nap. You will dream of hearing a voice, which will tell you to rise and smoke. You will see in your dream a pipe, a smoking-sack, and a large white feather. When you awake you will find these articles. Put the feather on your head, and you will become a great hunter, a great warrior, and a great man, able to do any thing. As a proof that these things shall come to pass, when you smoke, the smoke will turn into pigeons."

The voice then informed the young man who he was, and made known the character of his grandfather, who was imposing upon him to serve his own ends.

The voice-spirit then caused a vine to be laid at his side, and told him that he was now of an age to avenge the wrongs of his kindred. "When you meet your enemy," the spirit added, "you will run a race with him. He will not see the vine, because it is enchanted. While you are running, you will throw it over his head and entangle him, so that you will win the race."

Long before this speech was ended the young man had turned to the quarter from which the voice proceeded, and he was astonished to behold a man; for as yet he had never seen any human being beside his grandfather.

As he looked more keenly, he saw that this man, who had the looks of great age, was wood from the breast downward, and that he appeared to be fixed in the earth. As his eye dwelt upon this strange being, the countenance by degrees faded away, and when he advanced to the spot whence it had addressed him, it was gone.
He returned home; slept; in the midst of his slumbers, as from the hollow of the air, heard the voice; wakened and found the promised gifts. His grandfather, when his attention was called to his awakening, was greatly surprised to find the youth with a white feather on his forehead, and to see flocks of pigeons flying out of his lodge. He then remembered the old tradition, and knowing that now the day when he should lose control of his charge had begun, he bitterly bewailed the hour.

Possessed of his three magic gifts, the young man departed the next morning, to seek his enemies, and to demand revenge.

The six giants lived in a very high lodge in the middle of a wood. He traveled on, in good heart, till he reached this lodge, where he found that his coming had been made known by the little spirits who carry the news. The giants hastened out, and gave a cry of joy as they saw him drawing near. When he approached within hail, they began to make sport of him, saying, "Here comes the little man with the white feather, who is to achieve such wonderful wonders."

When, however, he had arrived among them, they spoke him fair, saying he was a brave man and would do brave things. Their object was to encourage him, so that he would be bold to engage in some fool-hardy trial of strength.
Without paying much heed to their fine speeches, White Feather went fearlessly into their lodge; and without waiting for invitation, he challenged them to a foot-match. They agreed; and, as they said, by way of being easy with him, they told him to begin the race with the smallest of their number.

The point to which they were to run was a peeled tree toward the rising sun, and then back to the starting-place, which was a war-club of iron. Whoever won this stake, was empowered to use it in dispatching the defeated champion. If White Feather should overcome the first giant, he was to try the second, and so on, until they had all measured speed with him. By a dexterous use of the vine, he gained the first race, struck down his competitor, and cut off his head.

The next morning he ran with the second giant, whom he also outran, killed and beheaded.

He went on in this way for the five mornings, always conquering by the aid of his vine, and lopping off the heads of the vanquished giants.

The last of the giants who was yet to run with him acknowledged his power, but prepared secretly to deceive him. By way of parley, he proposed that White Feather should leave the heads with him, and that he would give him a handsome start for odds. This White Feather declined, as he preferred to keep the heads as trophies of his victory.
Before going to the giant's lodge, on the sixth morning, he met his old counselor in the woods, standing rooted in the earth, as before. He told White Feather that he was about to be deceived; that he had never known any other sex but his own, but that as he went on his way to the lodge he would meet the most beautiful woman in the world. He must pay no attention to her, but as soon as he caught her eye he must wish himself changed into an elk. The change would take place immediately, and he must go to feeding and not look at her again.

White Feather thanked his kind adviser, and when he turned to take his leave he was gone as before.

He proceeded toward the lodge, met the female as had been foretold to him, and became an elk. She reproached him that he had cast aside the form of a man that he might avoid her.

"I have traveled a great distance," she added, "to see you and to become your wife; for I have heard of your great achievements, and admire you very much."

Now this woman was the sixth giant, who had assumed this disguise to entrap White Feather.

Without a suspicion of her real character, her reproaches and her beauty affected him so deeply that he wished himself a man again, and he at once resumed his natural shape. They sat down together, and he began to caress and to make love to her.
Soothed by her smiles and her gracious manners, he ventured to lay his head on her lap, and in a little while he fell into a deep slumber.

Even then, such was her fear of White Feather, she doubted whether his sleep might not be feigned. To assure herself she pushed his head aside, and seeing that he remained unconscious, she quickly assumed her own form as the sixth giant, took the plume from the brow of White Feather and placed it upon his own head, and with a sudden blow of his war-club changed him into a dog, in which degraded form he followed his enemy to the lodge.

While these things were passing, there were living in an Indian village at some distance, two sisters, the daughters of a chief, who were rivals, and they were at that very time fasting to acquire power, for the purpose of enticing the wearer of the white feather to visit their lodge. They each secretly hoped to engage his affections, and each had built a lodge in the border of the village encampment.

The giant knowing this, and having become possessed of the magic plume, went immediately to visit them. As he approached, the sisters, who were on the look-out at their lodge-doors, espied and recognized the feather.

The eldest sister had prepared her lodge with great show, and all the finery she could command, so as to attract the eye. The youngest touched nothing in her lodge, but left it in its ordinary state.

The eldest went out to meet the giant, and invited him in. He accepted her invitation, and made her his wife. The youngest sister invited the enchanted dog into her lodge, prepared him a good supper and a neat bed, and treated him with much attention.

The giant, supposing that whoever possessed the white feather possessed also all its virtues, went out upon the prairie to hunt, hallooing aloud to the game to come and be killed; but the great hubbub he kept up scared them away, and he returned at night with nothing but himself; for he had shouted so lustily all day long that he had been even obliged to leave the mighty halloo, with which he had set out, behind.

The dog went out the same day hunting upon the banks of a river. He stole quietly along to the spot, and stepping into the water he drew out a stone, which instantly became a beaver.

The next day the giant followed the dog, and hiding behind a tree, he watched the manner in which the dog hunted in the river when he drew out a stone, which at once turned into a beaver.

"Ah, ha!" said the giant to himself, "I will catch some beaver for myself."

And as soon as the dog had left the place, the giant went to the river, and, imitating the dog, he drew out a stone, and was delighted to see it, as soon as it touched the land, change into a fine fat beaver.

Tying it to his belt he hastened home, shouting a good deal, and brandishing the white feather about, as if he were prepared now to show them what he could do when he once tried. When he reached home he threw it down, as is the custom, at the door of the lodge before he entered.

After being seated a short time, he gave a dry cough, and bade his wife bring in his hunting girdle. She made dispatch to obey him, and presently returned with the girdle, with nothing tied to it but a stone.

The next day, the dog finding that his method of catching beavers had been discovered, went to a wood at some distance, and broke off a charred limb from a burned tree, which instantly became a bear. The giant, who appeared to have lost faith in his hulla-balooing, had again watched him, did exactly as the dog had done, and carried a bear home; but his wife, when she came to go out for it, found nothing but a black stick tied to his belt.

And so it happened with every thing. Whatever the dog undertook, prospered; whatever the giant attempted, failed. Every day the youngest sister had reason to be more proud of the poor dog she had asked into her lodge, and every day the eldest sister was made more aware, that though she had married the white feather, the virtues of the magic plume were not the personal property of the noisy giant.

At last the giant's wife determined that she would go to her father and make known to him what a valuable husband she had, and how he furnished her lodge with a great abundance of sticks and stones, which he would pass upon her for bear and beaver. So, when her husband, whose brave halloo had now died away to a feeble chirp, had started for the hunt, she set out.

As soon as these two had gone away from the neighborhood, the dog made signs to his mistress to sweat him after the manner of the Indians. He had always been a good dog, and she was willing to oblige him. She accordingly made a lodge just large enough for him to creep in. She then put in heated stones, and poured water upon them, which raised a vapor that filled the lodge and searched with its warmth to the very heart's core of the enchanted dog.

When this had been kept up for the customary time, the enchanted dog was completely sweated away, and in his stead, as might have been expected, out came a very handsome young man, but, unhappily, without the power of speech. In taking away the dog, it appears that the sweating-lodge had also carried off the voice with it.

