In taking these eyesight tests you may use your spectacles if you
usually wear them.
TALE 53
The Twin Stars
Two-Bright-Eyes went wandering out
To chase the Whippoorwill;
Two-Bright-Eyes got lost and left
Our teepee--oh, so still!
Two-Bright-Eyes was carried up
To sparkle in the skies
And look like stars--but we know well
That that's our lost Bright-Eyes.
She is looking for the camp,
She would come back if she could;
She still peeps thro' the tree-tops
For the teepee in the wood.
TALE 54
Stoutheart and His Black Cravat
Do you know the bird that wears a black cravat, which he changes once a
year? It is the English Sparrow, the commonest of all our birds. His
hair is gray, but he must have been red-headed once, for just back of
his ears there is still a band of red; and his collar, maybe, was white
once, but it is very dingy now. His shirt and vest are gray; his coat is
brown with black streaks--a sort of sporting tweed. The new cravat comes
when the new feathers grow in late summer; and, at first, it is barred
with gray as if in half mourning for his sins. As the gray tips wear
off, it becomes solid black; that is, in March or April. In summer, it
gets rusty and worn out; so every year he puts on a new one in late
August.
The hen sparrow is quite different and wears no cravat. She has a
black-and-brown cape of the sporting pattern, but her dress is
everywhere of brownish Quaker gray.
The song of the English Sparrow is loud and short; but he tries to make
up, by singing it over and over again, for many minutes.
He eats many bad bugs, and would be well liked, if he did not steal the
nests and the food of Bluebirds, Woodpeckers, Swallows, and others that
are prettier and more useful birds, as well as far better singers than
he is.
But there is much to admire in the Sparrow. I do not know of any bird
that is braver, or more ready to find a way out of trouble; and if he
cannot find a way, he cheerfully makes the best of it.
Some years ago I was at Duluth during a bitterly cold spell of weather.
The thermometer registered 20В° or 30В° below zero, and the blizzard wind
was blowing. Oh my, it was cold. But out in the street were dozens of
English Sparrows chirruping and feeding; thriving just as they do in
warmer lands and in fine weather.
When black night came down, colder yet, I wondered what the little
stout-hearts would do. Crawl into some hole or bird-house, maybe? or
dive into a snowdrift? as many native birds do.
I found out; and the answer was most unexpected.
In front of the hotel was a long row of electric lights. At nine
o'clock, when I chanced to open the window for a breath of air, my eye
fell on these; on every bulb was an English Sparrow sound asleep with
the overarching reflector to turn the storm, and the electric bulb below
him to warm his toes. My hat is off. Our Department of Agriculture may
declare war on the Sparrow; but what is the use? Don't you think that a
creature who is not afraid of blizzard or darkness, and knows how to use
electric lights, is going to win its life-battle, and that he surely is
here to stay?
TALE 55
Tracks, and the Stories They Tell
[Illustration: Tracks, and the Stories They Tell]
Sometimes, in town, just after rain, when the gutters are wet, and the
pavement dry, look for the tracks of some Dog that walked with wet
feet on the pavement. You will find that they are like "a" in the
drawing. A Dog has five toes on his front feet, but only four touch the
pavement as he walks. The claws also touch, and make each a little mark.
Now look for the track of a Cat; it is somewhat like that of the Dog,
but it is smaller, softer, and the claws do not show (b). They are too
good to be wasted on a pavement; she keeps them pulled in, so they are
sharp when she has use for them.
Make a drawing of each of these, and make it life size.
When there is dust on the road, or snow, look for Sparrow tracks; they
are like "c."
Note how close together the front three toes are. The inner two are
really fast together, so they cannot be separated far and the hind toe
is very large. Last of all, note that the tracks go two and two, because
the Sparrow goes "hop hop, hop." These things mean that the Sparrow is
really a tree bird; and you will see that, though often on the ground he
gets up into a tree when he wishes to feel safe.
Look for some Chicken tracks in the dust; they are like "d" in the
drawing because the Chicken does not go "hop, hop, hop" like the
Sparrow, but "walk, walk, walk." The Chicken is a ground bird. Most of
the song birds hop like the Sparrow, and most of the game birds walk
like a Chicken. But the Robin (e) goes sometimes hopping and sometimes
running, because part of his life is in the trees, and part on the
ground.
TALE 56
A Rabbit's Story of His Life, Written by Himself
Yes, the Rabbit wrote it himself and about himself in the oldest writing
on earth, that is the tracks of his feet.
[Illustration: A WOODCRAFT TRAGEDY
As shown by the Tracks and Signs in the Snow]
In February of 1885, one morning after a light snowfall, I went tramping
through the woods north of Toronto, when I came on something that always
makes me stop and look--the fresh tracks of an animal. This was the
track of a Cottontail Rabbit and I followed its windings with thrills of
interest. There it began under a little brush pile (a); the bed of brown
leaves showing that he settled there, before the snow-fall began. Now
here (b) he leaped out after the snow ceased, for the tracks are sharp,
and sat looking around. See the two long marks of his hind feet and in
front the two smaller prints of his front feet; behind is the mark made
by his tail, showing that he was sitting on it.
Then he had taken alarm at something and dashed off at speed (c), for
now his hind feet are tracking ahead of the front feet, as in most
bounding forefoots, and the faster he goes, the farther ahead those hind
feet get.
See now how he dodged about here and there, this way and that, among the
trees, as though trying to escape some dreaded enemy (c, d, e, f).
But what enemy? There are no other tracks, and still the wild jumping
went on.
