Chapter 1
Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni
WOODLAND TALES
WOODLAND TALES
BY ERNEST THOMPSON SETON
WITH 100 DRAWINGS
BY
THE AUTHOR
AUTHOR OF "WILD ANIMALS AT HOME," "WILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN," "TWO LITTLE SAVAGES," "BIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY," "LIFE HISTORIES OF NORTHERN ANIMALS," "ROLF IN THE WOODS," "THE BOOK OF WOODCRAFT." CHIEF OF THE WOODCRAFT LEAGUE OF AMERICA
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1922
COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1920, 1921, BY
ERNEST THOMPSON SETON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
COPYRIGHT 1903, 1904, BY THE CENTURY COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
PREFACE
_To the Guide_
These Mother Carey Tales were written for children of all ages, who have not outgrown the delight of a fairy tale. It might almost be said that they were written chiefly for myself, for I not only have had the pleasure of telling them to the little ones, and enjoying their quick response, but have also had the greater pleasure of thinking them and setting them down.
As I write, I look from a loved window, across a landscape that I love, and my eye rests on a tall beautiful pine planted with my own hands years ago. It is a mass of green fringes, with gem-like tips of buds and baby cones, beautiful, exquisitely beautiful, whether seen from afar as a green spire, or viewed close at hand as jewellery. It is beautiful, fragile and--unimportant, as the world sees it; yet through its wind-waved mass one can get little glimpses of the thing that backs it all, the storm-defying shaft, the enduring rigid living growing trunk of massive timber that gives it the nobility of strength, and adds value to the rest; sometimes it must be sought for, but it always surely is there, ennobling the lesser pretty things.
I hope this tree is a fair image of my fairy tale. I know my child friends will love the piney fringes and the jewel cones, and they can find the unyielding timber in its underlying truth, if they seek for it. If they do not, it is enough to have them love the cones.
All are not fairy tales. Other chapters set forth things to see, thing to do, things to go to, things to know, things to remember. These, sanctified in the blue outdoors, spell "Woodcraft," the one pursuit of man that never dies or palls, the thing that in the bygone ages gifted him and yet again will gift him with the seeing eye, the thinking hand, the body that fails not, the winged soul that stores up precious memories.
It is hoped that these chapters will show how easy and alluring, and how good a thing it is.
While they are meant for the children six years of age and upward, it is assumed that Mother (or Father) will be active as a leader; therefore it is addressed, first of all, to the parent, whom throughout we shall call the "Guide."
* * * * *
Some of these stories date back to my school days, although the first actually published was "Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year." This in its original form appeared in "Our Animal Friends" in September, 1893. Others, as "The Fingerboard Goldenrod," "Brook-Brownie," "The Bluebird," "Diablo and the Dogwood," "How the Violets Came," "How the Indian Summer Came," "The Twin Stars," "The Fairy Lamps," "How the Littlest Owl Came," "How the Shad Came," appeared in slightly different form in the _Century Magazine_, 1903 and 1904.
* * * * *
My thanks are due to the Authorities of the American Museum who have helped me with specimens and criticism; to the published writings of Dr. W. J. Holland and Clarence M. Weed for guidance in insect problems; to Britton and Browne's "Illustrated Flora, U. S. and Canada"; and to the Nature Library of Doubleday, Page & Co., for light in matters botanic; to Mrs. Daphne Drake and Mrs. Mary S. Dominick for many valuable suggestions, and to my wife, Grace Gallatin Seton, for help with the purely literary work.
Also to Oliver P. Medsger, the naturalist of Lincoln High School, Jersey City, N. J., for reading with critical care those parts of the manuscript that deal with flowers and insects, as well as for the ballad of the Ox-eye, the story of its coming to America, and the photograph of the Mecha-meck.
