The wonder grew. I made a sketch embodying all the points that my
companions noted about the Fairy Bird. The first drawing shows what it
looked like, and also gives the exact size they said it was.

It seemed a cruel wrong that let so many of them see the thing that was
of chief interest to me, yet left me out. It clearly promised a real
fairy, an elfin bird, a wonderful messenger from the land I hungered to
believe in.

But at last my turn came. One afternoon two of the boys ran toward me,
shouting: "Here it is, the little Fairy Bird, right in the garden over
the honeysuckle. C'mon, quick!"

I rushed to the place, more excited than I can tell. Yes, there it was,
hovering over the open flowers--tiny, wonderful, humming as it swung on
misty wings. I made a quick sweep of my insect net and, marvellous to
relate, scooped up the Fairy Bird. I was trembling with excitement now,
not without a sense of wickedness that I should dare to net a
fairy--practically an angel. But I had done it, and I gloated over my
captive, in the meshes. Yes, the velvet body and snowy throat were
there, the fan-tail, the plumes and the big dark eyes, but the creature
was _not a bird_; it was an insect! Dimly now I remembered, and in a few
hours, learned, as I had feared, that I had not captured a young angel
or even a fairy--it was nothing but a Humming-bird Moth, a beautiful
insect--common in some regions, scarce in some, such as mine--but
perfectly well known to men of science and never afterward forgotten by
any of that eager schoolboy group.


TALE 33

Ribgrass or Whiteman's-Foot

If you live in the country or in a small town, you will not have to go
many steps, in summer time, before you find the little plant known as
Ribgrass, Plantain, or Whiteman's-foot. If you live in a big city, you
may find it in any grassy place, but will surely see it, as soon as you
reach the suburbs. It grows on the ground, wherever it can see the sun,
and is easily known by the strong ribs, each with a string in it when
you pull the leaf apart. The Indians call it Whiteman's-foot, not
because it is broad and flat, but because it came from Europe with the
white man; it springs up wherever he sets his foot, and it has spread
over all America. Gardeners think it a troublesome weed; but the birds
love its seed; canary birds delight in it; and each plant of the
Ribgrass may grow many thousands of seeds in a summer.

How many? Let us see! Take a seed-stalk of the Plantain and you will
find it thickly set with little cups, as in the drawing. Open one of
these cups, and you find in it five seeds. Count the cups; there are two
hundred on this stalk, each with about five seeds, that is, one thousand
seeds; but the plant has five or more seed-stalks, some have more (one
before me now has seventeen), but suppose it has only ten; then there
are 10,000 seeds each summer from one little plant. Each seed can grow
up into a new plant; and, if each plant were as far from the next as you
can step, the little ones in a row the following summer would reach for
nearly six miles; that is, from the City Hall to the end of Central
Park, New York.[B]

[Illustration: The Ribgrass]

[Illustration: Jack-in-the-Pulpit]

On the third year if all had the full number of seed, and all the seed
grew into plants, there would be enough to go more than twice round the
world. No wonder it has spread all over the country.


TALE 34

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Once upon a time there was a missionary named the Rev. John T. Arum, who
set out to preach to the Indians. He had a good heart but a bitter,
biting tongue. He had no respect for the laws of the Indians, so they
killed him, and buried him in the woods. But out of his grave came a new
and wonderful plant, shaped like a pulpit, and right in the middle of
it, as usual, was the Reverend Jack hard at it, preaching away.

If you dig down under the pulpit you will find the preacher's body, or
his heart, in the form of a round root. Taste it and you will believe
that the preacher had a terribly biting tongue, but treat it properly,
that is boil it, and you will find out that after all he had a good
little heart inside. Even the Indians have discovered his good qualities
and have become very fond of him.


TALE 35

How the Indian Pipe Came

[Illustration: How the Indian Pipe Came]

In the last tale you learned the fate of the Rev. John T. Arum, and the
origin of Jack-in-the-Pulpit. But you must not suppose for a moment that
the Indians decided in a hurry to kill the missionary. No, they had too
much sense of fair play for that. They held a great many councils first
to find some way of curbing his tongue, and making him mind his own
business. In fact, they got into the habit of holding a council every
few minutes to discuss the question, no matter where they were or what
else they were doing. So that pretty nearly every part of the woods was
in time used for a council ring to discuss the fate of the Rev. John T.
Arum.

Of course, you know that no Indian can hold a council without smoking
the Peace Pipe, and when the council is over, he empties out the ashes
of the pipe. So that when all those councils were over, when the matter
was settled, when the missionary was buried, and when the warrior had
gone to the ghost land, there came solemnly poking its white bowl and
stem from under the leaves an Indian pipe, at the very spot where the
Councillors had emptied the ashes. It is a beautifully shaped pipe, with
a curved and feathered stem, but it has none of the bright colours of
the old Peace Pipe. It cannot have them for this is only a ghost Pipe to
show where the council used to be; and one pipe there is for each
council held on that spot, so you see how many, many councils the
Indians had, before they killed the troublesome preacher. And sometimes
you can find a pipe that has the bowl still filled with ghost tobacco or
even a little red ghost fire, showing that the warriors had to hurry
away before that council was finished. Whenever you find the ghost pipe
in the woods, you are sure to see close by either a log, a bank or a
rock on which the Councillors sat to talk it over.


TALE 36

The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella

The Indians had Brownies, only they called them Pukwudjies, and I am
going to tell you a story of an Indian Brownie.