I began to think that the Rabbit was crazy, flying from an imaginary
foe; possibly that I was on the track of a March Hare. But at "g" I
found on the trail for the first time a few drops of blood. That told me
that the Rabbit was in real danger but gave no clue to its source.
At "h" I found more blood and at "j" I got a new thrill, for there,
plain enough on each side of the Rabbit track, were finger-like marks,
and the truth dawned on me that these were the prints of great wings.
The Rabbit was fleeing from an eagle, a hawk, or an owl. Some twenty
yards farther "k" I found in the snow the remains of the luckless Rabbit
partly devoured. Then I knew that the eagle had not done it, for he
would have taken the Rabbit's body away, not eaten him up there. So it
must have been a hawk or an owl. I looked for something to tell me
which, and I got it. Right by the Rabbit's remains was the large
twin-toed track (l) that told me that an owl had been there, and that
therefore he was the criminal. Had it been a hawk the mark would have
been as shown in the left lower corner, three toes forward and one back,
whereas the owl usually sets his foot with two toes forward and two
backward, as in the sketch. This, then, I felt sure was the work of an
owl. But which owl? There were two, maybe three kinds in that valley. I
wished to know exactly and, looking for further evidence, I found on a
sapling near by a big soft, downy, owlish feather (m) with three brown
bars across it; which told me plainly that a Barred Owl or Hoot Owl had
been there recently, and that he was almost certainly the killer of the
Cottontail.
This may sound like a story of Sherlock Holmes among the animals--a
flimsy tale of circumstantial evidence. But while I was making my notes,
what should come flying through the woods but the Owl himself, back to
make another meal, no doubt. He alighted on a branch just above my head,
barely ten feet up, and there gave me the best of proof, next to eye
witness of the deed, that all I had gathered from the tracks and signs
in the snow was quite true.
I had no camera in those days, but had my sketch book, and as he sat, I
made a drawing which hangs to-day among my pictures that are beyond
price.
Here, then, is a chapter of wild life which no man saw, which man could
not have seen, for the presence of a man would have prevented it. And
yet we know it was true, for it was written by the Rabbit himself.
If you have the seeing eye, you will be able to read many strange and
thrilling happenings written for you thus in the snow, the mud, and even
the sand and the dust.
TALE 57
The Singing Hawk
Listen, Guide and young folk, I want to add another bird to your list
to-day; another secret of the woods to your learning.
I want you to know the Singing Hawk. Our nature writers nearly always
make their hawks scream, but I want you to know a wonderful Hawk, right
in your own woods, that really and truly sings, and loves to do it.
It is a long time ago since I first met him. I was going past a little
ravine north of Toronto, on a bright warm mid-winter day, when a loud
call came ringing down the valley and the bird that made it, a large
hawk, appeared, sailing and singing, _kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-o,
kee-ye-o, ky-ye-o, ky-oodle, ky-oodle, kee-o, kee-o_ and on; over and
over again, in a wild-wood tone that thrilled me. He sailed with set
wings to a near-by tree, and ceased not his stirring call; there was no
answer from the woods, but there was a vibrant response in my heart. It
moved me through and through. How could it do so much, when it was so
simple? I did not know how to tell it in words, but I felt it in my
boyish soul. It expressed all the wild-wood life and spirit, the joy of
living, the happy brightness of the day, the thrill of the coming
spring, the glory of flight; all, all it seemed to voice in its simple
ringing, "_kee-o, kee-o, kee-o, kee-yi-o_"; never before had I seen a
bird so evidently rejoicing in his flight; then singing, it sailed away
from sight; but the song has lingered ever since in the blessed part of
my memory. I often heard it afterward, and many times caught the
Blue-jay in a feeble imitation of its trumpet note. I never forgot the
exact timbre of that woodland call; so when at length, long after, I
traced it to what is known in books as the "Red-shouldered Hawk," it was
a little triumph and a little disappointment. The books made it all so
commonplace. They say it has a loud call like "kee-o"; but they do not
say that it has a bugle note that can stir your very soul if you love
the wild things, and voices more than any other thing on wings the glory
of flight, the blessedness of being alive.
To-day, as I write, is December 2, 1917; and this morning as I walked in
my homeland, a sailing, splendid hawk came pouring out the old refrain,
"_kee-yi-o, kee-yi-o, kee-oh_." Oh, it was glorious! I felt little
prickles in the roots of my hair as he went over; and I rejoiced above
all things to realize that he sang just as well as, yes maybe a little
better than that first one did, that I heard in the winter woods some
forty years ago.
TALE 58
The Fingerboard Goldenrod
"Oh, Mother Carey! All-mother! Lover of us little plants as well as the
big trees! Listen to us little slender Goldenrods.
"We want to be famous, Mother Carey, but our stems are so little and our
gold is so small, that we cannot count in the great golden show of
autumn, for that is the glory of our tall cousins. They do not need us,
and they do not want us. Won't you give us a little job all our own, our
very own, for we long to be doing something?"
[Illustration: The Compass Goldenrod Pointing Toward the North]
Then Mother Carey smiled so softly and sweetly and said: "Little slender
Goldenrods, I am going to give you something to do that will win you
great honour among all who understand. In the thick woods the moss on
the trunk shows the north side; when the tree is alone and in the open,
the north side is known by its few branches; but on the open prairie,
there is no plant that stands up like a finger post to point the north
for travellers, while the sun is hid."