Meantime the elder sister had reached her father's, and, with much circumstance and a very long face, had told him how that her sister was supporting an idle dog, and entertaining him as her husband. In her anxiety to make known her sister's affairs and the great scandal she was bringing upon the family, the eldest forgot to say any thing of the sticks and stones which her own husband brought home for bears and beavers. The old man suspecting that there was magic about her house, sent a deputation of young men and women to ask his youngest daughter to come to him, and to bring her dog along with her. When the deputation reached the lodge, they were surprised to find, in the place of the dog, a fine young man; and on announcing their message, they all returned to the old chief, who was no less surprised at the change.

He immediately assembled all the old and wise heads of the nation to come and be witnesses to the exploits which it was reported that the young man could perform. The sixth giant, although neither very old nor very wise, thrust himself in among the relations of the old chief.

When they were all assembled and seated in a circle, the old chief took his pipe and filled it, and passed it to the Indians around, to see if any thing would happen when they smoked. They passed it on until it came around to the Dog, who made a sign that it should be handed first to the giant, which was done. And the giant puffed with all his might, and shook the white feather upon his head, and swelled his chest; but nothing came of it, except a great deal of smoke. The Dog then took it himself. He made a sign to them to put the white feather upon his head. This was no sooner done, than he recovered his speech, and, beginning to draw upon the pipe at the same moment, behold, immense flocks of white and blue pigeons rushed from the smoke.

From that moment the sixth giant was looked upon as an impostor, and as soon as White Feather had, at the request of the company, faithfully recounted his history, the old chief, who was one of the best-hearted magicians that ever lived, ordered that the giant should be transformed into a dog, and turned into the middle of the village, where the boys should pelt him to death with clubs; which being done, the whole six giants were at an end, and never troubled that neighborhood again, forever after.

The chief then gave out a command, at the request of White Feather, that all the young men should employ themselves four days in making arrows. White Feather also asked for a buffalo robe. This he cut into thin shreds, and in the night, when no one knew of it, he went and sowed them about the prairie in every direction.

At the end of the four days, he invited them to gather together all of their arrows, and to accompany him to a buffalo hunt. When they got out upon the prairie, they found it covered with a great herd of buffaloes. Of these they killed as many as they pleased, and, afterward, they had a grand festival in honor of White Feather's triumph over the giants.

All this being pleasantly over, White Feather got his wife to ask her father's permission to go with him on a visit to his grandfather. The old chief replied to this application, that a woman must follow her husband into whatever quarter of the world he may choose to go.

Bidding farewell to all his friends, White Feather placed the plume in his frontlet, and taking his war-club in his hand, he led the way into the forest, followed by his faithful wife.

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SHEEM, THE FORSAKEN BOY

On a certain afternoon the sun was falling in the West, and in the midst of the ruddy silence a solitary lodge stood on the banks of a remote lake. One sound only broke, in the least degree, the forest stillness—the low breathing of the dying inmate, who was the head of a poor family. His wife and children surrounded the buffalo robe on which he lay. Of the children, two were almost grown up—a daughter and a son; the other was a boy, and a mere child in years.

All the skill of the household in their simple medicines was exhausted, and they stood looking on or moved about the lodge with whispered steps, awaiting the departure of the spirit. As one of the last acts of kindness, the skin door of the lodge had been thrown back to admit the fresh air of the evening. The poor man felt a momentary return of strength, and raising himself a little, he addressed his family.
"I leave you," he said, "in a world of care, in which it has required all my strength and skill to supply you food, and to protect you from the storms and cold of a harsh climate."

He cast his eyes upon his wife, and continued:

"For you, my partner in life, I have less sorrow, because I am persuaded you will not remain long behind me; but you, my children! my poor and forsaken children, who have just begun the career of life, who will shelter you from calamity? Listen to my words. Unkindness, ingratitude, and every wickedness, are in the scene before you. It was for this that years ago I withdrew from my kindred and my tribe to spend my days in this lonely spot. I have contented myself with the company of your mother and yourselves, during seasons of very frequent scarcity and want, while your kindred, feasting in plenty, have caused the forests to echo with the shouts of successful war. I gave up these things for the enjoyment of peace. I wished to hide you away from the bad examples which would have spoiled your innocence. I have seen you, thus far, grow up in purity of heart. If we have sometimes suffered bodily want, we have escaped pain of mind. We have not been compelled to look on or to take a part with the red hand in scenes of rioting and bloodshed. My path now stops. I have arrived at the brink of the world. I will shut my eyes in peace if you, my children, will promise me to cherish each other. Let not your mother suffer during the few days that are left to her; and I charge you, on no account, to forsake your younger brother. Of him I give you both my dying command to have a tender care."

He spoke no more, and as the sun fell out of view the light had gone from his face. The family stood still, as if they expected to hear something further; but when they came to his side and called him by name, his spirit did not answer. It was in another world.

The mother and daughter lamented aloud, but the elder son clothed himself in silence, as though it had been a mantle, and took his course as though nothing had occurred. He exerted himself to supply, with his bow and net, the wants of the little household, but he never made mention of his father.

Five moons had filled and waned, and the sixth was near its full, when the mother also died. In her last moments she pressed the fulfillment of their father's wish.

The winter passed, and the spring, sparkling in the clear northern air, cheered the spirits of the lonely little people in the lodge.

The girl, being the eldest, directed her brothers, and she seemed to feel a tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, who was slight in frame and of a delicate temper. The other boy soon began to break forth with restless speeches, which showed that his spirit was not at ease. One day he addressed his sister as follows:

"My sister, are we always to live as if there were no other human beings in the world? Must I deprive myself of the pleasure of mingling with my own kind? I have determined this question for myself. I shall seek the villages of men, and you can not prevent me."

The sister replied:

"I do not say no, my brother, to what you desire; we are not forbidden the society of our fellow-mortals, but we are told to cherish each other, and to do nothing that shall not be agreeable to all our little household. Neither pleasure nor pain ought, therefore, to separate us, especially from our younger brother, who, being but a child, and weakly withal, is entitled to a double share of our affection. If we follow our separate fancies, it will surely make us neglect him, whom we are bound by vows, both to our father and mother, to support."

The young man received this address in silence, and still took his course as though nothing out of the ordinary way had occurred. After awhile he seemed to recover his spirits; and as they lived in a large country, where there were open fields, the two brothers, at his invitation, often amused themselves in playing ball. One afternoon he chose the ground near to a beautiful lake, and they played and laughed with great spirit, and the ball was seldom allowed to touch the ground.

Now in this lake there happened to harbor a wicked old Manito, Mishosha by name, who looked at the brothers as they played, and he was vastly pleased with their nimbleness and beauty. He thought to himself, what shall I do to get these lads to accompany me? One of them shall hit the ball sideways, and it shall fall into my canoe.

It so happened, and it somehow seemed as if Owasso, the elder brother, had purposely given it that direction. When Owasso saw the old man, he professed to be greatly surprised, as was the other, Sheem by name, in truth, for he had not noticed the old Manito before.

"Bring the ball to us," they both cried out. "Come to the shore."

"No," answered the old magician. He, however, came near enough for either of them to wade out to him. "Come, come," he said. "Come and get your ball."

They insisted that he should come ashore, but he sturdily declined to oblige them.

"Very well," said Owasso, "I will go and get it." And he ran into the water. "Hand it to me," he said, when he had approached near enough to receive it.
"Ha!" answered the Manito, "reach over and get it yourself."

Owasso was about to grasp the ball, when the old magician suddenly seized him and pushed him into the boat.

"My grandfather," said Owasso, "pray take my little brother also. Alone I can not go with you; he will starve if I leave him."

Mishosha only laughed at him; then uttering the charmed words, "Chemaun Poll!" and giving his canoe a slap, it glided through the water, without further help, with the swiftness of an arrow.

In a short time they reached the magician's lodge, which stood upon the further shore, a little distance back from the lake. The two daughters of Mishosha were seated within. "My daughter," he said to his eldest, as they entered the lodge, "I have brought you a husband."

The young woman smiled; for Owasso was a comely youth to look upon. The magician told him to take his seat near her, and by this act the marriage ceremony was completed, and Owasso and the magician's daughter were man and wife, and in the course of time they had born to them a son.

But no sooner was Owasso in the family than the old Manito wished him out of the way, and he went about in his own wicked fashion to compass it.

