Chapter 5

"The reward was that Mal-sum by his magic power should grant whatever the beaver might ask. So the beaver asked that he might have wings like a wood dove. But Mal-sum only laughed at him. 'Wings for you!' he chuckled; 'you, who have nothing to do but paddle about in the mud and eat bark! what need have you of wings? Besides, how would you with that flat tail of yours look with wings!'

"Now you may be sure that the beaver was angry at being thus made sport of. So he went straightway to Gloos-cap and told him that Mal-sum had found out his secret.

"'Now,' said Gloos-cap to himself, 'I must needs slay him. He does naught but evil in the world, and I have not yet finished the good work which the Master of Life sent me to do.' That night he arose and, talking a fern-root, smote the wicked Mal-sum on the head so that he died.

"Now Gloos-cap knew that Mee-ko the Red Squirrel had tempted his brother to try to slay him, and since Mee-ko was so large and of such an evil temper, lie feared that he would do much harm. So meeting Mee-ko one day in the woods, he said, 'Tell me, what would you do if you should see a man?'

"'If I should see a man,' answered Mee-ko, 'I would dig up the trees of the forest, so that they would fall upon and slay him. Then I would feast upon his dead body.'

"'You are too large and too wicked,' said Gloos-cap. 'I fear I cannot change your temper, but I can your size,' So he passed his hands over the big red squirrel's back, and behold, he shrunk and shriveled until he became small, even as small as he is at this day. But his temper remained almost as bad as before. Even to-day, he can scarcely see any creature without scolding and saying bad words."

XX. LITTLE LUKE AND MOTHER MIT-CHEE THE RUFFLED PARTRIDGE

Up in the woods on the side of the mountain Mother Mit-chee the Ruffled Partridge built her nest, close beside the trail. It was nothing but a little hollow in the ground, lined with leaves.

It was in plain sight and you would have supposed that anyone going along the trail would have seen it. But they didn't. Old John the Indian and Sam the hired man passed it a dozen times and never noticed it. Even Old Boze did not find it, although he followed Sam up and down the trail many times.

You see, Mother Mit-chee knew enough to sit perfectly still, and her mottled feathers blended so exactly with the tree trunks and the dead leaves about her that only the sharp eyes of the Finder of the Magic Flower ever found her out.

Little Luke saw her one day as he was walking up the trail beside Sam the hired man, and with Old Boze following at his heels. But he went right on by, as if he had not seen Mother Mit-chee at all. He did not want Sam or Old Boze to see her, for he knew they could not be trusted. They would be almost sure to try to kill Mother Mit-chee, or at the very least, they would rob her nest.

The next morning the little boy went up the trail alone, to pay Mother Mit-chee a visit. "Good morning, Mother Mit-chee," said he, "I saw you yesterday, but Sam and Old Boze didn't, and I wouldn't tell them."

"I knew you saw me," replied Mother Mit-chee, "and I knew you wouldn't tell. You are too kind-hearted for that, especially since you found the Magic Flower and learned the animal talk. We all trust you. You may come to see me as often as you like, but be careful not to leave any trail near my nest. I don't want Old Boze nosing around here. And when you come along with any of the house people, just go right by and don't look this way. I am more afraid of Old John the Indian than of anyone else. He looked right at me the other day and I was sure he saw me. I was scared, I tell you. I was all ready to fly away. But he didn't see me. If he had, I never should have seen my eggs again."

"All right," said the little boy, "I'll do just as you say." And after some more talk, he went on up the trail to visit some of his other friends among the wild folk.

Many times during the days that followed the little boy stopped and talked with the Mother Partridge. "If you will come to-morrow," said she, one day, "I'll show you as fine a brood of partridge chicks as anyone could wish to see."

"I'll be sure to come," answered the little boy, "for I want to see them very much."

As he came up the next day, Mother Mit-chee stepped off her nest. "There," said she, "there they are. Now aren't they fine ones?"

The little boy looked. In the nest there were a dozen of the daintiest, downiest, little creatures he had ever seen. They were scarcely bigger than an acorn. "They surely are a fine brood," said he. "Aren't you afraid that something will catch them?"