"This, then do, little slender Goldenrods; face the noon sun, and as you
stand, throw back your heads proudly, for you are in service now. Throw
back your heads till your golden plumes are pointing backward to the
north--so shall you have an honourable calling and travellers will be
glad that I have made you a fingerboard on the plains."
So the slender Goldenrod and his brothers rejoiced and they stood up
straight, facing the noon sun, and bent backward, throwing out their
chests till their golden caps and plumes were pointed to the north.
And many a traveller, on cloudy days and dark nights, has been cheered
by the sight of the Compass Goldenrod, pointing to the north and helping
him to get home.
This does not mean that every one of them points to the north all the
time. They do their best but there are always some a little wrong. Yet
you can tell the direction at night or on dark days if you look at a bed
of them that grew out in full sunlight.
"Yon is the north," they keep on singing, all summer long, and even when
winter comes to kill the plant, and end its bloom, the brave little
stalk stands up there, in snow to its waist, bravely pointing out the
north, to those who have learned its secret. And not only in winter
storms, but I have even found them still on guard after the battle, when
the snow melted in springtime. Once when I was a boy, I found a whole
bank of them by a fence, when the snow went off in April, and I wrote
in their honour this verse:
Some of them bowed are, and broken
And battered and lying low
But the few that are left stand like spearmen staunch
Each pointing his pike at the foe.
TALE 59
Woodchuck Day, February Second Sixth Secret of the Woods
[Illustration: WOODCHUCK DAY: COLD WEATHER
"To be, or not to be"]
It was Monapini that told Ruth Pilgrim, and Ruth Pilgrim told the little
Pilgrims, and the little Pilgrims told the little Dutchmen, and the
little Dutchmen told it to all the little Rumours, and the grandchild of
one of these little Rumours told it to me, so you see I have it straight
and on good authority, this Sixth Secret of the Woods.
The story runs that every year the wise Woodchuck retires to sleep in
his cozy home off the subway that he made, when the leaves begin to
fall, and he has heard the warning. Mother Carey has sung the death-song
of the red leaves; sung in a soft voice that yet reaches the farthest
hills:
"Gone are the summer birds.
Hide, hide, ye slow-foots.
Hide, for the blizzard comes."
And Mother Earth, who is Maka Ina, cries to her own: "Come, hide in my
bosom, my little ones." And the wise Woodchuck waits not till the
blizzard comes, but hides while he may make good housing, and sleeps for
three long moons.
But ever on the second sun of the Hunger-moon (and this is the Sixth
Secret) he rouses up and ventures forth. And if so be that the sun is
in the sky, and the snow on the bosom of his Mother Earth, so that his
shadow shall appear on it, he goeth back to sleep again for one and a
half moons more--for six long weeks. But if the sky be dark with clouds
and the earth all bared of snow so that no shadow shows, he says, "The
blizzard time is over, there is food when the ground is bare," and ends
his sleep.
This is the tale and this much I know is true: In the North, if he
venture forth on Woodchuck Day, he sees both sun and snow, so sleeps
again; in the South there is no snow that day, and he sleeps no more;
and in the land between, he sleeps in a cold winter, and in an open
winter rouses to live his life.
These things I have seen, and they fit with the story of Monapini, so
you see the little Rumour told me true.
THINGS TO KNOW
[Illustration: How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story]
Things to Know
TALE 60
How the Pine Tree Tells Its Own Story
Suppose you are in the woods, and your woods in Canada, or the Northern
States; you would see at once two kinds of trees: Pines and Hardwoods.
Pines, or Evergreens, have leaves like needles, and are green all the
year round; they bear cones and have soft wood.
The Hardwoods, or Broadleaves, sometimes called Shedders, have broad
leaves that are shed in the fall; they bear nuts or berries and have
hard wood.
Remember this, every tree that grows has flowers and seeds; and the tree
can always be told by its seeds, that is, its fruit. If you find a tree
with cones on it, you know it belongs to the Pine family. If you find
one with broad leaves and nuts or berries, it belongs to the
Hardwoods.[C]
Of these the Pines always seem to me more interesting.
* * * * *
In September, 1002, I had a good chance to study Pine trees in the
mountains of Idaho. There was a small one that had to be cut down, so I
made careful drawings of it. It was fourteen years old, and across the
stump it showed one ring of wood for each year of growth, and a circle
of branches on the trunk for each year. Notice that between the
branches, the trunk did _not_ taper; it was an even cylinder, but got
suddenly smaller at each knot by the same amount of wood as was needed
by those branches for their wood.
If we begin in the centre of the stump, and at the bottom of the trunk,
we find that the little tree tells us its own story of its life and
troubles. Its first year, judging by the bottom section of the trunk
(No. 1) and by the inmost ring, was just ordinary. Next year according
to section 2 and ring 2, it had a fine season and grew nearly twice as
much as the first year. The third year the baby Pine had a very hard
time, and nearly died. Maybe it was a dry summer, so the little tree
grew only 2-1/2 inches higher while the ring of wood it added was no
thicker than a sheet of paper. Next year, the fourth, it did better. And
the next was about its best year, for it grew 7-1/2 inches higher, and
put on a fine fat ring of wood, as you see.
In its eleventh year, it had some new troubles; either the season was
dry, or the trees about too shady, or maybe disease attacked it. For it
grew but a poor shoot on the top, and the ring of wood on the stump is
about the thinnest of all.
Of course, a saw-cut along the second joint showed but thirteen rings,
and the third but twelve while one through the top joint, the one which
grew this year, showed but a single ring.