One day he asked his son-in-law to go out a-fishing with him. They started without delay; for the magician had only to speak, and off went the canoe. They reached a solitary bay in an island, a very dark, lonely, and out-of-the-way place. The Manito advised Owasso to spear a large sturgeon which came alongside, and with its great glassy eye turned up, seemed to recognize the magician. Owasso rose in the boat to dart his spear, and by speaking that moment to his canoe, Mishosha shot forward and hurled his son-in-law headlong into the water; where, leaving him to struggle for himself, he was soon out of sight.

Owasso, being himself gifted with limited magical powers, spoke to the fish, and bade him swim toward the lodge, while he carried him along, which he did at great speed. Once he directed the sturgeon to rise near the surface of the water, so that he might, if possible, get a view of the magician. The fish obeyed, and Owasso saw the wicked old Manito busy in another direction, fishing, as unconcerned as though he had not just lost a member of his family.

On went the fish, and on went Owasso, till they reached the shore, near the magician's lodge, in advance of him. He then spoke kindly to the sturgeon, and told him he should not be angry with him for having speared him, as he was created to be meat for man. The sturgeon made no reply, or if he did, it has not been reported; and Owasso, drawing him on shore, went up and told his wife to dress and cook it immediately. By the time it was prepared the magician had come in sight.

"Your grandfather has arrived," said the woman to her son; "go and see what he brings, and eat this as you go"—handing a piece of the fish.

The boy went, and the magician no sooner saw him with the fish in his hand, than he asked him, "What are you eating? and who brought it?"

He replied, "My father brought it."

The magician began to feel uneasy, for he found that he had been outwitted; he, however, put on a grave face, and entering the lodge, acted as if nothing unusual had happened.

Some days after this, Mishosha again requested his son-in-law to accompany him; and Owasso, without hesitation, said "Yes!"

They went out, and, in a rapid passage, they arrived at a solitary island, which was no more than a heap of high and craggy rocks.

The magician said to Owasso, "Go on shore, my son, and pick up all the gulls' eggs you can find."

The rocks were strewn with eggs, and the air resounded with the cry of the birds as they saw them gathered up by Owasso.

The old magician took the opportunity to speak to the gulls. "I have long wished," he said, "to offer you something. I now give you this young man for food."

He then uttered the charm to his canoe, and it shot out of sight, leaving Owasso to make his peace the best way he could.

The gulls flew in immense numbers around him, and were ready to devour him. Owasso did not lose his presence of mind, but he addressed them and said:

"Gulls, you know you were not formed to eat human flesh, nor was man made to be the prey of birds. Obey my words. Fly close together, a sufficient number of you, and carry me on your backs to the magician's lodge."

They listened attentively to what he said, and seeing nothing unreasonable in his request, they obeyed him, and Owasso soon found himself sailing through the air swiftly homeward.

Meanwhile, it appears that the old magician had fallen asleep and allowed his canoe to come to a stand-still; for Owasso, in his flight over the lake, saw him lying on his back in the boat, taking a nap, which was quite natural, as the day was very soft and balmy.

As Owasso, with his convoy of birds, passed over, he let fall, directly in the face of the old magician, a capful of gulls' eggs, which broke and so besmeared his eyes that he could barely see. He jumped up and exclaimed:
"It is always so with these thoughtless birds. They never consider where they drop their eggs."

Owasso had flown on and reached the lodge in safety, and, excusing himself for the liberty, he killed two or three of the gulls for the sake of their feathers to ornament his son's head.

When the magician arrived, soon after, his grandson came out to meet him, tossing his head about as the feathers danced and struggled with the wind.

"Where did you get these?" asked the Manito, "and who brought them?"

"My father brought them," the boy replied.

The old magician was quite distressed in his mind that he had not destroyed his son-in-law. He entered his lodge in silence, and set his wits busily at work again to contrive some plan for easing his feelings in that respect.

He could not help saying to himself:

"What manner of boy is this who is ever escaping from my power? But his guardian spirit shall not save him. I will entrap him to-morrow. Ha, ha, ha!"

He was painfully aware that he had tried two of his charms without effect, and that he had but two more left. He now professed to be more friendly with his son-in-law than ever, and the very next day he said to Owasso:

"Come, my son, you must go with me to procure some young eagles. We will tame them, and have them for pets about the lodge. I have discovered an island where they are in great abundance."

They started on the trip, and when, after traversing an immense waste of water, they had reached the island, Mishosha led him inland until they came to the foot of a tall pine-tree, upon which the nests were to be found.

"Now, my son," said Mishosha, "climb up this tree and bring down the birds. I think you will get some fine ones up there."

Owasso obeyed. When he had with great difficulty got near the nest, Mishosha cried out, addressing himself to the tree, and without much regard to the wishes of Owasso:

"Now stretch yourself up and be very tall."

The tree, at this bidding, rose up so far that Owasso would have imperiled his neck by any attempt to get to the ground.

"Listen, ye eagles!" continued Mishosha. "You have long expected a gift from me. I now present you this boy, who has had the presumption to climb up where you are to molest your young. Stretch forth your claws and seize him."

So saying, the old magician, according to his custom in such cases, turned his back upon Owasso, and going off in his canoe at a word, he left his son-in-law to shift for himself.
But the birds did not seem to be so badly-minded as the old magician had supposed; for a very old bald eagle, quite corpulent and large of limb, alighting on a branch just opposite, opened conversation with him by asking what had brought him there.

Owasso replied that he had not mounted the tree of himself, or out of any disposition to harm his people; that his father-in-law, the old magician who had just left them, had sent him up; that he was constantly sending him on mischievous errands. In a word, the young man was enlarging at great length upon the character of the wicked Manito, when he was interrupted by being darted upon by a hungry-eyed bird, with long claws.

Owasso, not in the least disconcerted, boldly seized this fierce eagle by the neck and dashed it against the rocks, crying out:

"Thus will I deal with all who come near me."

The old eagle, who appeared to be the head of the tribe, was so pleased with this show of spirit that he immediately appointed two tall birds, uncommonly strong in the wings, to transport Owasso to his lodge. They were to take turns in conducting him through the air.

Owasso expressed many obligations to the old eagle for his kindness, and they forthwith set out. It was a high point from which they started, for the pine-tree had shot far, far up toward the clouds, and they could even descry the enchanted island where the old magician lived; though it was miles and miles away. For this point they steered their flight; and in a short time they landed Owasso at the door of the lodge.

With many compliments for their dispatch, Owasso dismissed the birds, and stood ready to greet his wicked father-in-law who now arrived; and when he espied his son-in-law still unharmed, Mishosha grew very black in the face. He had but a single charm left.

He thought he would ponder deeply how he could employ that to the best advantage; and it happened that while he was doing so, one evening, as Owasso and his wife were sitting on the banks of the lake, and the soft breeze swept over it, they heard a song, as if sung by some one at a great distance. The sound continued for some time, and then died away in perfect stillness. "Oh, it is the voice of Sheem," cried Owasso. "It is the voice of my brother! If I could but only see him!" And he hung down his head in deep anguish.

His wife witnessed his distress, and to comfort him she proposed that they should attempt to make their escape, and carry him succor on the morrow.

When the morning came, and the sun shone warmly into the lodge, the wife of Owasso offered to comb her father's hair, with the hope that it would soothe him to sleep. It had that effect; and they no sooner saw him in deep slumber than they seized the magic canoe, Owasso uttered the charmed words, "Chemaun Poll!" and they glided away upon the water without need of oar or sail.

They had nearly reached the land on the opposite side of the lake, and could distinctly hear the voice of the younger brother singing his lament as before, when the old magician wakened. Missing his daughter and her husband, he suspected deception of some kind; he looked for his magic boat and found it gone. He spoke the magic words, which were more powerful from him than from any other person in the world, and the canoe immediately returned; to the sore disappointment of Owasso and his wife.

When they came back to the shore, Mishosha stood upon the beach and drew up his canoe. He did not utter a word. The son-in-law and daughter entered the lodge in silence.

The time, walking along in its broad open path, brought the autumn months to a close, and the winter had set in. Soon after the first fall of snow, Owasso said:

"Father, I wish to try my skill in hunting. It is said there is plenty of game not far off, and it can now be easily tracked. Let us go."