[Illustration: The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella]

Whenever the Indians got together for a council, the Brownies did the
same thing, in the woods near by. It was a kind of Brownie Fair, and
some of the little people used to have stands and sell refreshments.
Berries were scarce in the springtime, but the Brownies were very fond
of cucumber. So there were always one or two Cucumber Brownies, who set
up their little umbrellas, and sold slices of Cucumber to the others.

When it was time to go home, or when the sun got so hot that the
cucumbers were likely to spoil, they would bury them in the ground, but
leave the umbrella to mark the place. And there they are yet; many a
time have I found the umbrella, and dug under it to find the cucumber.
It is delicious eating; everything that Brownies like is. You can find
it, and try it. It is one of the things that Monapini taught Ruth
Pilgrim to eat. (Tale 18).

Of course, the Brownies do not like you to dig up their treasure or
good-to-eats, but there are plenty more, far more than they ever need.
"Yet what about it," you say, "if the Brownie happens to be there?"

He may be sitting right under the umbrella, but remember the little
people are invisible to our eyes. You will not see him; at least I never
did.


TALE 37

The Hickory Horn-devil

Hush, whisper! Did you ever meet a Hickory Horn-devil? No! Well I did,
and I tell you he is a terror. Look at this picture of him. It is true,
only he is not quite so big as that, though he looks as if he might be.
And I was not quite so small as that, only I felt as if I were! And
everything about him looked horribly strong, poisonous and ugly. He was
a real devil.

[Illustration: The Hickory Horn-devil (1/2 life size)]

I did not know his history then; I did not learn it for a long time
after, but I can tell it to you now.

Once upon a time there was a little, greenish, blackish worm. He loved
pretty things, and he hated to be ugly, as he was. No one wanted him,
and he was left all alone, a miserable little outcast. He complained
bitterly to Mother Carey, and asked if she would not bless him with some
grace, to help him in his troubles.

Mother Carey said: "Little ugly worm; you are having a hard time,
because in your other life, before you came into this shape, you had an
ugly, hateful spirit. You must go through this one as you are, until the
Great Sleep comes; after that, you will be exactly what you have made of
yourself."

Then the little ugly worm said: "Oh Mother Carey, I am as miserable as I
can be; let me be twice as ugly, if, in the end, I may be twice as
beautiful."

Mother Carey said gravely, "Do you think you could stand it, little
worm? We shall see."

From that time the worm got bigger and uglier, no creature would even
talk to him. The birds seemed to fear him, and the Squirrels puffed out
little horror-snorts, when they saw him coming, even the other worms
kept away from him.

So he went on his lonely life, uglier and more hated than ever. He lived
chiefly on a big hickory tree, so men called him the Hickory Horn-devil.

One day as he was crawling on a fence, a hen with chickens came running
after him, to eat him. But when she saw how ugly he was she cried: "Oh,
Lawk, lawk! Come away, children, at once!"

At another time he saw a Chipmunk teaching its little ones to play tag.
They looked so bright and happy, he longed, not to join them because he
could only crawl, but to have the happiness of looking on. But when he
came slowly forward, and the old Chipmunk saw him waving his horns and
looking like a green poisonous reptile, she screamed, "Run, my
children!" and all darted into their hole while Mother Chipmunk stuffed
up the doorway with earth.

But the most thrilling thing of all that he saw was one day as the sun
went down, a winged being of dazzling beauty alighted for a moment on
his hickory tree. Never had the Horn-devil seen such a dream of
loveliness. Her slender body was clad in rose velvet, and her wings were
shining with gold. The very sight of her made him hate himself, yet he
could not resist the impulse to crawl nearer, to gaze at her beauty.

But her eyes rested a moment on his horrible shape, and she fled in
fear, while a voice near by said: "The Spangled Queen does not love
poisonous reptiles." Then the poor little Horn-devil wished he were
dead. He hid away from sight for three days. Hunger however forced him
out, and as he was crawling across a pathway, a man who came along was
going to crush him underfoot, but Mother Carey whispered, "No, don't do
it." So the man let him live, but roughly kicked the worm aside, and
bruised him fearfully.

Then came Mother Carey and said: "Well, little ugly worm! Is your spirit
strong, or angry?"

The worm said bravely, though feebly: "Mother, Mother Carey, I am trying
to be strong. I want to win."

The breezes were losing their gentle warmth when Mother Carey came to
him one day, and said: "Little one, your trial has been long, but it is
nearly over.

"Prepare to sleep now, my little horny one, you have fought a brave
fight; your reward is coming. Because your soul has been made beautiful
by your suffering, I will give you a body blazing with such beauty as
shall make all stand in adoration when you pass." Then Mother Earth
said, "Our little one shall have extra care because he has had extra
trials." So the tired little Horn-devil did not even have to make
himself a hammock, for Mother Earth received him and he snuggled into
her bosom. As Mother Carey waved her wand, he dropped off asleep. And he
slept for two hundred days.

Then came the great Awakening Day, the resurrection day of the woods.
Many new birds arrived. Many new flowers appeared. Sleepers woke from
underground, as Mother Carey's silent trumpeters went bugling ahead of
her, and her winged horse, the Warm Wind, came sweeping across the
meadows, with the white world greening as he came.