Thus the Pine tree has in itself a record of its whole life; and this is
easy to read when the tree is small; but in later life the lower limbs
disappear, and the only complete record is in the rings of growth that
show on the stump. These never fail to tell the truth.
Of course, you are not to go around cutting down trees merely to count
their rings and read their history, but you should look at the rings
whenever a new stump gives you a good chance. Then Hardwoods as well as
Pines will spread before you the chapters of their life; one ring for
each year that they have lived.
TALE 61
Blazes
All hunters and Indians have signs to let their people know the way.
Some of these signs are on trees, and are called "Blazes." One of those
much used is a little piece of bark chipped off to show the white wood;
it means: "This is the way, or the place." Another sign is like an
arrow, and means: "Over there," or "Go in that direction." No matter
what language they speak, the blazes tell everyone alike. So a blaze is
a simple mark that tells us something without using words or letters,
and it depends on where it is placed for part of its meaning.
On the following page are some blazes used in our towns to-day. You will
find many more if you look, some in books; some on the adjoining page.
TALE 62
Totems[D]
[Illustration: BLAZES.]
A Totem is a simple form used as the emblem or symbol of a man, a group
of men, an animal, or an idea; it does not use or refer to words or
letters, so it is the same in all languages. Unlike the blaze it does
not depend on its position for part of its meaning.
[Illustration: Some well known TOTEMS]
Among peoples that cannot read or write, each leading man had a Totem
that he used, instead of writing his name. He put this mark on his
property, and at length put it on his shield and armour to distinguish
him in battle. Out of this grew heraldry.
[Illustration: Indian Symbols]
Modern trade-marks are Totems though often spoiled by words or letters
added. The Totem continues in use because it is so easy to see a long
way off, and can be understood by all, no matter what their language.
Most of the great railway companies have a Totem and the use of such
things is increasing to-day.
Here in the drawing are some Totems seen daily in our towns. Doubtless
you can add to the number.
TALE 63
Symbols
If you have thought much about it, O Guide! you will surely find that,
for decoration, it is better to use a beautiful symbol of anything,
rather than a good photograph of it. For the symbol lets the imagination
loose, and the other chains it to the ground; the one is the spirit, and
the other the corpse. These things you cannot tell to the little folks,
but you can prove them to yourself, and you will see why I wish to give
some symbols here for use.
There is another reason, one which you _can_ give to them. It is this:
Only the highly trained artist can make a good portrait drawing, while
the smallest child, if it sticks to symbols, is sure, in some degree, of
a pleasant success in its very first effort.
These that I give, are copied from Indian art, and whether in colour, in
raised modelling, or in black lines, can be used successfully to
decorate anything that you are likely to make.
[Illustration: Seventeen Gestures Currently Used in the Sign Language]
TALE 64
Sign Language
All men, especially wild men, and some animals have a language of signs.
That is, they talk to each other without making any sounds; using
instead, the movements of parts of the body. This is "eye talk," while
words are "ear talk."
Among the animals, horses bob their heads when they are hungry and paw
with a front foot when thirsty or eager to be off. Dogs wag their tails
when pleased, and cows shake their heads when angry.
Policemen, firemen, railway men, and others use signs because there is
too much noise to be heard. School children use signs because they are
not allowed to talk in school. Most children know the signs for "yes"
and "no," "come here," "go away," "hurry up," "you can't touch me,"
"hush!", "shame on you!", "up," "down," "word of honour," "swimming,"
etc.
The traffic policeman is using signs all day long. By a movement of the
hand he signals:--stop, go on, come here, hurry up, wait, turn around,
go by, stay back, over there, you look out, right here, and one or two
others.
How many signs can you add to these two lists?
TALE 65
The Language of Hens
Yes; Hens talk somewhat as we do; only they haven't so many words, and
don't depend on them as we have to.
There are only ten words in ordinary hen-talk.
The _cluck, cluck_ of the mother means "Come along, kiddies."
The low _kawk_ of warning, usually for a hawk.
The _chuck, chuck_ of invitation means, "Good food."
The _tuk-ut-e-ah-tuk_ means, "Bless my soul, what is that?"
The _cut, cut, get your hair cut_, of a Hen that has just laid and is
feeling greatly relieved; no doubt, saying, "Thank goodness, that's
done!" or maybe it is a notice to her mate or friend that "Business is
over, let's have some fun. Where are you?"
The soft, long-drawn _tawk--tawk--tawk_, that is uttered as the Hen
strolls about, corresponds to the whistling of the small boy; that is,
it is a mere pastime, expressing freedom from fear or annoyance.
The long, harsh, _crauk, crauk_ of fear when captured.
The quick _clack, clack, clatter_ when springing up in fear of capture.
The _put, put_ of hunger.
And, of course, the _peep, peep_ of chickens and the
_cock-a-doodle-doo_, which is the song of the Rooster.
Some Hens may have more; but these given here are hen-talk for
mother-love, warning, invitation, surprise, exultation, cheerfulness,
fear, astonishment, and hunger. Not a bad beginning in the way of
language.
TALE 66
Why the Squirrel Wears a Bushy Tail
"Oh, Mother, look at that Gray Squirrel!" shouted Billie. "What a
beautiful bushy tail he has!" Then, after a pause he added, "Mother,
what is its tail for? Why is it so big and fluffy? I know a 'Possum has
a tail to hang on a limb with, and a Fish can swim with his tail, but
why is a Gray Squirrel's tail so bushy and soft?"