The magician consented; they set out, and arriving at a good ground for their sport, they spent the day in hunting. Night coming on, they built themselves a lodge of pine-branches to sleep in. Although it was bitterly cold, the young man took off his leggings and moccasins, and hung them up to dry. The old magician did the same, carefully hanging his own in a separate place, and they lay down to sleep.

Owasso, from a glance he had given, suspected that the magician had a mind to play him a trick, and to be beforehand with him, he watched an opportunity to get up and change the moccasins and leggings, putting his own in the place of Mishosha's, and depending on the darkness of the lodge to help him through.

Near daylight, the old magician bestirred himself, as if to rekindle the fire; but he slyly reached down a pair of moccasins and leggings with a stick, and thinking they were no other than those of Owasso's, he dropped them into the flames; while he cast himself down, and affected to be lost in a heavy sleep. The leather leggings and moccasins soon drew up and were burned.

Instantly jumping up and rubbing his eyes, Mishosha cried out:

"Son-in-law, your moccasins are burning; I know it by the smell."

Owasso rose up, deliberately and unconcerned.

"No, my friend," said he, "here are mine," at the same time taking them down and drawing them on. "It is your moccasins that are burning."
Mishosha dropped his head upon his breast. All his tricks were played out—there was not so much as half a one left to help him out of the sorry plight he was in.

"I believe, my grandfather," added Owasso, "that this is the moon in which fire attracts, and I fear you must have set your foot and leg garments too near the fire, and they have been drawn in. Now let us go forth to the hunt."

The old magician was compelled to follow him, and they pushed out into a great storm of snow, and hail, and wind, which had come on over night; and neither the wind, the hail, nor the snow, had the slightest respect for the bare limbs of the old magician, for there was not the least virtue of magic in those parts of old Mishosha's body. After a while they quite stiffened under him, his body became hard, and the hair bristled in the cold wind, so that he looked to Owasso—who turned away from him, leaving the wicked old magician alone to ponder upon his past life—to Owasso he looked like a tough old sycamore-tree more than a highly-gifted old magician.

Owasso himself reached home in safety, proof against all kinds of weather, and the magic canoe became the exclusive property of the young man and his wife.

During all this part of Owasso's stay at the lodge of Mishosha, his sister, whom he had left on the main land with Sheem, their younger brother, had labored with good-will to supply the lodge. She knew enough of the arts of the forest to provide their daily food, and she watched her little brother, and tended his wants, with all of a good sister's care. By times she began to be weary of solitude and of her charge. No one came to be a witness of her constancy, or to let fall a single word in her mother-tongue. She could not converse with the birds and beasts about her, and she felt, to the bottom of her heart, that she was alone. In these thoughts she forgot her younger brother; she almost wished him dead; for it was he alone that kept her from seeking the companionship of others.

One day, after collecting all the provisions she had been able to reserve from their daily use, and bringing a supply of wood to the door, she said to her little brother:

"My brother, you must not stray from the lodge. I am going to seek our elder brother. I shall be back soon."

She then set the lodge in perfect order, and, taking her bundle, she set off in search of habitations. These she soon found, and in the enjoyment of the pleasures and pastimes of her new acquaintance, she began to think less and less of her little brother, Sheem. She accepted proposals of marriage, and from that time she utterly forgot the abandoned boy.

As for poor little Sheem, he was soon brought to the pinching turn of his fate. As soon as he had eaten all of the food left in the lodge, he was obliged to pick berries, and live off of such roots as he could dig with his slender hands. As he wandered about in search of wherewithal to stay his hunger, he often looked up to heaven, and saw the gray clouds going up and down. And then he looked about upon the wide earth, but he never saw sister nor brother returning from their long delay.

At last, even the roots and berries gave out. They were blighted by the frost or hidden out of reach by the snow, for the mid-winter had come on, and poor little Sheem was obliged to leave the lodge and wander away in search of food.

Sometimes he was enforced to pass the night in the clefts of old trees or caverns, and to break his fast with the refuse meals of the savage wolves.

These at last became his only resource, and he grew to be so little fearful of these animals that he would sit by them while they devoured their meat, and patiently await his share.

After a while, the wolves took to little Sheem very kindly, and seeming to understand his outcast condition, they would always leave something for him to eat. By and by they began to talk with him, and to inquire into his history. When he told them that he had been forsaken by his brother and his sister, the wolves turned about to each other, lifted up their eyes to heaven, and wondered among themselves, with raised paws, that such a thing should have been.

In this way, Sheem lived on till the spring, and as soon as the lake was free from ice, he followed his new friends to the shore.

It happened on the same day, that his elder brother, Owasso, was fishing in his magic canoe, a considerable distance out upon the lake; when he thought he heard the cries of a child upon the shore. He wondered how any human creature could exist on so bleak and barren a coast.

He listened again with all attention, and he heard the cry distinctly repeated; and this time it was the well-known cry of his younger brother that reached his ear. He knew too well the secret of his song, as he heard him chaunting mournfully:

"My brother! My brother! Since you left me going in the canoe, a-hee-ee, I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee. I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee."

Owasso made for the shore, and as he approached the lament was repeated. The sounds were very distinct, and the voice of wailing was very sorrowful for Owasso to listen to, and it touched him the more that it died away at the close, into a long-drawn howl, like that of the wolf.
In the sand, as he drew closer to the land, he saw the tracks as of that animal fleeing away; and besides these the prints of human hands. But what were the pity and astonishment that smote Owasso to the heart when he espied his poor little brother—poor little forsaken Sheem—half boy and half wolf, flying along the shore.

Owasso immediately leaped upon the ground and strove to catch him in his arms, saying soothingly, "My brother! my brother! Come to me."

But the poor wolf-boy avoided his grasp, crying, as he fled, "Neesia, neesia. Since you left me going in the canoe, a-he-ee, I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee. I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee!" and howling between these words of lament.

The elder brother, sore at heart, and feeling all of his brotherly affection strongly returning, with renewed anguish, cried out, "My brother! my brother! my brother!"

But the nearer he approached to poor Sheem, the faster he fled, and the more rapidly the change went on; the boy-wolf by turns singing and howling, and calling out the name, first of his brother and then of his sister, till the change was complete. He leaped upon a bank, and looking back, and casting upon Owasso a glance of deep reproach and grief, he exclaimed, "I am a wolf!" and disappeared in the woods.

READ MORE - SHEEM, THE FORSAKEN BOY

The Magic Bundle

A poor man, called Iena, or the Wanderer, was in the habit of roaming about from place to place, forlorn, without relations, and almost helpless. He had often wished for a companion to share his solitude; but who would think of joining their fortunes with those of a poor wanderer, who had no shelter but such as his leather hunting-shirt provided, and no other household in the world than the bundle which he carried in his hand, and in which his hunting-shirt was laid away?

One day as he went on a hunting excursion, to relieve himself of the burden of carrying it, Iena hung up his bundle on the branch of a tree, and then set out in quest of game.

On returning to the spot in the evening, he was surprised to find a small but neat lodge built in the place where he had left his bundle; and on looking in he beheld a beautiful female, sitting on the further side of the lodge, with his bundle lying beside her.
During the day Iena had so far prospered in his sport as to kill a deer, which he now cast down at the lodge door.

Without pausing to take the least notice, or to give a word of welcome to the hunter, the woman ran out and began to see whether it was a large deer that he had brought. In her haste she stumbled and fell at the threshold.

Iena looked at her with astonishment, and thought to himself, "I supposed I was blessed, but I find my mistake. Night-Hawk," said he, speaking aloud, "I will leave my game with you that you may feast on it."

He then took up his bundle and departed. After walking some time he came to another tree, on which he suspended his bundle as before, and went in search of game.

Success again attended him, and he returned, bringing with him a deer, and he found that a lodge had sprung up as before, where he had hung his bundle. He looked in and saw a beautiful female sitting alone, with his bundle by her side.

She arose and came out toward the deer which he had deposited at the door, and he immediately went into the lodge and sat by the fire, as he was weary with the day's hunt, which had carried him far away.

The woman did not return, and wondering at her delay, Iena at last arose, and peeping through the door of the lodge, beheld her greedily eating all the fat of the deer. He exclaimed, "I thought I was blessed, but I find I was mistaken." Then addressing the woman: "Poor Marten," said he, "feast on the game I have brought."