"Of course I am afraid. I'm always afraid." said Mother Mit-chee, "but the creature that catches them will have to be pretty sharp. I know a trick or two that will fool most of the wild folk, and the house people as well. You come up to-morrow and I'll show you. They are pretty young now, and I don't want to disturb them unless I have to."

The next day the little boy found the nest empty. He looked carefully about for Mother Mit-chee and her brood. Suddenly something rose almost from under his feet, and whizzed off through the wood. There was a sound like an explosion, followed by thunder, which scared the little boy so that he jumped. But he saw that it was only Mother Mit-chee, and he had seen her do that before.

He knew that the chicks were near at hand, and looked around carefully for them.

Pretty soon Mother Mit-chee sailed around through the woods and dropped to the ground but a little way from the boy. She seemed to have been hurt, badly hurt. One wing dragged as if it was broken, and she limped sadly.

"Ha, ha," laughed the little boy, "you can't fool me with that trick. You needn't keep it up any longer, I shan't follow you. I know that you are not hurt at all. Old John told me all about it. He told me that he saw you playing that very trick on Kee-wuks the Red Fox only the other day."

"Well, well!" said Mother Mit-chee. "Did Old John see that? I didn't know he was anywhere about. Yes," she went on. "Kee-wuks thought he had me that time. I let him get close up. Then he jumped for me; but when he landed where I was, I wasn't there! If I hadn't made him believe he could catch me he might have found my chicks."

"Well," said Little Luke, "I heard Sam say that no one could find a young partridge chick, but I'm going to try it. You know since I found the Magic Flower my eyes are sharper than those of any of the other house people."

"All right," said Mother Mit-chee, "I'll call them out. I'm afraid if you walk around there, you'll step on them; they're right around your feet." And she began calling to the chicks. "Kreet, kreet, come out, come out, right away," she called.

Right before little Luke a dead leaf that was curled up seemed to come to life, but it wasn't really the leaf. It was the partridge chick that had squatted upon it that moved. Just before him, little Luke saw a tiny bunch under the dead leaves. He reached down and seized it, but very carefully. It was another one of the chicks. And the ground about him seemed alive with the little ones as they came out at their mother's call.

"Well done," said Mother Mit-chee, "your eyes certainly are good. But handle him carefully. Don't squeeze too tight. There now, you've hurt him!" (The little one was peeping as if in pain.)

Little Luke set him very carefully on the ground. "Don't worry," said he, "he isn't hurt, he's only a little scared."

"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "I must take these babies of mine down to the spring and teach them how to drink. They have never tasted water yet."

"Kreet, kreet, come along, come along," called Mother Mit-chee.

"Peep, peep, we're coming, we're coming, mother," said the little ones. And they all started down the mountainside toward the spring.

It took a good while to get there, for the chicks were young, and their little legs so short and so weak that Mother Mit-chee had to wait for them a good many times. But it was a pretty sight. The yellow, downy, little fellows marched along boldly behind their mother. Sometimes she would go on a little way ahead. Then she would stop and call, "Kreet, kreet, come along, children," and the little fellows would race to see who could catch up first.

Some of them were not so strong as others, and at times they would squat upon the ground to rest. Mother Mit-chee would wait as long as she thought proper, and then tell them to "come along." And away they would go down the mountainside.

At last they reached the spring. The little ones had never seen water before, and did not know what to do. But Mother Mit-chee took a drop of clear, cold water in her bill, and raised her head before she swallowed it. Each chick copied her motion exactly. It was fun for the little boy to watch them. Nearly the whole dozen would clip their little bills into the water at once, and raise their heads to swallow it, as they had seen their mother do.

"Mother Mit-chee," said the little boy, after they had all finished drinking, "what makes you raise your head before you swallow the water?"

"Oh," said Mother Mit-chee, "that is our way of giving thanks to the Master of Life for the cool, sweet water. Our family learned to do it a long time ago, and we have always done it since."

"That sounds as if there might be a story about it," said the little boy, who was always on the watch for stories.

"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "there is a story about it."