Alas! Mother didn't know, and couldn't tell where to find out. It was
long after, that little Billie got the answer to his childish, but
really important question. The Alligator may use his tail as a club, the
Horse, his tail as a fly-flapper, the Porcupine his tail as a spiked
war-club, the 'Possum his as a hooked hanger, the Fox his as a muffler,
the Fish his as a paddle; but the Gray Squirrel's tail is a parachute, a
landeasy. I have seen a Gray Squirrel fall fifty feet to the ground, but
his tail was in good condition; he spread it to the utmost and it landed
him safely right side up.
I remember also a story of a Squirrel that lost his tail by an accident.
It didn't seem to matter much for a while. The stump healed up, and the
Squirrel was pert as ever; but one day he missed his hold in jumping,
and fell to the ground. Ordinarily, that would have been a small matter;
but without his tail he was jarred so severely that a dog, who saw him
fall, ran up and killed him before he could recover and climb a tree.
TALE 67
Why a Dog Wags His Tail
There is an old story that the Dog said to the Cat: "Cat, you are a
fool; you growl when you are pleased and wag your tail when you are
angry." Which happens to be true; and makes us ask: Why does a Dog wag
his tail to mean friendship?
The fact is, it is part of a wig-wag code, which is doubly interesting
now that all our boys are learning wig-wagging with a white flag. We
think that our army people invented this method; but Woodcraft men know
better.
First, notice that any Dog that has any white on his body has at least a
little white on the end of his tail. This is well known; and the reason
is that the wild ancestor had a white brush on the end of his tail; a
white flag, indeed; and this was the flag of his signal code.
Suppose, then, that a wild Dog, prowling through the woods, sights some
other animal. Instantly he crouches; for it is good woodcraft to avoid
being seen and then watch from your hiding-place. As the stranger comes
near, the crouching Dog sees that it is one of his own kind, and that it
is needless to hide any longer; indeed, that it is impossible to remain
hidden. So the moment the stranger stops and looks at the crouching Dog,
the latter stands straight up on all fours, raises his tail up high, and
wags the white tip from side to side in the sign which means, "Let's be
friends."
Every Dog knows the sign, every Dog in every town does it yet; every boy
has seen it a thousand times. We flatter ourselves that we invented the
wig-wag code with our little white flag. Maybe so; but the Dog had it
long before we did.
TALE 68
Why the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before Lying Down
Yes, they all do it; the big St. Bernard, the foolish littlest lap Dog,
the ragged street Dog; give them bare boards, or a silken cushion, or
snow, three turns around and down they go.
Why? Not so hard to answer as some simple questions. Long, long ago, the
wild great-great-grandfather of the Dog--a yellow creature with black
hair sprinkled on his back, sharp ears, light spots over his eyes, and a
white tail-tip--used to live in the woods, or on the prairies. He did
not have a home to which he might return every time he wanted to rest
or sleep; so he camped wherever he found himself, on the plains, in a
thicket, or even in some hole in a rock; and he carried his bedclothes
on his back. But he always found it worth while to add a little comfort
by smoothing the grass, the leaves, the twigs, or the pebbles before
lying down; and the simplest way to do this was by curling up, and
turning round three times, with the body brushing the high grass or
pebbles into a comfortable shape for a bed.
Yes, and they all do it to-day just the same, big and little, which is
only one of the many proofs that they are descended from the same
wild-wood great-grandfather, and still remember his habits.
TALE 69
The Deathcup of Diablo
[Illustration: The Deathcup Toadstool]
The world went very well in those bright days of the long ago, when the
wedding of El Sol and Maka Ina set all living things rejoicing. Green
youth and sparkling happiness were everywhere. Only one there
was--Diablo--who found in it poor comfort. He had no pleasure in the
growing grass. The buttercups annoyed him with the gayness of their
gold. It was at this time he chewed their stalks, so that many ever
since have been flattened and mangled. And the cherry with its fragrant
bloom he breathed on with his poison breath, so its limbs were burnt and
blackened into horrid canker bumps. And poisonous froth he blew on the
sprouting rose leaves, so they blackened and withered away. The jewel
weed, friend of the humming birds, he trampled down, but it rose so many
times and so bravely, that he left the yellow dodder like an herb-worm,
or a root-born leech to suck its blood all summer long, and break it
down. Then to trail over the trunks of trees and suck their life, he
left the demon vine, the Poison Ivy with its touch of burning fire. He
put the Snapping Turtle in the beautiful lakes to destroy its harmless
creatures and the Yellow-eyed Whizz he sent, and the Witherbloom with
its breath of flame.
And last he made the Deathcup Toadstool, and sowed it in the woods.
He saw the Squirrels eating and storing up the sweet red russula. He saw
it furnish food to mice and deer, so he fashioned the Deathcup Amanita
to be like it; and scattered it wherever good mushrooms grew, a trap for
the unwary.
Tall and shapely is the Deathcup; beautiful to look upon and smelling
like a mushroom. But beware of it, a very little is enough, a morsel of
the cup; the next night or maybe a day later the poison pangs set in.
Too late perhaps for medicine to help, and Amanita, the Deathcup, the
child of Diablo, has claimed another victim.
How shall we know the deadly Amanita among its kindly cousins, the good
mushrooms? Wise men say by these:--The poison cup from which its
springs; the white kid collar on its neck; the white or yellow gills;
and the white spores that fall from its gills if the cup, without the
stem, be laid gills down on a black paper for an hour.