The bundle-baby of the Horn-devil woke up. He was cramped and sleepy,
but soon awake. Then he knew that he was a prisoner, bound up in silken
cords of strength. But new powers were his now, he was able to break the
cords and crawl out of his hole. He put up his feelers to find those
horrible horns, but they were gone, and his devil form fell off him like
a mask. He had wings, jewelled wings! on his back now. Out he came to
fluff the newfound wings awhile, and when they were spread and supple he
flew into the joyful night, one of the noblest of all the things that
fly, gorgeous in gold and velvet, body and wings; filled with the joy of
life and flight, he went careering through the soft splendour of the
coming night. And as he flew, he glimpsed a radiant form ahead, a being
like himself, with wings of velvet and gold. At first he thought it was
the Princess of the Hickory Tree, but now his eyes were perfect, and he
could see that this was a younger and more beautiful Spangled Princess
than the one of his bygone life, and all his heart was filled with the
blazing fire of love. Fearlessly now he flew to overtake her; for was
she not of his own kind? She sped away, very fast at first, but maybe
she did not go as fast as she could, for soon he was sailing by her
side. At first she turned away a little, but she was not cross or
frightened now. She was indeed inclined to play and tease. Then in their
own language, he asked her to marry him, and in their own language she
said, "yes." Away they flew and flew on their wedding flight, high in
the trees in the purple night, glorious in velvet and gold, more happy
than these printed words can tell.

The wise men who saw them said, "There go the Royal Citheronia and his
bride." And Mother Carey smiled as she saw their bliss, and remembered
the Hickory Horn-devil.

FOOTNOTE:

[B] Let the Guide illustrate with some local measure.




THINGS TO SEE IN AUTUMNTIME

[Illustration: The Purple and Gold of Autumn]




Things to See in Autumntime


TALE 38

The Purple and Gold of Autumn

There was once an old gentleman named Father Time, and he had four
beautiful daughters.

The eldest was called Winter Time. She was tall and pale. She dressed
chiefly in white wool trimmed with wonderful lacework. She was much
admired by some, but others considered her very cold and distant. And
most agreed that she was the least winsome of the sisters.

The second one was called Spring Time, and she was dressed in beautiful
golden-green satin. She had a gentle, sunny disposition; some thought
her the loveliest.

The third was Summer Time, and her robe was dark-green velvet. She was
warm-hearted and most attractive, full of life and energy, and as unlike
the eldest sister as possible.

The youngest was Autumn Time. She certainly was a wonderful creature,
with red rosy cheeks, plump form, and riotous good spirits. Her robes
were gorgeous and a little extravagant, for she wore a new one every
day, and of all that she had, the one that she loved the best and wore
the latest was of purple and gold. We can go out in October and see the
purple and gold, and gather some scraps of the robe, for it is on every
wayside and every hillside.


TALE 39

Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year

A long time ago, when it was always summer in our woods, the Chicadees
lived merrily with their cousins, and frolicked the whole year round.
But one day Mother Carey sent the small birds a warning that they must
move to the South, when the leaves fell from the trees, for hard frost
and snow were coming, and maybe starvation too.

All the cousins of the Chicadees listened to the warning and got ready
to go; but Tomtit, their leader, only laughed and turned a dozen wheels
around a twig that served him for a bar.

"Go to the South?" said he. "Not I; I am too happy here; and as for
frost and snow, I never saw any, and I don't believe there are such
things."

Very soon the leaves fell from the trees and the Nut-hatches and the
King-wrens were so busy getting ready to go that the Chicadees left off
play for a minute, to ask questions. They were not pleased with the
answer they got, for the messenger had said that all of them were to
take a long, long journey that would last for days, and the little
King-wrens had actually to go as far as the Gulf of Mexico. Besides,
they were to fly by night, to avoid their enemies, the Hawks, and the
weather at this season was sure to be stormy. So the Chicadees said it
was all nonsense, and went off, singing and chasing one another through
the woods, led by Tomtit singing a new song in which he made fun of the
travellers.

        Tom Tom Tiddy-Mouse!
        Hid away in our house,
        Hid his brother in the cellar,
        Wasn't he a silly feller?

But their cousins were quite serious. They picked out wise leaders and
formed themselves into bands. They learned that they must follow their
leader, they must twitter as they flew in the darkness, so as to let
those behind know where\he leaders were; they must follow the great
rivers southward; they must wait for a full moon before starting, and
never travel by day.

The noisy, rollicking Chicadees continued to make fun of their cousins
as they saw them now gathering in the woods along the river; and at
length, when the moon was big, bright, and full, the cousins arose to
the call of the leaders and all flew away in the gloom. The Chicadees
said that all the cousins were crazy, made some good jokes about the
Gulf of Mexico, and then dashed away on their favourite game of tag and
tumble through the woods, which, however, did seem rather quiet now, and
bare of leaves; while the weather, too, was certainly turning
uncomfortably cool.

At length the frost and snow really did come, and the Chicadees were in
a bad way. Indeed, they were frightened out of their wits, and dashed
hither and thither, seeking in vain for some one to set them aright on
the way to the warm land. They flew wildly about the woods, till they
were truly crazy. I suppose there was not a squirrel-hole or a hollow
log in the neighbourhood that some Chicadee did not enter to inquire if
this was the Gulf of Mexico. But no one could tell anything about it, no
one was going that way, and the great river was hidden under ice and
snow.

About this time a messenger from Mother Carey was passing with a message
to the Caribou in the Far North; but all he could tell the Chicadees was
that he could not be their guide, as he had other business. "Besides,"
he said, "you had the same notice as your cousins whom you called
'crazy.' And from what I know of Mother Carey, you will probably have to
stick it out here all through the snow, not only now, but in every
winter after this; so you may as well make the best of it."