XXI. WHY THE FEATHERED FOLK RAISE THEIR HEADS WHEN THEY DRINK

"A long time ago," she went on, "there came a summer when no rain fell for many weeks. As you know, all the feathered folk can get along pretty well if there are only dew-drops to drink. But after a time there was no dew, and even the grass withered and died.

"All the feathered tribes suffered terribly from thirst. At last they gathered together in a great council, and asked the Master of Life to take pity on them in their sad state. He heard their prayer, and sent the angel who cares for the wild folk to speak to them.

"'The Master of Life,' said he, 'has seen your sufferings and heard your prayers. He is merciful and kind, and has given orders to the Angel of the Rain Clouds to supply your needs. Look!' said he, pointing to the west. All the feathered folk looked, and behold, in the distance, the dark Rain Clouds were already flying toward them, driven by the breath of the Angel of the Winds.

"Soon the rain began to fall, the grass, the flowers, and the trees revived, the springs were filled, and the sweet murmur of running water was again heard in the brooks and rivers. The wild folk drank and were refreshed.

"Before the Angel of the Wild Folk departed, he said, 'From this time on forever when you drink, you must raise your head as a token of thankfulness to the Master of Life who has sent you the refreshing rain.'

"If you watch them, you will notice that all the feathered folk show their gratitude to the Master of Life in the same way."

XXII. LITTLE LUKE AND FATHER MIT-CHEE

"Where is Father Mit-chee?" asked the little boy of the Mother Partridge, one day.

"I don't know," she answered; "I haven't seen him since I began to sit."

"Well," said the little boy, "I think he's a mean, lazy scamp, to go off and leave you to take care of the family alone."

"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "it would be rather nice to have some help. I feel a bit lonesome sometimes, especially when I notice how kind Father O-loo-la is to his wife and family. But it isn't the custom in our family. The fathers leave the mothers to take care of the family. They never come near us until their children are able to take care of themselves. I've taught these youngsters of mine what to eat and where to find it. They have learned to fly pretty well, and taken some lessons in whirring, so that they can frighten their enemies. I wouldn't be surprised to see Father Mit-chee any day. Why, there he is now! I can tell his drumming any time."

The little boy listened. Far off in the distance he heard thump!--thump!--thump!--thump!--thr-r-r-r-r-r!

"Let's go and meet him," said Mother Mit-chee. "He doesn't know you, so I'll go ahead. Then he won't be frightened."

So they went through the woods, Mother Mit-chee in the lead, till they came in sight of the Father Partridge. He was standing on a fallen log and drumming. Just how he did it the little boy could not tell. He flapped his wings like a rooster, and seemed to beat the log or his own sides. As the little boy watched him, he thought that perhaps the sound was made by Father Mit-chee's wings striking together over his back. When he saw Mother Mit-chee coming, he walked up and down the log very proudly. Then he stopped and drummed louder than ever.

"Well," said Mother Mit-chee, "so you've come back at last, have you? Here are your children. Don't they look as if I had taken good care of them?"

"Why, yes," replied Father Mit-chee, "they're looking pretty well. I've heard of you several times, and knew that you were getting along all right. But who's that over yonder?" he asked, as he caught sight of Little Luke.

"Oh," answered Mother Mit-chee, "you've heard of him before. He's the boy who found the Magic Flower, and learned the animal talk."

That was the way little Luke came to know Father Mit-chee.

XXIII. THE STORY OF THE FIRST PARTRIDGE

"Father Mit-Chee," said little Luke one day as the two were sitting together on the drumming log, "can't you tell me a story?"

"Why, yes," said Father Mit-chee, "I suppose I might, I might tell you the story of the first partridge."

Long, long ago an Indian was hunting in the woods. As he went along, he heard a noise as of people jumping and dancing on hard ground. "That is queer," said he to himself. "I will go and see what is going on."

So he turned his steps in the direction of the sound, and went on through the forest swiftly but silently. Though at the first the noise had seemed to come from a place near at hand, it was a long time before he came in sight of the dancers. They were a man and a woman, and they were jumping and dancing about a tree, in the top of which was Hes-puns the Raccoon.

