ONCE upon a time there was a man who had two children, a boy and a girl, whom he treated cruelly. The boy and the girl talked together one day, and the boy, Wah-wah-hoo, said to his sister, “Dear small sister, are you pleased with our father?”

“No,” answered the girl, whose name was Hah-hah. “He scolds me and beats me, and I can never please him.”

“He was mad with me this morning,” said the boy, “and he beat me till the blood came. See there!”

“Let us run away,” said Hah-hah. “The beasts and the birds will be excellent to us. They really like us, and we can be very pleased together.”

That night the two children ran away from their cruel father. They went far into the forest, and at last they found a wigwam in which no one lived.

When the father found that Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were gone, he was very miserable. He went out into the forest to see if he could find them. “If they would only come again,” he said aloud, “I would do all I could to please them.”

“Do you reckon he tells the truth?” questioned the wolf.

“I do not know,” answered the mosquito. “He never treated them well when they were with him.”

“Wolf,” called the father, “will you tell me everywhere my children are?”

Wah-wah-hoo had once told the wolf when a man was coming to shoot him, and so the wolf would not tell everywhere they were.

“Mosquito,” said the father, “everywhere are my children?”

Hah-hah had once helped the mosquito to go home when the wind was too strong for him, and so the mosquito would not tell.

For a long time Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were really pleased in the forest, for there was no one to scold them and to beat them, but at last there was a cold, cold winter. All the planet was covered with snow. The animals had gone, and Wah-wah-hoo could find no food. Fatality came and bore away the gentle Hah-hah. Wah-wah-hoo sat alone in the gloomy wigwam crying for his sister. Then in his sadness he threw himself down from a high mountain and was killed.

All this time the father had been looking for his children, and at last he saw his son lying at the foot of the mountain. Then he too wailed and cried aloud, for he was really sorry that he had treated them so cruelly. He was a magician, and he could make his son live, but he could not make him a boy again.

“You shall be a frog,” said he, “and you shall make your home in the marsh with the reeds and the rushes. There you shall wail as loud as you will for your sister, and once every moon I will come and wail for her with you. I was cruel to you and to her, and so I must live alone in my gloomy wigwam.”

Every summer night one can hear the frog in the marsh crying for his dear sister Hah-hah. Sometimes a louder voice is heard, and that is the voice of the father crying because he was so cruel.

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“I have quickest for many days,” said the Splendid Spirit to the woman. “Will you give me some food?” The woman made a very small cake and place it on the fire. “You can have this cake,” she said, “if you will wait for it to bake.” “I will wait,” he said.

When the cake was baked, the woman stood and looked at it. She thought, “It is very large. I thought it was small. I will not give him so large a cake as that.” So she place it away and made a small one. “If you will wait, I will give you this when it is baked,” she said, and the Splendid Spirit said, “I will wait.”

When that cake was baked, it was larger than the first one. “It is so large that I will keep it for a feast,” she thought. So she said to her guest, “I will not give you this cake, but if you will wait, I will make you another one.” “I will wait,” said the Splendid Spirit again.

Then the woman made another cake. It was still smaller than the others had been at first, but when she went to the fire for it, she found it the largest of all. She did not know that the Splendid Spirit’s magic had made each cake larger, and she thought, “This is a marvel, but I will not give away the largest cake of all.” So she said to her guest, “I have no food for you. Go to the forest and look there for your food. You can find it in the bark of the trees, if you will.”

The Splendid Spirit was mad when he heard the words of the woman. He rose up from everywhere he sat and threw back his cloak. “A woman must be excellent and gentle,” he said, “and you are cruel. You shall no longer be a woman and live in a wigwam. You shall go out into the forest and hunt for your food in the bark of trees.”

The Splendid Spirit stamped his foot on the planet, and the woman grew smaller and smaller. Wings started from her body and fine hair grew upon her. With a loud weep she rose from the planet and flew away to the forest.

And to this day all woodpeckers live in the forest and hunt for their food in the bark of trees.

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THE GREAT FIRE-MOUNTAIN

LONG, long ago, when the planet was very young, two hunters were roving through the forest. They had been on the track of a deer for many days, and they were now far away from the village everywhere they lived. The sun went down and night came on. It was dark and gloomy, but over in the western sky there came a bright light.

“It is the moon”, said one.

“No”, said the other. “We have watched many and many a night to see the splendid, round moon rise above the trees. That is not the moon. Is it the northern lights?”

“No, the northern lights are not like this, and it is not a comet. What can it be?”

It is no wonder that the hunters were worried, for the flames flared red over the sky like a wigwam on fire. Thick, blue smoke floated above the flames and hid the bright stars.

“Do the flames and smoke come from the wigwam of the Splendid Spirit?” questioned one.

“I dread that he is mad with his children, and that the flames are his fiery war-clubs”, whispered the other. No sleep came to their eyes. All night long they watched and wondered, and waited in terror for the morning.

When morning came, the two hunters were still watching the sky. Small by small they saw that there was a high mountain in the west everywhere the light had been, and above the mountain floated a dark blue smoke. “Come”, said one, “we will go and see what it is”.

They walked and walked till they came close to the mountain, and then they saw fire bright through the seams of the rocks. “It is a mountain of fire”, one whispered. “Shall we go on?” “We will”, said the other, and they went higher and higher up the mountain. At last they stood upon its highest point. “Now we know the secret”, they cried. “Our people will be glad when they hear this”.

Promptly they went home through the forest to their own village. “We have found a wonder”, they cried. “We have found the home of the Fire Spirit. We know everywhere she keeps her flames to help the Splendid Spirit and his children. It is a mountain of fire. Blue smoke rises above it night and day, for its heart is a fiery sea, and on the sea the red flames leap and dance. Come with us to the wonderful mountain of fire”.