This was sad news for the Chicadee Tomtits; but they were brave little
fellows, and seeing they could not help themselves, they went about
making the best of it. Before a week had gone by they were in their
usual good spirits again, scrambling about the snowy twigs, or chasing
one another as before.

They were glad to remember now that Mother Carey said that winter would
end. They told each other about it so much that even at its beginning,
when a fresh blizzard came on, they would gleefully remark to one
another that it was a "sign of spring," and one or another of the flock
would lift his voice in the sweet little chant that we all know so well:

[Illustration: Spring soon]

Another would take it up and answer back:

[Illustration: Spring com-ing]

and they would keep on repeating the song until the dreary woods rang
again with the good news, and the wood-people learned to love the brave
little bird that sets his face so cheerfully, to meet so hard a case.

And winter did end. Spring did come at last. And the sign of its coming
was when the ice broke on the stream and the pussy willow came purring
out above it. The air was full of the good news. The Chicadees felt it,
and knew it through and through. They went mad with joy, chasing each
other round and round the trees and through the hollow logs, shouting
"The spring is here, the spring is here, Hurree, Hurree, Hurree," and in
another week their joyous lives were going on as before the trouble
came.

But to this day, when the chill wind blows through the deserted woods,
the Chicadees seem to lose their wits for a few days, and dart into all
sorts of queer places. They may then be found in great cities, or open
prairies, cellars, chimneys, and hollow logs; and the next time you find
one of the wanderers in any out-of-the-way corner, be sure to remember
that the Chicadee goes crazy twice a year, in the fall and in the
spring, and probably went into his strange hole or town in search of the
Gulf of Mexico.


TALE 40

The Story of the Quaking Aspen or Poplar

The leaf of the Quaking Asp is like the one marked "a" in the drawing.
Its trunk is smooth, greenish, or whitish, with black knots of bark like
"c". All the farmers know it as Popple, or White Poplar; but the hunters
call it Quaking Asp or Aspen.

[Illustration: The Story of the Quaking Aspen]

The name "quaking" was given because it is for ever shaking its leaves;
the slightest wind sets them all rustling. They move so easily because
each leaf-stem is like a thin, flat strap set on edge; while the
leaf-stem of such as the oak is nearly round and scarcely rustles at
all. Why does the Quaking Asp do this? No doubt, because it lives in
places where the hot dust falls thick on the leaves at times, and if it
did not have some trick of shaking it off, the leaf would be choked and
bent so that the tree could scarcely breathe; for the leaves are the
lungs of the trees. So remember, when the Poplar rustles loudly, it is
coughing to clear its lungs of the dust.

Some trees try to hide their troubles, and quickly cover up their
wounds; but the Aspen has a very touchy skin and, once it is wounded, it
shows the scar as long as it lives. We can, therefore, go to any Aspen
tree, and have it tell us the story of its life. Here is the picture of
one. The black marks at the forks (c) are scars of growth; the belts of
dots (d) were wounds given by a sapsucker to rob it of its sap; the flat
places (e) show where a Red Squirrel gnawed off the outer bark.

If a Raccoon climbed the tree (f), or an insect bored into the trunk, we
are sure to see a record of it in this sensitive bark.

Now, last of all, the paper on which this story is printed was likely
made out of Aspen wood.


TALE 41

The Witch-hazel

[Illustration: Witch-hazel]

These are the things to make you remember the Witch-hazel; its forked
twig was used--nay, still is used--as a magic rod to show where there is
running water underground; that is, where it is possible to find water
by sinking a well. Its nuts are explosive, and go off with a _snap_,
shooting the seeds that are inside, ten or twenty feet away, when the
cold dry days of autumn come. Third, its curious golden-thread flowers
appear in the fall.

As Cracked Jimmy used to sing:-

        Witch-hazel blossoms in the fall,
        To cure the chills and fevers all.
                      --_Two Little Savages._

On November 16, 1919, after a sharp frost, I went out in the morning to
get some Witch-hazel flowers for this drawing, and found them blooming
away in the cold air, vigorously as ever. Imagine a flower that can
bloom while it is freezing. In the drawing I have shown the flower, like
a 4-lipped cup with four yellow snakes coiling out of it.

But these are not the deadly snakes one hears about. They are rather
symbols of old Г†sculapius, the famous healer of the long ago, whose
emblem was the cup of life with curling snakes of wisdom about it. In
the Witch-hazel has been found a soothing balm for many an ache and
pain. The Witch-hazel you buy in the drugstores, is made out of the bark
of this tree. If you chew one of the little branches you will know it by
the taste.

Near the top is a flower that is finished, its snakes have fled; and at
the top of all is a bud for next year. That is, they are--_is_,
_has-been_ and _going-to-be_. The nuts are shown in the corner.

Note, last of all, that it is a sociable little tree; it always goes
with a crowd. There are generally three or four Witch-hazels from one
root, and there is always a family of cousins not far away.


TALE 42

How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs

In the woods of Poconic there once roamed a very discontented Porcupine.
She was forever fretting. She complained that everything was wrong, till
it was perfectly scandalous, and Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, getting
tired of her grumbling, said:

"You and the world I have made don't seem to fit; one or the other must
be wrong. It is easier to change you. You don't like the trees, you are
unhappy on the ground, and think everything is upside down, therefore
I'll turn you inside out, and put you in the water." And so the
Porcupine was turned into a new creature, a fish, called the Shad. That
is why he is so full of little sharp bones.