Now all three of them, the raccoon as well as the man and woman, were magicians. The man and the woman were enemies to the other, and as their magic was stronger than his, he had turned himself into a raccoon to escape them.

The hunter did not know this. He went toward them, and as he drew near, he saw that the dancers had worn a ditch waist-deep about the tree.

He went up to them and asked them why they did this strange thing.

Now the man and the woman did not want the hunter to know the truth of the matter. So they said, "We are trying to wear away the earth from the root of this tree, so that we can get it down and catch Hes-puns, We are hungry and we have no tomahawk."

"Well," said the hunter, "I have a good tomahawk and I will cut down the tree for you. But you must give me the skin of Hes-puns."

They agreed to this, and the hunter soon brought the tree to the ground. They caught the raccoon and killed and skinned him. Then they gave the skin to the hunter, who went home.

A few days after this, the hunter saw a stranger coming toward his lodge. On his head he wore a strange kind of cap which looked like a small wigwam. When the hunter went out to meet him, the stranger took off his cap and set it upon the ground. At once it grew larger and larger until it became a beautiful lodge with several fine rooms in it.

The hunter was greatly amazed, but invited the stranger into his own lodge and set food before him. While eating, the visitor chanced to see the pelt of Hes-puns hanging on one of the lodge poles.

Now he was a magician and the brother of the one who had turned himself into a raccoon. As soon as he saw the skin, he knew it by certain marks to be the skin of his brother, and supposed that the hunter had killed him. So he thought, how he might be revenged upon him.

"That is a fine pelt you have there," said he to the hunter. "I should like to buy it."

"Yes," replied the hunter, "it is a fine one, but I do not care to sell it."

"I will give you more than it is worth," said the magician. And he offered everything that he had except his magic wigwam.

"No, I do not care to sell it," answered the hunter to each new offer. But finally, he said, "If you will give me that fine lodge of yours, you may have the skin."

"It's a bargain," said the magician; "the lodge is yours. But you must keep me overnight. We will sleep in your new lodge, which is much finer and better furnished than this."

"Very well," replied the hunter, "but you must show me how to carry my new lodge upon my head as you did."

"Oh, that is easy," returned the magician, "you just pick it up and put it on your head. Come out and try it now."

The hunter went out and picked up the lodge and put it upon his head. He found he could carry it easily, for it was as light as a wicker basket.

When he put it upon the ground, it at once grew as large as before. So the hunter and his wife and the stranger went into the lodge. Its new owner was greatly pleased with it. It contained several large rooms, in one of which was a very fine bed covered with a white bear skin. On that bed the hunter and his wife lay down to sleep, while the stranger found a bed in another room.

In the morning when the hunter and his wife awoke, they were more delighted than ever with their new lodge. It seemed large and airy, and from the beams high above their heads hung all kinds of things good to eat. There were ducks and geese, rabbits and venison, ears of corn, and bags of maple sugar.

In their joy, the man and his wife sprang out of bed and made a jump toward the dainties. At once the white bear skin melted and ran away, for it was nothing but the snow of winter. At the same time, their arms spread out into wings, and they flew up to the food, which was only the early buds of the birch tree on which they hung. For the magician had cast a spell upon the man and the woman and they had become partridges and had been sheltering themselves from the storms of winter under a snowdrift, after the manner of their kind, and now came forth to greet the pleasant spring.

And these two were the first partridges, the foreparents of all the partridges that are now in the world.

"That is a strange story," said the little boy. "I thank you for telling it. But now I must go home. Good-bye for to-day."

XXIV. WHY PARTRIDGES DRUM

A few days later little Luke went up into the woods again. As he walked along the trail, he heard Father Mit-chee drumming. He knew where the drumming log was, so he went over to it and sat down on one end.

"Father Mit-chee," said he, when the old partridge had finished, "I noticed a queer thing about your drumming. One day I heard Old John pounding on a canoe he was building. At a distance your drumming sounded just like his pounding. Why was that?"