By these things we may know the wan Demon of the woods, but the wisest
Guides say to their tribe:--"Because death lurks in that shapely
mushroom, though there are a hundred good for food, they are much alike,
and safety bids you shun them; let them all alone."
So Diablo went on his way rejoicing because he had spoiled so much good
food for good folk.
This, the danger of the Deathcup, is the Seventh Secret of the Woods.
[Illustration: The Poison Ivy]
TALE 70
Poison Ivy or the Three-Fingered Demon of the Woods
You have been hearing about good fairies and good old Mother Carey and
Medicine in the Sky. Now I am going to warn you against the
three-fingered Demon, the wicked snakevine that basks on stone walls and
climbs up the tree trunk, and does more harm than all the other plants,
vines, trees, and bushes put together; for it is not like the Deathcup,
easy to see and easy to let alone.
This is the Poison Ivy. Does it not look poisonous as it crawls
snake-like up some trunk, sending suckers out into the tree to suck the
sap; and oozing all over its limbs with poison in tiny wicked little
drops? Sometimes it does not climb but crawls on the ground, but by this
ye may always know it: It has only three fingers on its hand; that is,
only three leaflets on each stalk.
The one thing that looks like it, is the Boston Ivy, but that does not
grow in the woods, and the Poison Ivy leaf always has the little bump
and bite out on the side of the leaf as you see in the drawing.
It is known and feared for its power to sting and blister the skin when
it is handled or even touched. The sting begins with an unpleasant
itching which gets worse, especially if rubbed, until it blisters and
breaks open with sores which are very hard to heal.
The cause of the sting is a blistering oil, which is found in tiny drops
on all parts of the leaf and branches; it is a fixed oil; that is, it
will not dry up, and as long as it is on the skin, it keeps on burning
and blistering, worse and worse.
THE CURE
And this is the cure for the sting of the Demon Vine:--
Anything that will dissolve and remove oil without injuring the skin:--
Hot water, as hot as you can stand it, is good; a little salt in it
helps.
Hot soapy water is good.
Hot water with washing soda is good.
A wash of alcohol is good.
But best of all is a wash of strong alcohol in which is a little sugar
of lead as an antiseptic.
* * * * *
The Guide should remember that three persons out of five are immune from
Poison Ivy, while a few are so sensitive that they are poisoned by flies
carrying it to them on their feet. It can be easily cured if treated at
once; if neglected it often becomes very bad and may need the help of a
doctor.
This is the Eighth Secret of the Woods.
TALE 71
The Medicine in the Sky
This is one of the greatest and best secrets of Woodcraft--The Medicine
in the Sky.
Let me tell you a story about it. There was once an Indian who left his
own people, to live with the white man, in the East. But the Great
Spirit was displeased, for he did not mean the Indian to live in houses
or cities. After a year, the red man came back very thin and sick,
coughing nearly all night, instead of sleeping. He believed himself
dying.
The wise old Medicine Man of his tribe said, "You need the Medicine of
the Sky." He took it and got quite well and strong.
Another Indian, who had gone to visit with a distant tribe of red men,
came back with some sickness on his skin that made it very sore. It was
far worse than Poison Ivy, for it began to eat into his flesh. The
Medicine Man said, "Sky Medicine will cure you." And it did.
One day a white man, a trader, came with chest protectors to sell to the
Indians. He was sure they needed them, because he did; and, although so
well wrapped up, he was always cold. He suffered whenever the wind blew.
The old Medicine Man said, "We don't need your chest pads, and you would
not if you took the Sky Medicine." So the trader tried it, and by and
by, to his surprise and joy, no matter whether it was hot or cold
outdoors, he was comfortable.
This man had a friend who was a learned professor in a college, and he
told him about the great thing he had learned from the old Indian. The
professor was not old, but he was very sick and feeble in body. He could
not sleep nights. His hair was falling out, and his mind filled with
gloomy thoughts. The whole world seemed dark to him. He knew it was a
kind of disease, and he went away out West to see his friend. Then he
met the Medicine Man and said to him, "Can you help me?"
The wise old Indian said, "Oh, white man, where do you spend your days?"
"I spend them at my desk, in my study, or in the classroom."
"Yes, and your nights?"
"In my study among my books."
"And where do you sleep?"
"I don't sleep much, though I have a comfortable bed."
"In the house?"
"Yes, of course."
"Listen, then, O foolish white man. The Great Spirit set Big Medicine in
the sky to cure our ills. And you hide from it day and night. What do
you expect but evil? This do and be saved. Take the Sky Medicine in
measure of your strength."
He did so and it saved him. His strength came back. His cheeks grew
ruddy, his hands grew steady, his hair ceased falling out, he slept like
a baby. He was happy.
Now what is the Sky Medicine? It is the glorious sunlight, that cures so
many human ills. We ask every Woodcrafter to hold on to its blessings.
* * * * *
And in this wise, O Guide, you must give it to the little ones. Make it
an honourable exploit to be sunburnt to the elbows without blistering;
another to be sunburnt to the shoulders; another to the waist; and
greatest of all, when sunburnt all over. How are they to get this? Let
them go to some quiet place for the last, and let the glory fall on
their naked bodies, for ten minutes each day. Some more, and some less,
according to their strength, and this is the measure--so long as it is
pleasant, it is good.
In this way they will inherit one of the good things of the woods and be
strong and hardened, for there is no greater medicine than the Sun in
the sky.
TALE 72
The Angel of the Night
O Guide of the young Tribe! Know you the Twelfth Secret of the Woods?