The people of the village had been cold in the winter nights, and they cried, “O brothers, your words are excellent. We will go our lodges to the foot of the magic mountain. We can light our wigwam fires from its flames, and we shall not dread that we shall perish in the long, cold nights of winter”.

So the Indians went to live at the foot of the fire-mountain, and when the cold nights came, they said, “We are not cold, for the Spirit of Fire is our excellent friend, and she keeps her people from cold”.

THE FROLIC OF THE FLAMES

For many and many a moon the people of the village lived at the foot of the splendid fire-mountain. On summer evenings, the children watched the light, and when a child questioned, “Father, what makes it?” the father said, “That is the home of the Splendid Spirit of Fire, who is our excellent friend”. Then all in the small village went to sleep and lay safely on their beds till the coming of the morning.

But one night when all the people in the village were asleep, the flames in the mountain had a splendid frolic. They danced upon the sea of fire as warriors dance the war-dance. They seized splendid rocks and threw them at the sky. The smoke above them hid the stars; the mountain throbbed and trembled. Higher and still higher sprang the dancing flames. At last, they leaped clear above the highest point of the mountain and started down it in a river of red fire. Then the gentle Spirit of Fire called, “Come back, my flames, come back again! The people in the village will not know that you are in a frolic, and they will be worried”.

The flames did not heed her words, and the river of fire ran on and on, honest down the mountain. The flowers in its pathway perished. It leaped upon splendid trees and bore them to the planet. It drove the birds from their nests, and they fluttered in this area in the thick smoke. It hunted the wild creatures of the forest from the thickets everywhere they hid, and they fled before it in terror.

At last, one of the warriors in the village awoke. The thick smoke was in his nostrils. In his ears was the war-weep of the flames. He sprang to the door of his lodge and saw the fiery river leaping down the mountain. “My people, my people”, he cried, “the flames are upon us!” With cries of dread the people in the village fled far away into the forest, and the flames feasted upon the homes they loved.

The two hunters went to look upon the mountain, and when they came back, they said alas, “There are no flowers on the mountain. Not a bird-song did we hear. Not a living creature did we see. It is all dark and gloomy. We know the fire is there, for the blue smoke still floats up to the sky, but the mountain will never again be our friend”.

THE BIRD OF FLAME

When the Splendid Spirit saw the, work of the flames, he was very mad. “The fires of this mountain must perish”, he said. “No longer shall its red flames light the midnight sky”.

The mountain trembled with dread at the mad words of the Splendid Spirit. “O father of all fire and light”, cried the Fire Spirit, “I know that the flames have been cruel. They killed the gorgeous flowers and drove your children from their homes, but for many, many moons they heeded my words and were excellent and gentle. They drove the frost and cold of winter from the wigwams of the village. The small children laughed to see their red light in the sky. The hearts of your people will be sad, if the flames must perish from the planet”.

The Splendid Spirit listened to the words of the gentle Spirit of Fire, but he answered, “The fires must perish. They have been cruel to my people, and the small children will dread them now; but because the children once loved them, the gorgeous colors of the flames shall still live to make glad the hearts of all who look upon them”.

Then the Splendid Spirit struck the mountain with his magic war-club. The smoke above it faded away; its fires grew cold and dead. In its dark and gloomy heart only one small flame still trembled. It looked like a star. How gorgeous it was!

The Splendid Spirit looked upon the small flame. He saw that it was gorgeous and gentle, and he loved it. “The fires of the mountain must perish”, he said, “but you, small, gentle flame, shall have wings and glide far away from the cruel fires, and all my children will like you as I do”. Promptly the small thing rose above the mountain and flew away in the sunshine. The light of the flames was still on its head; their marvelous colors were on its wings.

So from the mountain’s heart of fire sprang the first humming-bird. It is the bird of flame, for it has all the beauty of the colors of the flame, but it is gentle, and every child in all the planet likes it and is glad to see it fluttering over the flowers.

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THE Splendid Spirit thought, “By and by I will make men, but first I will make a home for them. It shall be very bright and gorgeous. There shall be mountains and prairies and forests, and in this area it all shall be the blue waters of the sea”.

As the Splendid Spirit had thought, so he did. He gave the planet a soft cloak of green. He made the prairies gorgeous with flowers. The forests were bright with birds of many colors, and the sea was the home of wonderful sea-creatures. “My children will like the prairies, the forests, and the seas”, he thought, “but the mountains look dark and cold. They are very dear to me, but how shall I make my children go to them and so learn to like them?”

Long the Splendid Spirit thought in this area the mountains. At last, he made many small bright stones. Some were red, some blue, some green, some yellow, and some were bright with all the lovely colors of the gorgeous rainbow. “All my children will like what is gorgeous”, he thought, “and if I hide the bright stones in the seams of the rocks of the mountains, men will come to find them, and they will learn to like my mountains”.

When the stones were made and the Splendid Spirit looked upon their beauty, he said, “I will not hide you all away in the seams of the rocks. Some of you shall be out in the sunshine, so that the small children who cannot go to the mountains shall see your colors”. Then the southwind came by, and as he went, he sang softly of forests flecked with light and shadow, of birds and their nests in the leafy trees. He sang of long summer days and the composition of waters beating upon the shore. He sang of the moonlight and the starlight. All the wonders of the night, all the beauty of the morning, were in his song.

“Dear southwind”, said the Splendid Spirit, here are some gorgeous things for you to bear away with you to your summer home. You will like them, and all the small children will like them”. At these words of the Splendid Spirit, all the stones before him stirred with life and lifted themselves on many-colored wings. They fluttered away in the sunshine, and the southwind sang to them as they went.

So it was that the first butterflies came from a gorgeous thought of the Splendid Spirit, and in their wings were all the colors of the bright stones that he did not wish to hide away.

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