"Well," said Father Mit-chee, "I suppose it was because Grandfather Mit-chee, the first partridge, was a canoe builder. When he stopped building canoes he kept up his drumming."

"Tell me about it, please," said the little boy.

"All right,' said Father Mit-chee, and he began this story.

* * * * *

"In the olden days, Mit-chee the Partridge was the canoe builder for all the birds. Once upon a time they all came together on the bank of the river, and each one got into his own bark. Truly that was a fine sight to see!

"Kit-chee the Great Eagle paddled off first, using the ends of his broad wings. After him went Ko-ko-ka the Owl; Kusk the Crane; Wee-so-wee the Bluebird; and Chip-sis the Blackbird. Even tiny A-la-moo the Humming Bird had a neat little boat. But his wings were so small that Mit-chee had made for him a dainty little paddle. Some of the birds thought it rather too large, for it was almost an inch long. So the fleet of canoes stood bravely out to sea, and after a pleasant voyage returned safely to land.

"Now the partridge had not taken part in the voyage, for he had built no canoe for himself. 'It's great sport,' said the other birds, on their return. 'Why didn't you build a canoe for yourself?' But Mit-chee only looked wise and drummed upon the log on which he was sitting, and the sound was the sound of one making a canoe.'

"But the birds kept asking him to build a canoe for himself and join them. At last he remarked that he was about to do so, and that when he had finished it, it would be a wonder, something new such as no eye had ever before beheld.

"Then he went off into the woods by himself and was seen no more for several days. When he came back, he invited all the birds to come and see his wonderful canoe,--one he had built for himself on an entirely new plan.

"Now Mit-chee had reasoned that if a boat having two ends could be rowed in two ways, one which was all ends (that is, round) could be rowed in every direction. So he had made a canoe exactly like a nest, perfectly round. When the honest feathered folk saw this, they were greatly amazed and wondered that so simple a thing had not occurred to all of them.

"But when Mit-chee got into his new canoe and began to paddle, their wonder turned into amusement, for he made no headway at all. However hard he worked, the canoe simply turned round and round.

"After wearying himself, and all in vain, he went ashore, and flew off far inland. There he hid himself for shame under the low bushes in the woods, and there he has lived ever since. But at certain seasons, when he thought no one was looking, he would get upon a dead log and drum with his wings, and the sound was like the sound which he used to make when he was building canoes.

"And so his children have always done since that day."

XXV. MOTHER WA-POOSE AND OLD BOZE THE HOUND

Up at the edge of the woods the wood-cutters had felled a tree into the open pasture. As they trimmed the trunk, they threw the smaller branches into a big pile. Uncle Mark intended to burn them when they became dry enough, but forgot all about it. There they had lain for years, till they were dead and covered with moss. Over the heap of half-rotted brushwood a tangle of wild vines had spread, and up through them a thicket of blackberry bushes had grown.

This was just the place for a rabbit nest. Mother Wa-poose could squat anywhere in the pile and her brown coat would blend with the dead brush so perfectly that only the keenest eye could see her. No hawk or owl could swoop through such a tangle of vines and brush, and no fox or dog could creep through the close-set hedge of thorny blackberry bushes without losing a good deal of his hide.

Through the thicket Mother Wa-poose cut two or three paths just wide enough for herself, but not big enough for a dog or a fox. In the middle of the brush pile, she dug a little round hollow about a foot across and lined it with coarse grass. On the top of this she placed another lining of finer grass. Then she filled the hollow quite full of soft fur from her own coat. No bird's nest could be cosier or safer. To be sure, it was on the ground, but the land sloped and no water could settle into it.

One day as little Luke was passing by the brush pile, his keen eye saw Mother Wa-poose. "There," said he to himself, "is just the place for a rabbit's nest. I'll take a look at Mother Wa-poose's babies."

So he got down on his hands and knees, pulled the bushes apart, and crept into the thicket. He saw the nest, but could not get quite to it because of the sharp thorns on the blackberry bushes.

"Good morning, Man-cub," said Mother Wa-poose.

"Good morning, Mother Wa-poose," said little Luke; "don't be afraid, I only want to take a look at your babies."