Know you what walked around your tent on that thirtieth night of your
camp out? No! I think you knew, if you continued for thirty nights, but
you knew not that you knew. These things, then, you should have in
heart, and give to those you are leading.
The Great Spirit does not put out good air in the daytime and poison air
at night. It is the same pure air at night, only cooler. Therefore use
more clothing while you sleep. But while the outdoor air is pure, the
indoor may be foul. Therefore sleep out of doors, and you will learn the
blessedness of the night, and the night air, with its cooling kindly
influence laden.
Those who come here to our Camp from life in town and sleeping in close
rooms, are unaccustomed, and nervous it may be, so that they sleep
little at first. But each night brings its balm of rest. Strength comes.
Some know it in a week. The town-worn and nerve-weary find it at
farthest in half a moon. And in one full moon be sure of this, when the
night comes down you will find the blessed balm that the Great Spirit
meant for all of us. You will sleep, a calm sweet vitalizing sleep.
You will know this the twelfth secret of the woods: What walked around
your tent that thirtieth night? You know not, you heard nothing, for you
slept. Yet when the morning comes you feel and know that round your
couch, with wings and hands upraised in blessed soothing influence,
there passed the Angel of the Night, with healing under her wings, and
peace. You saw her not, you heard her not, but the sweet healing of her
presence will be with you for many after moons.
FOOTNOTES:
[C] The Guide will note that there are rare exceptions to these rules.
[D] The Guide will remember that Totemism and Tabuism were ideas which
grew up long after the use of Totems began.
THINGS TO DO
[Illustration: Nests of Kingbird, Oriole, Vireo, Robin, Goldfinch,
Phoebe (1/4 life size)]
Things to Do
TALE 73
Bird-nesting in Winter
What good are old bird-nests? These are some of the ends they serve. A
Deermouse seeking the safety of a bramble thicket and a warm house, will
make his own nest in the forsaken home of a Cat-bird. A Gray Squirrel
will roof over the open nest of a Crow or Hawk and so make it a castle
in the air for himself. But one of the strangest uses is this: The
Solitary Sandpiper is a bird that cannot build a tree nest for itself
and yet loves to give to its eggs the safety of a high place; so it lays
in the old nest of a Robin, or other tree bird, and there its young are
hatched. But this is only in the Far North. There are plenty of old
bird-nests left for other uses, and for you.
Bird-nesting in summer is wicked, cruel, and against the law. But
bird-nesting in winter is good fun and harms no one, if we take only the
little nests that are built in forked twigs, or on rock ledges. For most
little birds prefer to make a new nest for themselves each season.
If you get: A Goldfinch, floss nest;
A Phoebe, moss nest;
A Robin, mud nest;
A Vireo, good nest;
A Kingbird, rag nest;
An Oriole, bag nest;
you have six different kinds of beautiful nests that are easily kept
for the museum, and you do no harm in taking them.
TALE 74
The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite
[Illustration: The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite]
Do you know that "Daisy" means "day's eye," because the old country
Daisy opens its eyes when day comes, and shuts them every night. But our
Daisy is different and much bigger, so we have got into the way of
calling it "Ox-eye." Some of our young people call it "Love-me;
love-me-not," because they think it can tell if one is loved. They pull
out the white rays of the flower one by one, saying, "He loves me; he
loves me not; he loves me; he loves me not." Then what they are saying
as the last is pulled, settles the question. If the Daisy says "He loves
me," they take a second Daisy and ask the next question, "Will he marry
me?" Then, pulling the rays as before, "This year, next year, some time,
never." And in this way they learn all that the Daisies know about these
important matters.
We call it "our Daisy," but it is not a true native of America. Its home
is Europe. The settlers of New England, missing the flower of their
homeland, brought it over and planted it in their gardens. It spread
widely in the North; but it did not reach the South until the time of
the Civil War, when it is said to have gone in with the hay for
Sherman's Army, to become a troublesome weed in the fields.
* * * * *
This scrap of history is recorded in a popular ballad.
There's a story told in Georgia
'Tis in everybody's mouth,
That 'twas old Tecumseh Sherman
Brought the Daisy to the South.
Ne'er that little blossom stranger
In our land was known to be,
Till he marched his blue-coat army
From Atlanta to the sea.
[Illustration: The Monkeys in the Tree Tops]
TALE 75
A Monkey-hunt
We all love to go a-hunting; every one of us in some way; and it is only
the dislike of cruelty and destruction that keeps most of us from
hunting animals continually, as our forebears did.
Some of my best days were spent in hunting. The Arabs say, "Allah
reckons not against a man's allotted span the days he spends in the
chase."
I hope that I may help many of you to go a-hunting, and to get the good
things of it, with the bad things left out.
Come! Now it is the spring of the year, and just the right time for a
Monkey-hunt. We are going prowling along the brookside where we are
pretty sure of finding our game. "See, there is a Monkey tree and it is
full of the big Monkeys!"
"What! That pussy-willow?"
Yes, you think they are only pussy-willows, but wait until you see. We
shall take home a band of the Monkeys, tree and all, and you will learn
that a pussy-willow is only a baby Monkey half done.
Now let us get a branch of live elderberry and one or two limbs of the
low red sumac. It is best to use sumac because it is the only handy wood
that one can easily stick a pin through, or cut. The pieces should be
five or six inches long and about half an inch to an inch thick. They
should have as many odd features as possible, knots, bumps, fungus,
moss, etc.; all of which add interest to the picture.