He again took up his bundle and departed; and, as usual, hung it upon the branch of a tree, and wandered off in quest of game.

In the evening he returned, with his customary good luck, bringing in a fine deer. He again found that a lodge had taken the place of his bundle. He gazed through an opening in the side of the lodge, and there was another beautiful woman sitting alone, with a bundle by her side.

As soon as he entered the lodge, she rose cheerfully, welcomed him home, and without delay or complaining, she brought in the deer, cut it up as it should be, and hung up the meat to dry. She then prepared a portion of it for the supper of the weary hunter. The man thought to himself, "Now I am certainly blessed."

He continued his practice of hunting every day, and the woman, on his return, always welcomed him, readily took charge of the meat, and promptly prepared his evening meal; and he ever after lived a contented and happy man.

READ MORE - The Magic Bundle

THE RED SWAN-1

Three brothers were left destitute, by the death of their parents, at an early age. The eldest was not yet able to provide fully for their support, but he did all that he could in hunting; and with this aid, and the stock of provisions already laid by in the lodge, they managed to keep along. They had no neighbors to lend them a helping hand, for the father had withdrawn many years before from the body of the tribe, and had lived ever since in a solitary place. The lads had no idea that there was a human being near them. They did not even know who their parents had been; for, at the time of their death, the eldest was too young to remember it.

Forlorn as they were, they however kept a good heart, and making use of every chance, in course of time they all acquired a knowledge of hunting and the pursuit of game. The eldest became expert in the craft of the forest, and he was very successful in procuring food. He was noted for his skill in killing buffalo, elk, and moose; and he instructed his brothers, so that each should become a master over a particular animal which was assigned to him.

After they had become able to hunt and to take care of themselves, the elder proposed to leave them and to go in search of the world, promising to return as soon as he could procure them wives. In this intention he was overruled by his brothers, who said that they could not part with him.

Jeekewis, the second, was loud in disapproval of the scheme, saying: "What will you do with those you propose to get? We have lived so long by ourselves, we can still do without them." This counsel prevailed, and for a time the three brothers continued together.

One day they agreed to kill each a male of that kind of animal, which each was most expert in hunting, for the purpose of making quivers from their skins. When these quivers were prepared, they were straightway filled, with arrows; for they all had a presentiment that something was about to happen which called upon them to be ready.

Soon after they hunted on a wager to see who should come in first with game, and have the privilege of acting as entertainer to the others. They were to shoot no other beast or bird than such as each was in the habit of killing.

They set out on different paths. Maidwa, the youngest, had not gone far before he saw a bear, an animal he was not to kill, by the agreement. He, however, followed him closely, and driving an arrow through and through him, he brought him to the ground.

Although contrary to the engagement with his brothers, Maidwa commenced skinning him, when suddenly something red tinged the air all around him. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was perhaps deceived; but rub as hard as he would, the red hue still crimsoned the air, and tinged every object that he looked on—the tree-tops, the river that flowed, and the deer that glided away along the edge of the forest—with its delicate splendor.

As he stood musing on this fairy spectacle, a strange noise came to his ear from a distance. At first it seemed like a human voice. After following the sound he reached the shore of a lake. Floating at a distance upon its waters sat a most beautiful Red Swan, whose plumage glittered in the sun, and when it lifted up its neck, it uttered the peculiar tone he had heard. He was within long bow-shot, and, drawing the arrow to his ear, he took a careful aim and discharged the shaft. It took no effect. The beautiful bird sat proudly on the water, still pouring forth its peculiar chant, and still spreading the radiance of its plumage far and wide, and lighting up the whole world, beneath the eye of Maidwa, with its ruby splendors.
He shot again and again, till his quiver was empty, for he longed to possess so glorious a creature. Still the swan did not spread its wings to fly, but, circling round and round, stretched its long neck and dipped its bill into the water, as if indifferent to mortal shafts.

Maidwa ran home, and bringing all the arrows in the lodge, shot them away. He then stood with his bow dropped at his side, lost in wonder, gazing at the beautiful bird.

While standing thus, with a heart beating more and more eagerly every moment for the possession of this fair swan, Maidwa remembered the saying of his elder brother, that in their deceased father's medicine-sack were three magic arrows; but his brother had not told Maidwa that their father, on his death-bed, which he alone had attended, had especially bequeathed the arrows to his youngest son, Maidwa, from whom they had been wrongfully kept. The thought of the magic arrows put heart in Maidwa, and he hastened with all speed to secure them.

At any other time he would have shrunk from opening his father's medicine-sack, but something prompted him to believe that there was no wrong now, and snatching them forth he ran back, not staying to restore the other contents to the sack, but leaving them scattered, here and there, about the lodge.
He feared, as he returned, that the swan must by this time have taken wing; but, as he emerged from the wood, to his great delight the air was as rosy as ever, and there, in her own serene and beautiful way, still sat the glorious Red Swan.

With trembling hand he shot the first of his magic shafts: it grazed a wing. The second came closer, and cut away a few of the bright red feathers, which fluttered and fell like flakes of fire in the water. The third, which he carefully aimed and drew home upon the string with all his force, made the lucky hit, and passed through the neck of the bird a little above the breast.

"The bird is mine," said Maidwa, to himself; but to his great surprise, instead of seeing it droop its neck and drift to the shore, the Red Swan flapped its wings, rose slowly, and flew off with a majestic motion toward the falling sun.

Maidwa, that he might meet his brothers, rescued two of the magic arrows from the water; and although the third was borne off, he had a hope yet to recover that too, and to be master of the swan. He was noted for his speed; for he would shoot an arrow and then run so fast that the arrow always fell behind him; and he now set off at his best speed of foot. "I can run fast," he thought, "and I can get up with the swan some time or other."

He sped on, over hills and prairies, toward the west, and was only going to take one more run, and then seek a place to sleep for the night, when, suddenly, he heard noises at a distance, like the murmur of waters against the shore; as he went on, he heard voices, and presently he saw people, some of whom were busy felling trees, and the strokes of their labor echoed through the woods. He passed on, and when he emerged from the forest, the sun was just falling below the edge of the sky.

He was bent on success in pursuit of the swan, whose red track he marked well far westward till she was lost to sight. Meanwhile he would tarry for the night and procure something to eat, as he had fasted since he had left home.

At a distance, on a rising ground, he could see the lodges of a large village. He went toward it, and soon heard the watchman, who was set on a height to overlook the place, and give notice of the approach of friends or foes, crying out, "We are visited;" and a loud halloo indicated that they had all heard it.

When Maidwa advanced, the watchman pointed to the lodge of the chief. "It is there you must go in," he said, and left him.

"Come in, come in," said the chief; "take a seat there;" pointing to the side of the lodge where his daughter sat. "It is there you must sit."

They gave him something to eat, and, being a stranger, very few questions were put to him; it was only when he spoke that the others answered him.

"Daughter," said the chief, as soon as the night had set in, "take our son-in-law's moccasins and see if they be torn; if so, mend them for him, and bring in his bundle."

Maidwa thought it strange that he should be so warmly received, and married instantly against his own wishes, although he could not help noticing that the chief's daughter was pretty.

It was some time before she would take the moccasins which he had laid off. It displeased him to see her loth to do so; and when at last she did reach them, he snatched them from her hand and hung them up himself. He lay down and thought of the swan, and made up his mind to be off with the dawn. He wakened early, and finding the chief's daughter looking forth at the door, he spoke to her, but she gave no answer. He touched her lightly.

"What do you want?" she said, and turned her face away from him.

"Tell me," said Maidwa, "what time the swan passed. I am following it; come out, and point the way."

"Do you think you can overtake it?" she said.

"Yes," he answered.

"Naubesah—fool!" retorted the chief's pretty daughter.
She, however, went out, and pointed in the direction he should go. The young man paced slowly along till the sun arose, when he commenced traveling at his accustomed speed. He passed the day in running, and although he could not see anywhere on the horizon the Red Swan, he thought that he discerned a faint red light far over in the west.

When night came, he was pleased to find himself near another village; and when at a distance he heard the watchman crying out, "We are visited;" and soon the men of the village stood out to see the stranger.