Then after the old Porcupine had been turned into a Shad, the young ones
missed their mother, and crawled up into a high Chestnut tree to look
for her coming. Wahkonda happened to pass that way, and they all
chattered their teeth at him, thinking themselves safe. They were not
wicked, but at heart quite good, only badly brought up; oh, so
ill-trained, and some of them chattered and groaned as Wahkonda came
nearer. Then Wahkonda was sorry for them, remembering that he had taken
their mother from them, and said: "You look very well up there, you
little Porkys, so you had better stay there for always, and be part of
the Chestnut tree." And he touched each one with his magic wand and
turned it into a burr that grew tight to the tree. That is how it came
about. There they hang like a lot of little Porcupines on the twigs of
the tree. They are spiney and dangerous, utterly without manners, and
yet most of them have a good little heart inside.


TALE 43

How the Littlest Owl Came

After the Great Spirit had made the world and the creatures in it, he
made the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo. This was like an Owl, but bigger than
anything else alive, and his voice was like a river plunging over a
rocky ledge. He was so big that he thought he had done it all himself,
and he became puffed up. He forgot the Great Spirit, who decided to
teach him a lesson in this wise:

He called the Blue-jay, the mischief-maker of the woods, and told him
what to do. Away went the Blue-jay to the mountain at the top of which
was the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo making thunder in his throat. The Blue-jay
flew up to his ear, and said: "Pooh, Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, you don't call
that a big noise! You should hear Niagara; then you would never twitter
again."

The Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo was so mad at hearing his big wonderful song
called a twitter, that he said: "Niagara, Niagara! I'm sick of hearing
about Niagara. I will go and silence Niagara with my voice." So he flew
to Niagara while the Blue-jay snickered and followed to see the fun.

Now when Niagara Falls was made the Great Spirit said to it, "Flow on
for ever." That last word of the Great Spirit it took up as it rushed
on, and never ceases to thunder out "For ever! For ever! For ever!"

When they came to Niagara the mighty cataract, the Blue-jay said, "Now,
Gitchee, you can beat that I am sure." So Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo began
bawling to drown the noise of it, but could not make himself heard.

"Wa-wa-wa," said the Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo, with great effort and only for
a few heart beats.

"_For ever, For ever, For ever_," thundered the river, steadily, easily,
ceaselessly.

"Wa-wa-wa--!" shrieked Gitchee O-kok-o-hoo; but his voice was so utterly
lost that he could not hear it himself, and he began to feel small, and
smaller; and as he began to feel small, a strange thing happened--he
began to get small and smaller, until he was no bigger than a Sparrow;
and his voice, instead of being like a great cataract, became like the
dropping of water, just a little

        Tink-tank-tink,
        Tink-tank-tink.

And this is why the Indians give to this smallest of the Owls the name
of "The Water-dropping Bird," who was once the greatest of all
creatures, but is now shrunk to be the littlest of the Owls, because he
became proud and forgot the Great Spirit.


TALE 44

The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts

Once upon a time there was a rich boy, who knew all about the city, and
nothing about the woods. He went for an outing into the wilderness, and
got lost. He wandered all day until he was very tired and hungry. The
sun was low when he came to a little pathway. He followed it, and it led
to a small log cabin. When he knocked, an old woman opened the door. He
said, "Please, Ma'am, I am lost and very hungry, will you give me
something to eat?"

[Illustration: The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts]

The old woman looked sharply at his clothes, and knew that he was
rich, so she said: "Poor people are wise, they can take care of
themselves in the woods. They don't get lost. But you rich people are
fools, and I wish you would go away."

"I will, if you'll give me something to eat," he answered.

Then the old woman said: "Listen, foolish rich boy, in the woods beside
you right now is a friend who feeds the poor people, maybe she will feed
you. She is tall and slim, her eyes are brownish purple and her hair is
green, and by this you may know her--she has five fingers on one hand
and seven on the other. Her house is in the brier thicket; she climbs to
the roof and stands there all day waving her hands, and shouting out in
wood-talk, 'There are cocoanuts in my cellar.'

"Now go and find her, maybe she will feed you. She always feeds us poor
folks," and the witch slammed the door.

The boy was puzzled. As he stood in doubt, there was a loud noise, and
his friends arrived. They brought him the food and comfort that he
needed.

Then he said: "I wish to know what that old wood-witch meant by the lady
with the purple eyes and green hair." So he went again to the log cabin
and knocked.

When the old woman came, and saw a lot of people about, she was
frightened for she knew she had been unkind. But the boy said: "Now
Granny, you needn't be afraid, I want you to show me the friend that has
seven fingers and a cellar full of cocoanuts."

"I'll show you, if you promise to do me no harm," she answered.

"Of course, I'll promise," replied the boy.

Then Granny Wood-witch went hobbling to the nearest thicket and cackled
out loud, as she pointed out a trailing vine that had sometimes five
leaflets on a stalk and sometimes seven. "See, see, that's the lady.
See seven fingers on that hand and five on this. Now follow her feet
down and dig in the ground."

They dug and found strings of lovely brown nuts as big as walnuts.

"See, see," chuckled the wood-witch. "See the cocoanuts in the cellar."

       *       *       *       *       *

Go forth and look for it, ye Woodcrafters. You will find it throughout
Eastern America on the edge of every wood. Its flower is like a
purple-brown sweet-pea, and is in bloom all summer long. Follow down its
vine, dig out a few of the potatoes or nuts, and try them, raw, boiled,
or if ye wish to eat them as Indian Cake, clean them, cut them in
slices, dry till hard, pound them up into meal, and make a cake the same
as you would of oatmeal.

