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BY MARY F. NIXON-ROULET

This is a folk story which the Chippewa Indians used to tell around their lodge fires in the cold winter evenings. The Chippewas lived along the shores of Lake Huron and Lake Superior and were generally friendly to the white people.

The story lends itself very well to oral reading. Read it aloud to your classmates.

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LODGE was beside a mighty stream. Beyond

were fir trees with cones upon them. They stood black against the sunset, and the sunset sky was crimson gold. White were the pines, whiter the hills side. The hilltops were so white one could not tell them from the clouds. The voice of the stream was silent. The waters sang no longer, for they were as glass, cold and still.

Within the lodge sat an old man. He was very old To and very lonely. His hair was like the snow-covered vines which hung from the forest trees. His face was pinched, for his fire was nearly out, and he was cold.

One day his tent flap was lifted, and a brave entered. 15 He was young. His lips were red as blood, his cheek was smooth and pink, his eyes were bright as sunshine. His lips smiled. He walked quickly. No war bonnet was on his head, but a wealth of green leaves bound his brow. In his hand he carried no bow, no arrows, 20 but a flower.

"It is you!" said the old man. "It is long since I saw you. Tell me where you have been and what you have seen. Stay with me through the night. I will relate to you all I have done, and what I am able to do. You do the same."

"I will do so," said the stranger, seating himself beside the dying fire.

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"First we must smoke the pipe of peace together," said the old man. So he took an old and beautiful pipe and filled it and gave it to the young man, and 10 they smoked together. Then the old man said:

"When I breathe with my breath upon the streams and rivers, they are still. They talk no more. The ripples of the waters are silent, they are stiff and still, hard as stone and smooth as glass."

"That is wonderful," said the young man, gently.

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"When I breathe my breath, it is so soft that flowers creep from beneath the ground and bloom in beauty."

"When I nod my head," said the white-haired one, snows fall upon the earth. The brown leaves of s autumn float from the trees. With my breath I blow them away. My breath chills the birds, and they fly southward. The animals fear, and hunt for themselves hiding places. The ground is hard and cold. I am terrible!"

“I am kind,” said his guest. "When I nod my head, gentle rains fall, the earth is moist, green things spring up. Dew is upon the flowers, the birds fly home again and sing their sweetest songs in the greening groves. Streams babble and sparkle, and all earth is glad. I 15 am kind."

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The old man answered not. He seemed to sleep, and the young man said, "I will not awaken him"; and he too slept.

At last morning broke across the snowy hills, and they were rosy as young children after sleep. A bluebird sang in the treetops. A soft, warm air breathed over the land. . With it there stole the scent of flowers. The young man woke and smiled. He heard the gurgle of the stream flowing past the lodge.

25 "Awake, old man," he cried. "Awake and see the beauty I have brought. Know you not that I am Seegwun, the Spring?"

But the old man answered not. A long sigh broke

from his lips; and as Seegwun looked he saw him fade away, and in his stead there grew a tiny flower, the miskodeed, pink and white, beautiful and fragrant.

"Now I know thee," cried Seegwun. "Thou art Pebran, the winter!" And a voice sighed through the s lodge: "Farewell, O Seegwun, farewell."

- Indian Folk Tales.

1. Make a little play out of this story. How many scenes would you have? What would be in each? How many actors?

2. Who was the old man in the lodge? What is the Chippewa name for him? What did he finally turn into?

3. Who was the young man? What is the Chippewa name for him?

4. How do you explain the going of winter and the coming of spring? Explain to your classmates, if you can, how and why we really have our seasons.

5. The miskodeed is the trailing arbutus, a flower that blossoms before the snow is off the ground. This story not only pictures the coming of spring, but it also accounts for the beginning of the miskodeed. Many folk stories try to explain how things came to be. Can you name any of them?