He was again told to enter the lodge of the chief, and his reception was in every respect the same as on the previous night; except that the young woman was more beautiful, and that she entertained him very kindly. Although urged to stay with them, the mind of Maidwa was fixed on the object of his journey.

Before daybreak he asked the young woman at what time the Red Swan passed, and to point out the way. She marked against the sky with her finger the course it had taken, and told him that it had passed yesterday when the sun was between mid-day and its falling-place.

Maidwa again set out rather slowly, but when the sun had risen, he tried his speed by shooting an arrow ahead, and running after it; but it fell behind him, and he knew that he had lost nothing of his quickness of foot.
Nothing remarkable happened through the day, and he went on leisurely. Some time after dark, as he was peering around the country for a shelter, he saw a light emitted from a small low lodge. He went up to it very slyly, and, peeping through the door, he discovered an old man alone, with his head down upon his breast, warming his back before the fire.

Maidwa thought that the old man did not know that he was standing near the door; but in this he was mistaken; for, without turning his eyes to look at him, the old man said, "Walk in, my grandchild; take a seat opposite to me, and take off your things and dry them, for you must be fatigued; and I will prepare you something to eat; you shall have something very delicate."

Maidwa accepted this kind invitation, and entered the lodge. The old man then remarked, as if in mere course of conversation: "My kettle with water stands near the fire;" and immediately a small earthen pot with legs appeared by the fire. He then took one grain of corn, also one of whortleberry, and put them in the pot.

Maidwa was very hungry, and seeing the limited scale of the old man's housekeeping, he thought his chance for a supper was very slight. The old man had promised him something very delicate, and he seemed likely to keep his word. Maidwa looked on silently, and did not change his face any more than if the greatest banquet that was ever spread had been going forward.

The pot soon boiled, when the old man said in a very quiet way:

"The pot will stand at a distance from the fire."

It removed itself, and the old man added to Maidwa:

"My grandchild, feed yourself;" handing him at the same time a dish and ladle of the same ware as the pot itself.

The young man, whose hunger was very great, helped himself to all that was in the pot. He felt ashamed to think that he had done so, but before he could speak the old man said:

"Eat, nay grandchild; eat, eat!" and soon after he again said—"Help yourself from the pot."

Maidwa was surprised, on dipping in his ladle, to see that it was full; and although he emptied it a second time, it was still again filled and refilled till his hunger was entirely satisfied. The old man then observed, without raising his voice:

"The pot will return to its corner;" and the pot took itself off to its accustomed place in an out-of-the-way corner of the lodge.

Maidwa observed that the old man was about to address him, and took an attitude which showed that he was prepared to listen.

"Keep on, my grandchild," said the old man; "you will surely gain that you seek. To tell you more I am not permitted; but go on as you have begun and you will not be disappointed. To-morrow you will again reach one of my fellow old men, but the one you will see after him will tell you all, and the manner in which you must proceed to accomplish your journey. Often has this Red Swan passed, and those who have followed it have never returned; but you must be firm in your resolution, and be prepared for all that may happen."

"So will it be," answered Maidwa; and they both laid down to sleep.

Early in the morning the old man ordered his magic kettle to prepare breakfast, so that his guest might eat before leaving. As Maidwa passed out, the old man gave him a blessing with his parting advice.

Maidwa set forth in better spirits than at any time since he had started. Night again found him in company with an old man who entertained him kindly, with a frisky little kettle which hurried up to the fire before it was spoken to, bustled about and set his supper briskly before Maidwa, and frisked away again, without waiting for orders. The old man also carefully directed him on his way in the morning.

He traveled with a light heart, as he now expected to meet the one who was to give him directions how to proceed to get the Red Swan.
Toward night-fall Maidwa reached the lodge of the third old man. Before coming to the door he heard him saying:

"Grandchild, come in;" and going in promptly he felt quite at home.

The old man prepared him something to eat, acting as the other magicians had done, and his kettle was of the same size, and looked as if it were an own brother of the two others which had feasted him, except that this kettle, in coming and going about its household duties, would make a passing remark, or sing a little tune for itself.

The old man waited until Maidwa had fully satisfied his hunger, when he addressed him:

"Young man, the errand you are bound on is beset with trials and difficulties. Numbers have passed with the same purpose as that which now prompts you, but they never returned. Be careful, and if your guardian spirits are powerful you may succeed. This Red Swan you are following is the daughter of a magician who has abundance of every thing, but only this one child, whom he values more than the sacred arrows. In former times he wore a cap of wampum, which was attached to his scalp; but powerful Indians, warriors of a distant chief, came and told him that their chief's daughter was on the brink of the grave, and that she herself requested his wampum-cap, which she was confident would save her life. 'If I can only see it,' she said, 'I will recover.' It was for this cap they had come, and after long solicitation the magician at length consented to part with it, in the hope that it would restore to health the dying maiden, although when he took it off to hand it to the messengers it left the crown of his head bare and bloody. Years have passed since, and it has not healed. The coming of the warriors to procure it for the sick maiden was a cheat, and they are now constantly making sport of the unhappy scalp—dancing it about from village to village—and on every insult it receives the poor old chief to whom it belongs groans with pain. Those who hold it are too powerful for the magician, and many have sacrificed themselves to recover it for him, but without success. The Red Swan has enticed many a young man, as she has you, to enlist them to procure the scalp, and whoever is so fortunate as to succeed, it is understood, will receive the Red Swan as his reward. In the morning you will proceed on your way, and toward evening you will come to this magician's lodge. You will know it by the groans which you will hear far over the prairie as you approach. He will ask you in. You will see no one but himself. He will question you much as to your dreams and the strength of your guardian spirits. If he is satisfied with your answers, he will urge you to attempt the recovery of his scalp. He will show you the course to take, and if you feel inclined, as I see that you do, go forward, my son, with a strong heart; persevere, and I have a presentiment that you will succeed."

Maidwa answered, "I will try."

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THE RED SWAN-2

Betimes in the morning, after having eaten from the magic kettle, which sung a sort of farewell chant on its way from the fire-place to its station in the corner, he set off on his journey.

Toward evening, Maidwa, as he crossed a prairie, heard, as had been predicted, groans from a distant lodge, which were only interrupted by a voice from a person whom he could not see, calling to him aloud:

"Come in! come in!"

On entering the lodge, the magician heaved a great groan from the very bottom of his chest, and Maidwa saw that the crown of his head was all bare and bloody.

"Sit down, sit down," he said, "while I prepare you something to eat. You see how poor I am. I have to attend to all my own wants, with no other servant than that poor little kettle in the corner. Kettle, we will have something to eat, if you please."

"In a moment," the kettle spoke up from the corner.

"You will oblige me by making all the dispatch you can," said the magician, in a very humble tone, still addressing the kettle.
"Have patience," replied the kettle, "and I will be with you presently."

After a considerable delay, there came forward out of the corner from which it had spoken, a great heavy-browed and pot-bodied kettle, which advanced with much stateliness and solemnity of manner till it had come directly in front of the magician, whom it addressed with the question:

"What shall we have, sir?"

"Corn, if you please," the magician answered.

"No, we will have whortleberries," rejoined the kettle, in a firm voice.

"Very well; just as you choose."

When he supposed it was time, the magician invited Maidwa to help himself.

"Hold a minute," interposed the kettle, as Maidwa was about to dip in his ladle. He paused, and after a delay, the kettle, shaking itself up and simmering very loudly, said, "Now we are ready."

Maidwa fell to and satisfied his hunger.

"Will the kettle now withdraw?" asked the magician, with am air of much deference.

"No," said the kettle, "we will stay and hear what the young man has to say for himself."

"Very well," said the magician. "You see," he added to Maidwa, "how poor I am. I have to take counsel with the kettle, or I should be all alone, without a day's food, and with no one to advise me."
All this time the Red Swan was carefully concealed in the lodge, behind a curtain, from which Maidwa heard now and then a rustling noise, that fluttered his spirits and set his heart to beating at a wonderful rate.

As soon as Maidwa had partaken of food and laid aside his leggings and moccasins, the old magician commenced telling him how he had lost his scalp, the insults it was receiving, the pain he suffered thereby, his wishes to regain it, the many unsuccessful attempts that had already been made, and the numbers and power of those who retained it. He would interrupt his discourse, at times, with sudden groans, and say:

"Oh, how shamefully they are treating it."