The wild things love them, the Indians love them, and this was the bread
of the wood-witch. The books call it Bog Potato and Ground Nuts. It is
the third secret of the woods.


TALE 45

The Mud-dauber Wasp

If you look under the roof of any wooden barn in Eastern America you are
likely to see the nest of the common Mud-wasp.

[Illustration: The Mud-dauber Wasp (life size)]

If you look on warm sunny days along the edge of some mud puddle you are
sure to see a curious steel-blue wasp, with a very thin waist, working
away at a lump of mud. She seems to be breathing hard with her body, as
she works with her yellow legs, but she finally goes off laden with a
gob of mud. This is the Mud-wasp at work, building a strong mud-nest for
her family. The nest is the one we have seen hung under the roof of
the shed, always put where no rain can reach it.

In the drawing are two of these nests.

Once the cradle is ready, the mother Wasp goes spider-hunting. Whenever
she can find a spider, she pounces on it, and with her sting, she stabs
it in the body, so as to paralyze it, but not kill it. Then she carries
it to the mud cell and packs it in, at the far end. Many spiders are
caught and preserved this way, for they do not usually die though they
cannot move.

When the cell is full, the Wasp lays an egg on the last spider, and
seals up the opening with a mud lid.

Very soon the egg hatches out a little white grub which begins on the
spider next to him, eating the legs first, and the body last, so as to
keep it alive as long as possible, though of course the spider has no
feeling. Then he eats the next spider, and the next, growing as he eats,
until he nearly fills the cell, and the spiders are all eaten up.

Now the grub goes to sleep, and next spring comes out as a full-grown
Mud-wasp to do exactly as the mother did, though it never saw that
Mother or had a lesson from any one in the many strange things it must
do to live.

I went into my boat-house to-day, November 20, 1919, to get a mud nest
for this drawing. There were 86 on the roof; some of them with 20 or 30
cells, and besides there was a lot of paper nests by other Wasps. The
nest I took had two cells, one open and empty, and the other with a mud
lid on tight. This held a long, shiny brown transparent case, in which
was a white grub much too small for the big coat he was wearing. The
grub was sound asleep, and would have come out next spring, as a big
steel-blue Mud-wasp had I let him alone. But there are plenty of
Mud-wasps so I fed him to the Chicadees, which likely is what Mother
Carey would have done.

[Illustration: The Cicada and the Katydid (life size)]


TALE 46

The Cicada and the Katydid

Once upon a time, long, long ago, the birds whose job it was to make the
woods merry with their songs, decided to go on strike. They said, "We
have sung all day, all springtime, and half way through the summer, but
now we are moulting, the weather is frightfully hot; we need a rest, and
we are going to stop singing, to take a holiday."

Then Dame Nature, who is sometimes called the All-mother, or Mother
Carey, said: "Dear me, this will never do! No songbirds, woods silent
all through the dog-days. Now who will be strike-breakers and volunteer
to supply the music till the birds get once more in a good humour?"

Then up at that question got a long-winged insect like a big fly, and a
long-legged insect like a green grasshopper, and both said at once, "I
will." Amid low murmurs of "Scab! Scab!" from many of the Wood-birds.

"You. I forgot that you two had any voices at all!" said Mother Carey.

Then the long-winged creature, whose name is Cicada, began, "True, my
voice isn't much, but I have invented a most successful musical
Castanet. Listen!"

Then he began an extraordinary racket like an alarm clock, a threshing
machine, and a buzz-saw all going together. He filled the grove with his
noise, and set all the woodfolk laughing with his funny performance.
Though, of course, he didn't mean to be funny; he thought it was fine.

Then as the Cicada ceased, Mother Carey said to the Green Hopper, whose
name was Katy, "Now, Katy, what can you do?"

"I do not brag of my voice, dear Mother," said she, "but I am a
thrilling performer on the violin."

Then she humped herself up over a green fiddle that she had under her
cloak, and nearly deafened them with its hoarse screechings.

There was no doubt that these two could make as much noise as a wood
full of birds; both were eager to take sole charge, and a bitter dispute
arose as to whose idea it was first.

But Mother Carey settled it by dividing the time. "You," she said to
Cicada, "can take charge of the music by day, and you," she said to the
Green one, "must take it up at sundown in place of the nightingale, and
keep it up, till the night breaks, and both of you continue till the
frost comes, or until the birds are back on the job."

That is how it all came about.

But there is considerable feeling yet among the Katies, that they should
get all the night work, and never be seen performing. They think that
their ancestor was the original inventor of this cheap substitute for
bird song. And it is made all the worse by a division among themselves.
Some say "she did" and some say "she didn't." If you notice in early
August, they are nearly all shouting, "Katy-did." Then by the end of the
month, "Katy-didn't" is stronger. In September it is still mixed. In
October their work is over, the chorus ended, but you hear an occasional
"Katy-did" and finally as late as Indian Summer, which is Hallowe'en, I
have heard the last of the fiddlers rasp out "she did"; and do it in
daytime, too, as though to flout the followers of Cicada. And, if the
last word be truth, as they say, we may consider it settled, that Katy
really and truly _did_. And yet I believe next year the same dispute
will arise, and we shall have the noisy argument all over again.

If you look at the portraits of Cicada, the Hotweather-bug or Locust,
and of the Katydid, you will not see their musical instruments very
plainly, but believe me they have them; and you can hear them any late
summer hot-weather time, in any part of the Eastern States and some
parts of southern Canada.