To these we must add a lot of odd bits of dry cane, dry grasses, old
flower-stalks, moss, and gravel, etc., to use for background and
foreground in the little jungle we are to make for our Monkeys to play
in. It is delightful to find the new interest that all sorts of queer
weeds take on, when we view them as canes or palms for our little
jungle.
Now with the spoils of our hunt, let us go home and preserve the
trophies.
Cut off about three inches of the elderberry wood and have it clear of
knots; cut a flat ended ramrod so as just to fit the bore, and force out
the pith with one clean sharp push: or else whittle away the surrounding
wood. The latter way gives a better quality of pith.
Now take a piece of the pith about one-third the size of a big
pussy-willow, use a very sharp knife and you will find it easy to
whittle it into a Monkey's head about the shape of "a" and "b."
Use a very sharp-pointed, soft black pencil to make the eyes, nose, the
line for the mouth and the shape of the ears; or else wait till the pith
is _quite dry_, then use a fine pen with ink.
If you are skilful with the knife you may cut the ears so that they hang
as in "d."
Stick an ordinary pin right down through the crown of the head into a
big pussy-willow that will serve as a body (e). If you glue the head on
it is harder to do, but it keeps the body from being mussed up. Cut two
arms of the pith (ff) and two feet (gg), drawing the lines for the
fingers and toes, with the sharp black pencil, or else ink as before.
Cut a long, straight pointed piece of pith for a tail, dip it in boiling
water, then bend it to the right shape "h."
Cut a branch of the sumac so that it is about four inches high, and of
the style for a tree; nail this on a block of wood to make it stand.
Sometimes it is easier to bore a hole in the stand and wedge the branch
into that.
Set the Monkey on the limb by driving the pin into it as at "i," or else
glueing it on; and glue on the limbs and tail. Sometimes a little wad
of willow-down on the Monkey's crown is a great help. It hides the pin.
Now set this away for the glue to harden.
Meanwhile take an ordinary cigar box about two inches deep, line it with
white paper pasted in; or else paint it with water colour in Chinese
white. Colour the upper part sky colour; the lower, shaded into green,
getting very dark on the bottom. Lay a piece of glass or else a scrap of
an old motor-car window-isinglass on the bottom, and set in a couple of
tacks alongside to hold it; this is for a pool.
Make a mixture of liquid glue, one part; water, five parts; then stir in
enough old plaster of Paris, whitening, or even fine loam to make a soft
paste. Build banks of this paste around the pool and higher toward the
back sides. Stick the tree, with its stand and its Monkeys, in this, to
one side; dust powder or rotten wood over the ground to hide its
whiteness; or paint it with water colours.
Use all the various dry grasses, etc., to form a jungle; sticking them
in the paste, or glueing them on.
And your jungle with its Monkeys is complete.
* * * * *
Many other things may be used for Monkeys. I have seen good ones made of
peanuts, with the features inked on, and a very young black birch catkin
for tail. Beautiful birds also can be made by using a pith body and
bright feathers or silks glued on for plumes. The pith itself is easily
coloured with water colours.
You will be delighted to see what beautiful effects you can get by use
of these simple wild materials, helped with a little imagination.
And the end of the Monkey-hunt will be that you have learned a new kind
of hunting, with nothing but pleasant memories in it, and trophies to
show for proof.
[Illustration: The Horsetail and the Jungle]
TALE 76
The Horsetail and the Jungle
Long, long ago, millions of years ago, this world was much hotter than
it is now. Yes, in mid-winter it was hotter than it is now in
mid-summer. Over all Pennsylvania there were huge forests of things that
looked a little like palms, but some looked like pipes with joints, and
had wheels of branches or limb wheels at every joint. They were as tall
as some palms, and grew in swamps.
When one of those big joint-wheels fell over, it sank into the mud and
was forgotten. So at last the swamp was filled up solid with their
trunks.
Then for some unknown reason all the big joint-trees died, and the sand,
mud, and gravel levelled off the swamp. There they lay, and slowly
become blacker and harder under the mud, until they turned into coal.
That is what we burn to-day, the trunks of the wheel-jointed swamp
trees. But their youngest great-grandchild is still with us, and shows,
in its small way, what its great ancestors were like.
You will find it along some railway bank, or in any damp woods. Country
people who know it, call it Joint Grass or Horsetails; the books call it
Equisetum. The drawing will show you what to look for.
Gather a handful and take them home. Then get some of the moss known as
ground-pine, a small piece of glass (the Guide should see that the edges
of the glass are well rubbed with a stone, to prevent cutting the
fingers), a cigar box, and white paste or putty, as in the Monkey-hunt.
Make a pool with the glass, and banks around it of the paste. Now cover
these banks with the ground pine; using a little glue on the under side
of each piece, but leave an open space without moss at the back, near
the pool. Take a pointed stick and make holes through the moss into the
clay or putty, and in each hole put one of the Horsetails, cutting it
off with scissors if too tall for the top, till you have a thicket of
these stems on each side; only make more on one side than on the other.
* * * * *
Now for the grand finish. You must make an extinct monster. Get half a
walnut shell; cut a notch at one end where the neck will be; fill the
shell with putty; stick in wooden pegs for legs, tail, and head. The
central stalk of a tulip-tree fruit makes a wonderful sculptured tail;
the unopened buds of dogwood do for legs, also cloves have been used.
Any nobby stick serves for head if you make eyes and teeth on it.
When dry this makes a good extinct monster. Set it on the far bank of
the water, and you have a jungle, the old Pennsylvania jungle of the
days when the coal was packed away.
TALE 77
The Woods in Winter