Maidwa listened to all the old magician had to say with solemn attention.

The magician renewed his discourse, and inquired of Maidwa as to his dreams, or what he saw in his sleep, at such times as he had fasted and darkened his face to procure guardian spirits.

Maidwa then told him one dream. The magician groaned.

"No, that is not it," he said.

Maidwa told him of two or three others.

The magician groaned again and again, and said, rather peevishly, "No, these are not the dreams."

"Keep cool," said the kettle, which had left the fire, and was standing in the middle of the floor, where a pleasant breeze was blowing through the lodge, and added, "Have you no more dreams of another kind?"

"Yes," said Maidwa; and he told him one.

"That will do," said the kettle. "We are much pleased with that."

"Yes, that is it—that is it!" the magician added. "You will cause me to live. That was what I was wishing you to say. Will you then go and see if you can not recover my poor scalp?"

"Yes," said Maidwa, "I will go; and the day after to-morrow, when you hear the ka-kak cries of the hawk, you will know that I am successful. You must prepare your head, and lean it out through the door, so that the moment I arrive I may place your scalp on."

"Yes, yes," said the magician. "As you say it will be done."

Early the next morning Maidwa set out to fulfill his promise; and in the afternoon, when the sun hangs toward home, he heard the shouts of a great many people. He was in a wood at the time, and saw, as he thought, only a few men, but as he went on they increased in numbers. On emerging upon the plain, their heads appeared like the hanging leaves, they were so many.

In the middle of the plain he perceived a post, and something waving at its top. It was the wampum scalp; and every now and then the air was rent with the war-song, for they were dancing the war-dance in high spirit around it.

Before he could be observed, Maidwa changed himself into a humming-bird, and flew toward the scalp. As he passed some of those who were standing by, he came close to their ears, and as they heard the rapid whirr or murmur which this bird makes when it flies, they jumped aside, and asked each other what it could be. Maidwa had nearly reached the scalp, but fearing that he should be perceived while untying it, he again changed himself into the down that floats lightly on the air, and sailed slowly on to the scalp. He loosened it, and moved off heavily, as the weight was almost too great for him to bear up. The Indians around would have snatched it away had not a lucky current of air just then buoyed him up. As they saw that it was moving away they cried out, "It is taken from us! it is taken from us!"

Maidwa was borne gently along but a little way above their heads; and as they followed him, the rush and hum of the people was like the dead beating of the surges upon a lake shore after a storm. But the good wind gaining strength, soon carried him beyond their pursuit. A little further on he changed himself into a hawk, and flew swiftly off with his trophy, crying, "Ka-kak! ka-kak!" till it resounded with its shrill tone through the whole country, far and wide.

Meanwhile the magician had remembered the instructions of Maidwa, placing his head outside of the lodge as soon as he heard the ka-kak cry of the hawk.

In a moment Maidwa came past with rustling wings, and as he flew by, giving the magician a severe blow on the head with the wampum scalp, his limbs extended and quivered in an agony, the scalp adhered, and Maidwa, in his own person, walked into the lodge and sat down, feeling perfectly at home.

The magician was so long in recovering from the stunning blow which had been dealt him, that Maidwa feared that in restoring the crown of his head he had destroyed his life. Presently, however, he was pleased to see him show, by the motion of his hands and limbs, that his strength was returning; and in a little while he rose and stood upon his feet. What was the delight of Maidwa to behold, instead of a withered old man, far advanced in years and stricken in sorrow, a bright and cheerful youth, who glittered with life as he stood up before him.

"Thank you, my friend," he said. "Your kindness and bravery of heart have restored me to my former shape. It was so ordained, and you have now accomplished the victory."
They embraced; and the young magician urged the stay of his deliverer for a few days, and they formed a strong attachment to each other. The magician, to the deep regret of Maidwa, never once alluded to the Red Swan in all their conferences.

At last the day arrived when Maidwa prepared to return to his home. The young magician bestowed on him ample presents of wampum, fur, robes, and other costly things. Although Maidwa's heart was burning within him to see the Red Swan, to hear her spoken of, and to learn what his fortune was to be in regard to that fond object of his pursuit, he constrained his feelings, and so checked his countenance as to never look where he supposed she might be. His friend the young magician observed the same silence and caution.

Maidwa's pack for traveling was now ready, and he was taking his farewell smoke, when the young magician thus addressed him: "My friend Maidwa, you know for what cause you came thus far, and why you have risked so much and waited so long. You have proved my friend indeed. You have accomplished your object, and your noble perseverance shall not go unrewarded. If you undertake other things with the same spirit, you will always succeed. My destiny compels me to remain where I am, although I should feel happy to be allowed to go with you. I have given you, of ordinary gifts, all you will need as long as you live; but I see you are backward to speak of the Red Swan. I vowed that whoever procured me my lost wampum-scalp should be rewarded by possessing the Red Swan."

He then spoke in a language which Maidwa did not understand, the curtain of the lodge parted, and the Red Swan met his gaze. It was a beautiful female that he beheld, so majestical and airy in her look, that he seemed to see a creature whose home should rather be in the free heaven, and among the rosy clouds, than in this dusky lodge.

"Take her," the young magician said; "she is my sister; treat her well. She is worthy of you, and what you have done for me merits more. She is ready to go with you to your kindred and friends, and has been so ever since your arrival; and my good wishes shall go with you both."

The Red Swan smiled kindly on Maidwa, who advanced and greeted her. Hand in hand they took their way forth from the lodge, and, watched by the young magician, advanced across the prairie on their homeward course.

They traveled slowly, and looked with double joy on the beautiful country over which they had both so lately passed with hearts ill at ease.

After two or three days they reached the lodge of the third old man who had entertained him with the singing kettle; but the kettle was not there. The old man, nevertheless, received them very kindly, and said to Maidwa, "You see what your perseverance has secured you; do so always, and you will succeed in whatever you undertake."

On the following morning, when they were about to start, he pulled from the side of the lodge a bag, which he presented to Maidwa, saying, "Grandchild, I give you this; it contains a present for you; and I hope you will live happily till old age."

Bidding him farewell, they again set forward; and they soon came to the second old man's lodge; he also gave them a present and bestowed his blessing. Nor did Maidwa see any thing here of the frisky little kettle which had been so lively on his former visit.

As they went on and came to the lodge of the first old man, their reception and farewell were the same; and when Maidwa glanced to the corner, the silent kettle, which had been the first acquaintance he had made in that family on his travels, was not there. The old man smiled when he discovered the direction of Maidwa's glance, but he said nothing.

When, on continuing their journey, they at last approached the first town which Maidwa had passed in his pursuit, the watchman gave notice as before, and he was shown into the chief's lodge.

"Sit down there, son-in-law," said the chief, pointing to a place near his daughter. "And you also," he said to the Red Swan.
The chief's daughter was engaged in coloring a girdle, and, as if indifferent to these visitors, she did not even raise her head. Presently the chief said, "Let some one bring in the bundle of our son-in-law."

When the bundle was laid before him, Maidwa opened one of the bags which had been given to him. It was filled with various costly articles—wampum, robes, and trinkets, of much richness and value; these, in token of his kindness, he presented to the chief. The chief's daughter stole a glance at the costly gifts, then at Maidwa and his beautiful wife. She stopped working, and was silent and thoughtful all the evening. The chief himself talked with Maidwa of his adventures, congratulated him on his good fortune, and concluded by telling him that he should take his daughter along with him in the morning.

Maidwa said "Yes."

The chief then spoke up, saying, "Daughter, be ready to go with him in the morning."

Now it happened when the chief was thus speaking that there was a foolish fellow in the lodge, who had thought to have got this chief's daughter for a wife; and he jumped up, saying:

"Who is he," looking grimly at Maidwa, "that he should take her for a few presents? I will kill him."

And he raised a knife which he had in his hand, and gave it a mighty flourish in the air. He kept up this terrible flourish till some one came and pulled him back to his seat, which he had been waiting for, and then he sat quiet enough.

Amid the greetings of their new friends, Maidwa and the Red Swan, with the chief's daughter, took their leave by peep of day, and toward evening they reached the other town. The watchman gave the signal, and numbers of men, women and children stood out to see them. They were again shown into the chief's lodge, who welcomed him, saying:

"Son-in-law, you are welcome."