And now let me finish with a secret. Katy is not a lady at all, but a
he-one disguised in green silk stockings, and a green satin dress.


TALE 47

The Digger Wasp that Killed the Cicada

Strange things are done in the realm of Mother Carey; strange things and
cruel. At least so they seem to us, for we do not know the plan that is
behind them. We know only that sometimes love must be cruel. I am going
to tell you of a strange happening, that you may see any hot day in
August. And this is how it came about.

At that meeting in the woods when the Cicada and the Katydid undertook
to be musicians, while the birds were on strike, there was one strong
insect who gave off an angry "_Bizz, Bizz_" that sounded like "_Scab,
Scab_." That was the big yellow-and-black Digger Wasp, the biggest of
the wasps, with a sting that is as bad as that of a baby rattlesnake.
And that very day she declared war on the Cicada and his kind. The
Katydids she could not touch, because the Wasp cannot see at night.

But the Cicada was easy to find. As soon as the day got hot, and that
awful buzzing began in the trees, the Big Digger got her sting ready,
and went booming along in the direction of the sound.

[Illustration: The Digger Wasp (life size)]

Now Mother Carey had given the Cicada bright eyes and strong wings, and
it was his own business to take care of himself; but he was so pleased
with his music that he never saw the fierce Digger Wasp, till she
charged on him. And before he could spread his wings, she had stabbed
him through.

His song died away in a few shrieks, and then the Cicada lay still. But
not dead, for the Digger had stuck her poison dagger into the nerve
centre, so that he was paralyzed and helpless, but still living.

Now the Digger set about a plan. She wanted to get that Cicada body into
her den, to feed her young ones with it. But the Cicada was bigger and
heavier than she was, so that she could not carry it. However, she was
bent on doing it, she got all ready, took tight hold with her claws,
then swooped from the tree, flying as strongly as she could, till the
weight of the Cicada brought her to the ground within fifty feet, while
the den was fully a hundred feet away. But the Wasp dragged the Cicada
up the trunk of another tree, then took another long sloping flight as
before. One more climb and skid down, brought her to her den--a hole in
a bank that she had dug out; that is why she is called the Digger Wasp.
The passage was a foot long and had a crook in the middle. At the end
was a round room an inch and a half high. Here the Digger left her
victim's body and right on its breast, to one side, laid an egg.

This hatched in two or three days, and began to feed on the Cicada. In a
week it had eaten the Cicada and grown to be a big fat grub. Then it
spun a cocoon, and made itself into a bundle-baby, resting all autumn
and all winter in that dark den.

But when the spring came with its glorious wakening up, great changes
came over the bundle-baby of the Digger. It threw off the cocoon and its
outer skin, and came forth from the gloom into the sunshine, a big
strong Digger Wasp with a sting of its own, and a deadly feud with all
screaming Cicadas. Although it never saw its mother, or got any lessons
from her, it goes after the buzzing hotweather-bugs, when August comes,
and treats them exactly as she did.


TALE 48

How the Indian Summer Came

Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, the Ruler of the World, had found pleasure
the whole summer long in making mountains, lakes, and forests. Then when
the autumn came, and the leaves fell from the trees, He lighted His pipe
and sat down to look over the things He had made.

As He did so, the north wind arose for Cold Time was coming, and blew
the smoke and ashes of the pipe into His face. Then He said: "Cease your
blowing, all ye winds, until I have finished smoking." So, of course,
there was dead calm.

Wahkonda smoked for ten days, and during all that time there were no
clouds in the sky, for there was no wind to bring them; there was
unbroken, calm sunny weather. But neither was there any wind to carry
off the smoke, so it hung, as the teepee smoke hangs at sunrise, and it
drifted over the valleys and forests in a blue haze.

Then at last when the Great Spirit finished His smoke and His
meditation, He emptied out His pipe. That was the signal, the north wind
broke loose, and came howling down from the hills, driving the leaves
before it, and warning all wild things to be ready, for soon there would
be winter in the woods.

And it hath been so ever since. When the leaves have fallen and before
yet the Ice-king is here, there come, for a little while, the calm
dreamy days, when the Great Spirit is smoking His pipe, and the smoke is
on the land. The Red-men call them the Smoking Days, but we call it
Indian Summer.




THINGS TO SEE IN WINTERTIME

[Illustration: The North Star or Home Star]




Things to See in Wintertime


TALE 49

The North Star, or the Home Star

If you are going to be a Woodcrafter, you must begin by knowing the
North Star, because that is the star which will show you the way home,
if you get lost in the woods at night. That is why the Indians call it
the "Home Star."

But first, I must tell you how it came to be, and the story begins a
long, long time ago.

In those far-off days, we are told, there were two wonderful hunters,
one named Orion, and the other named Boötes (Bo-o-tees). Orion hunted
everything and I shall have to leave him for another story. Boötes was
an ox-driver and only hunted bears to save his cattle. One day he went
after a Mother Bear, that had one little cub.

[Illustration: The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back]

He chased them up to the top of a mountain so high, that they leaped off
into the sky, and just as they were going, Boötes shot his arrows after
them. His very first arrow hit the Little Bear in the tail--they had
long tails in those days--and pinned him to the sky. There he has hung
ever since, swinging round and round, on the arrow in his tail, while
his mother runs bawling around him, with Boötes and his dogs chasing
her. He shot arrows into her tail, which was long and curved, into her
body, and into her shoulder. Seven big arrows he shot, and there they
are yet, in the form of a dipper pointing always to the cub who is
called the "Little Bear." The shining head of the big arrow in the end
of the Little Bear's tail is called the North Star or Pole Star. You can
always tell which is the North Star, by the two Pointers; these are the
two bright stars that make the outer side of the Dipper on the Big
Bear's shoulder. A line drawn through them, points out the North Star.