And he requested Maidwa to take a seat by his daughter, and the two women did the same.

After suitable refreshment for all, and while Maidwa smoked a pipe, the chief asked him to relate his adventures in the hearing of all the inmates of the lodge, and of the strangers who had gathered in at report of his singular fortunes.

Maidwa gave them his whole story. When he came to those parts which related to the Red Swan, they turned and looked upon her in wonder and admiration, for she was very beautiful.

The chief then informed Maidwa that his brothers had been to their town in search of him, but that they had gone back some time before, having given up all hopes of ever seeing him again. He added, that since he had shown himself a man of spirit, whom fortune was pleased to befriend, he should take his daughter with him.
"For although your brothers," he said, "were here, they were too bashful to enter any of our lodges. They merely inquired for you and returned. You will take my daughter, treat her well, and that will bind us more closely together."

It is always the case in an assembly or gathering that some one of the number is foolish, and disposed to play the clown. It happened to be so here. One of this very sort was in the lodge, and, after Maidwa had given the old chief presents, as he had to the other, this pretender jumped up in a passion, and cried out:

"Who is this stranger, that he should have her? I want her myself."

The chief bade him be quiet, and not to disturb or quarrel with one who was enjoying their hospitality.

"No, no," he exclaimed, rushing forward as in act to strike.

Maidwa sat unmoved, and paid no heed to his threats.

He cried the louder—"I will have her, I will have her!" whereupon the old chief, being now vexed past patience, took his great war-club and tapped this clownish fellow upon the head, which so far subdued him that he sat for some time quite still; when, after a while, he came to himself, the chief upbraided him for his folly, and told him to go out and tell stories to the old women.
When at last Maidwa was about to leave, he invited a number of the families of the chief to go with him and visit their hunting-grounds, where he promised them that they would find game in abundance. They consented, and in the morning a large company assembled and joined Maidwa; and the chief, with a party of warriors, escorted them a long distance. When ready to return, the chief made a speech and besought the blessing of the Good Spirit on Maidwa and his friends.

They parted, each on its course, making music with their war-drums, which could be heard from afar as they glittered with waving feathers in the morning sun, in their march over the prairie, which was lost in the distant sky.

After several days' travel, Maidwa and his friends came in sight of his home. The others rested within the woods while he went alone in advance to see his brothers.

He entered the lodge. It was all in confusion and covered with ashes. On one side, sitting among the cinders, with his face blackened, and crying aloud, was his elder brother. On the other side sat the younger, Jeekewis, also with blackened face, his head covered with stray feathers and tufts of swan-down. This one presented so curious a figure that Maidwa could not keep from laughing. He seemed to be so lost and far-gone in grief that he could not notice his brother's arrival. The eldest, however, after a while, lifting up his head, recognized Maidwa, jumped up and shook hands, and kissed him, and expressed much joy at his return.

Maidwa, as soon as he had seen the lodge set in order, made known that he had brought each of them a wife. As soon as Jeekewis heard a wife spoken of, he roused from his torpor, sprang to his feet, and said:

"Why is it just now that you have come?" and at once made for the door and peeped out to see the strangers. He then commenced jumping and laughing, and crying out, "Women! women!" and that was all the reception he gave his brother. Maidwa told them to wash themselves and prepare, for he would go and fetch the females in.

Jeekewis scampered about, and began to wash himself; but he would every now and then, with one side of his head all feathers, and the other clear and shining, peep forth to look at the women again. When they came near, he said, "I will have this and that one;" he did not exactly know which; he would sit down for an instant, and then rise, and peep about and laugh; in fact he acted like one beside himself.

As soon as order was restored, and all the company who had been brought in were seated, Maidwa presented one of the chief's daughters to his eldest brother, saying: "These women were given to me, to dispose of in marriage. I now give one to each. I intended so from the first."

Jeekewis spoke up and said, "I think three wives would have been enough for you."

Maidwa led the other daughter to Jeekewis, and said, "My brother, here is one for you, and live happily."

Jeekewis hung down his head as if he was ashamed, but he would every now and then steal a look at his wife and also at the other women.

By and by he turned toward his wife and acted as if he had been married for years.

Maidwa seeing that no preparation had been made to entertain the company, said, "Are we to have no supper?"

He had no sooner spoken, than forth from a corner stepped the silent kettle, which placed itself by the fire, and began bubbling and boiling quite briskly. Presently that was joined by the big talking kettle, which said, addressing itself to Maidwa, "Master, we shall be ready presently;" and then, dancing along, came, from still another, the frisky little kettle, which hopped to their side, and took an active part in the preparations for the evening meal. When all was nearly ready, a delicate voice was heard singing in the last corner of the lodge, and keeping up its dainty carol all the way to the fire-place, the fourth kettle joined the three cooks, and they all fell to with all their might, and in the best possible humor, to dispatch their work.

It was not long before the big kettle advanced toward Maidwa, and said, in his own confident way, "Supper is ready!"

The feast was a jovial one; and although they were all hungry, and plied their ladles with right good will, yet, dip in as often as they would, the four magic kettles held out, and had plenty to the end of the revel.

To draw to a close, Maidwa and his friends lived in peace for a time; their town prospered; there was no lack of children; and every thing else was in abundance.

One day the two brothers began to look dark upon Maidwa, and to reproach him for having taken from the medicine-sack their deceased father's magic arrows; they upbraided him especially that one was lost.

After listening to them in silence, he said that he would go in search of it, and that it should be restored; and the very next day, true to his word, he left them.

After traveling a long way, and looking in every direction, almost hopeless of discovering the lost treasure, he came to an opening in the earth, and descending, it led him to the abode of departed spirits. The country appeared beautiful, the pastures were greener than his own, and the sky bluer than that which hung over the lodge, and the extent of it was utterly lost in a dim distance; and he saw animals of every kind wandering about in great numbers. The first he came to were buffalos; his surprise was great when they addressed him as human beings.

They asked him what he came for, how he had descended, and why he was so bold as to visit the abode of the dead.

He answered that he was in quest of a magic arrow, to appease the anger of his brothers.

"Very well," said the leader of the buffalos, whose form was nothing but bone. "Yes, we know it," and he and his followers moved off a little space from Maidwa, as if they were afraid of him. "You have come," resumed the buffalo-spirit, "to a place where a living man has never before been. You will return immediately to your tribe, for, under pretense of recovering one of the magic arrows which belong to you by your father's dying wish, they have sent you off that they might become possessed of your beautiful wife, the Red Swan. Speed home! You will find the magic arrow at the lodge-door. You will live to a very old age, and die happily. You can go no further in these abodes of ours."

Maidwa looked, as he thought, to the west, and saw a bright light as if the sun was shining in its splendor, but he saw no sun.
"What light is that yonder?" he asked.

The all-boned buffalo answered—"It is the place where those who were good dwell."

"And that dark cloud?" Maidwa again asked.

"It is the place of the wicked," answered the buffalo.

Maidwa turned away, for it was very dark, and it pained his eyes to look upon it; and, moving away by the aid of his guardian spirits, he again stood upon the earth, and beheld the sun giving light as usual.

All else that he learned in the abodes of the dead, and his travels and acts previous to his return homeward, are unknown, for he never spoke of them to any human being.

After wandering a long time to gather knowledge to make his people happy and to add to their comfort, he one evening drew near to his own village. Passing all the other lodges he came to his own door, where he found the magic arrow, as he had been promised. He heard his brothers from within at high words with each other. They were quarreling for the possession of his wife, who, through all his absence, had remained constant, and sadly awaited his return. Maidwa listened in shame and sorrow.

He entered the lodge, holding his head aloft as one conscious of good principle and shining with anger. He spoke not a word, but, placing the magic arrow to his bow, he would have laid his brothers dead at his feet; but just then the talking kettle stepped forward and spoke such words of wisdom, and the singing kettle trolled forth such a soothing little song, and the guilty brothers were so contrite and keenly repentant of their intended wrong, and the Red Swan was so radiant and forgiving, the silent kettle straightway served them up so hearty and wholesome a meal, and the frisky little kettle was so joyful and danced about so merrily, that when the magic arrows were laid away in the medicine-sack by Maidwa, there was that night in all the Indian country no happier family than the three brothers, who ever after dwelt together in all kindness, as all good brothers should

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