The Dipper, that is the Big Bear, goes round and round the Pole
Star, once in about twenty-four hours; so that sometimes the Pointers are
over, sometimes under, to left or to right; but always pointing out the
Pole Star or North Star.

This star shows nearly the true north; and, knowing that, a traveller
can find his way in any strange country, so long as he can see this
friendly Home Star.


TALE 50

The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back

Now that you know how the Bears and the Big Dipper came, you should know
the Indian story of the Old Squaw.

First find the bright star that is at the bend of the Dipper handle.
This is called the "Old Squaw"; on her back is a tiny star that they
call "The Pappoose."

As soon as an Indian boy is old enough to understand, his mother takes
him out into the night when it is calm and clear, and without any moon
or any bright lights near, and says, "My child, yonder is the Old Squaw,
the second of the seven stars; she is going over the top of the hill; on
her back she carries her pappoose. Tell me, my child, can you see the
pappoose?"

[Illustration: Orion Fighting the Bull]

Then the little redskin gazes, and from his mother's hand he takes two
pebbles, a big one and a little one, and he sets them together on her
palm, to show how the two stars seem to him. When the mother is sure
that he did see them clearly, she rejoices. She goes to the fire and
drops a pinch of tobacco into it, for incense to carry her message, then
looking toward the sky she says: "Great Spirit, I thank Thee that my
child has the eyes of a hunter."

       *       *       *       *       *

These things are not new, O Woodcrafter. The wise men of our race call
the Big Star "Mizar" one of the chariot horses, and the little star
"Alcor" or the Rider. In all ages it has been considered proof of
first-class eyes, to see this little star. Can you see it? Have you the
eyes of a hunter?


TALE 51

Orion the Hunter, and His Fight With the Bull

In the 49th Tale I told you there were two giants among the mighty
hunters in the sky, Boötes, whose adventure with the Bears you have
already heard, and Orion. (O-ryВґ-on).

Orion was the most famous of all. In his day men had no guns; they had
nothing but clubs, spears, and arrows to fight with, and the beasts were
very big and fierce as well as plentiful, yet Orion went whenever he was
needed, armed chiefly with his club, fought the wild beasts, all alone,
killing them or driving them out, and saving the people, for the joy of
doing it. Once he killed a lion with his club, and ever afterward wore
the lion's skin on his arm. Bears were as nothing to him; he killed them
as easily as most hunters would rabbits, but he found his match, when he
went after a ferocious wild Bull as big as a young elephant.

As soon as the Bull saw him, it came rushing at him. It happened to be
on the other side of a stream, and as it plunged in, Orion drew his bow
and fired seven quick shots at the Bull's heart. But the monster was
coming head on, and the seven arrows all stuck in its shoulder, making
it madder than ever. So Orion waved his lion skin in his left hand, and
with his club in the right, ran to meet the Bull, as it was scrambling
up the bank from the water.

The first whack of the club tumbled the Bull back into the water, but it
turned aside, went to another place, and charged again. And again Orion
landed a fearful blow with the club on the monster's curly forehead.

By this time, all the animals had gathered around to see the big fight,
and the gods in heaven got so interested that they shouted out, "Hold
on, that is good enough for us to see. Come up here."

So they moved the mighty Hunter and the Bull, and the River and all the
animals, up to heaven, and the fight has gone on there ever since.

In the picture I have shown a lot of animals besides Orion and the Bull,
but the only things I want you to look now in the sky, are Orion's belt
with the three stars on it, and the Pleiades on the Bull's shoulder, the
seven spots where the seven arrows struck.

And remember these stars cannot be seen in summer, they pass over us in
winter time. You can find Orion by drawing a straight line across the
rim of the Dipper, beginning at the inner or handle side, passing
through the outer or Pointers side, and continued for twice the length
of the Dipper, handle and all, this will bring you to Betelgeuze, the
big star in the Giant's right shoulder, below that are the three stars
of his belt, sometimes called the "Three Kings."


TALE 52

The Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull

[Illustration: The Pleiades]

When late autumn comes the Pleiades (Ply'-a-dees) appear in the evening
sky to the eastward. These are the seven shots in the Bull's shoulder,
the seven arrows from Orion's bow. The Guide can locate them by
continuing the line of Orion's belt, eight times the length of the belt
to the right, as one faces the Hunter, so Orion must have been very
close indeed. At first they look like a faint light with a few bright
pin-points scattered through. Tennyson described them as:

        Glittering like a swarm of fireflies
        Tangled in a silver braid.

The best time to see them is some clear night about Christmas, when
there is no moon, and the Pleiades are nearly overhead, above the mist
and smoke of the horizon, and there are no electric lights near by.

Study them attentively. Make a tube of your two hands and look through.
Look on the ground, then look back again; look not straight at them, but
a little to one side; and at last, mark down on paper how many you can
clearly see, putting a big spot for the big one, and little spots for
the little ones. Poor eyes see nothing but a haze; fairly good eyes see
four of the pin-points; good eyes see five; the best of eyes see seven.
I can see seven on a clear winter night when there are no clouds and no
moon. This is as high as you need expect to get, although it is said
that some men in clear air on a mountain top have seen ten, while the
telescope shows that there are 2,000.