CONTENTS
Things to See in Springtime
_The Seeing Eye_
TALE NO. PAGE
1. Blue-eyes, the Snow-child, or the Story of Hepatica 3
2. The Story of the Dawnsinger, or How the Bloodroot Came 5
3. The Prairie-girl with Yellow Hair 6
4. The Cat's-eye Toad, a child of Maka Ina 11
5. How the Bluebird Came 14
6. Robin, the Bird that Loves to Make Clay Pots 17
7. Brook Brownie, or How the Song Sparrow Got his Streaks 20
8. Diablo and the Dogwood 20
9. The Woolly-bear 23
10. How the Violets Came 25
11. Cocoons 26
12. Butterflies and Moths 28
13. The Mourning-cloak Butterfly or the Camberwell Beauty 30
14. The Wandering Monarch 32
15. The Bells of the Solomon Seal 35
16. The Silver Bells of the False Solomon Seal 37
Things to See in Summertime
17. How the Mouse-bird made Fun of the Brownie 43
18. The Pot-herb that Sailed with the Pilgrims 44
19. How the Red Clover Got the White Mark on Its Leaves 47
20. The Shamrock and Her Three Sisters 51
21. The Indian Basket-Maker 53
22. Crinkleroot; or Who Hid the Salad? 56
23. The Mecha-meck 61
24. Dutchman's Breeches 63
25. The Seven Sour Sisters 65
26. Self-heal or Blue-curls in the Grass 65
27. The Four Butterflies You See Every Summer 67
28. The Beautiful Poison Caterpillar 72
29. The Great Splendid Silk-moth or _Samia Cecropia_ 77
30. The Green Fairy with the Long Train 79
31. The Wicked Hoptoad and the Little Yellow Dragon 82
32. The Fairy Bird or the Humming-bird Moth 85
33. Ribgrass or Whiteman's-Foot 88
34. Jack-in-the-Pulpit 91
35. How the Indian Pipe Came 91
36. The Cucumber Under the Brownie's Umbrella 93
37. The Hickory Horn-Devil 95
Things to See in Autumntime
38. The Purple and Gold of Autumn 103
39. Why the Chicadee Goes Crazy Twice a Year 104
40. The Story of the Quaking Aspen or Poplar 107
41. The Witch-hazel 109
42. How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs 112
43. How the Littlest Owl Came 113
44. The Wood-witch and the Bog-nuts 114
45. The Mud-dauber Wasp 117
46. The Cicada and the Katydid 121
47. The Digger Wasp That Killed the Cicada 123
48. How the Indian Summer Came 126
Things to See in Wintertime
49. The North Star, or the Home Star 129
50. The Pappoose on the Squaw's Back 131
51. Orion the Hunter, and his Fight with the Bull 133
52. The Pleiades, that Orion Fired at the Bull 134
53. The Twin Stars 136
54. Stoutheart and His Black Cravat 137
55. Tracks and the Stories They Tell 138
56. A Rabbit's Story of His Life 140
57. The Singing Hawk 144
58. The Fingerboard Goldenrod 145
59. Woodchuck Day--February Second 149
Things to Know
_The Story of The Trail_
60. How the Pine Tree Tells its Own Story 153
61. Blazes 155
62. Totems 155
63. Symbols 159
64. Sign Language 161
65. The Language of Hens 161
66. Why the Squirrel Wears a Bushy Tail 162
67. Why the Dog Wags His Tail 163
68. Why the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before Lying Down 164
69. The Deathcup of Diablo 165
70. The Poison Ivy, or the Three-fingered Demon of the Woods 169
71. The Medicine in the Sky 170
72. The Angel of the Night 172
Things to Do
_The Thinking Hand_
73. Bird-nesting in Winter 177
74. The Ox-eye Daisy or Marguerite 179
75. The Monkey-hunt 181
76. The Horsetail and the Jungle 185
77. The Woods in Winter 186
78. The Fish and the Pond 187
79. Smoke Prints of Leaves 189
80. Bird-boxes 189
81. A Hunter's Lamp 193
82. The Coon Hunt 194
83. The Indian Pot 195
84. Snowflakes 197
85. Are you Alive? Farsight 199
86. Are you Alive? Quicksight 200
87. Are you Alive? Hearing 200
88. Are you Alive? Feeling 201
89. Are you Alive? Quickness 202
90. Are you Alive? Guessing Length 203
91. Are you Alive? Aim or Limb-control 204
92. A Treasure Hunt 205
93. Moving Pictures 205
94. The Natural Autograph Album 207
95. The Crooked Stick 208
96. The Animal Dance of Nana-bo-jou 209
97. The Caribou Dance 212
98. The Council Robe 216
Things to Remember
_The Winged Soul that Stores up Precious Memories._
99. How the Wren Became King of the Birds 221
100. The Snowstorm 222
101. The Fairy Lamps 223
102. The Sweetest Sad Song in the Woods 225
103. Springtime, or the Wedding of Maka Ina and El Sol 227
104. Running the Council 228
105. The Sandpainting of the Fire 229
106. The Woodcraft Kalendar 231
107. Climbing the Mountain 233
108. The Omaha Prayer 235
A List of Books by the Author 236
INTRODUCTION
_Mother Carey_
All-mother! Mater Cara! I have never seen you, but I hungered so to know you that I understood it when you came, unseen, and silently whispered to me that first time in the long ago.
I cannot tell the children what you look like, Mother Carey, for mortal eye hath never rested on your face; and yet I can offer them a portrait, O strong Angel of the Wild Things, neither young nor old--Oh! loving One that neither trembles nor relents!
* * * * *
A mink he was, a young mink and foolish. One of a happy brood, who were seeing the world with their mother--a first glimpse of it. She was anxious and leading, happy and proud, warning, sniffing, inviting, loving, yet angersome at trivial disobedience, doling out her wisdom in nips and examples and shrill warnings that all heeded; except this one, the clever fool of the family, the self-satisfied smart one. He would not be warned, the thing smelt so good. He plunged ahead. Mother was a fool; he was wiser than Mother. Here was a merry feasting for him. Then _clank_! The iron jaws of a trap sprang from the hiding grass, and clutched on his soft young paws. Screams of pain, futile strainings, writhings, ragings and moanings; bloody jaws on the trap; the mother distraught with grief, eager to take all the punishment herself, but helpless and stunned, unable to leave; the little brothers, aghast at this first touch of passion, this glimpse of reality, skurrying, scared, going and coming, mesmerized, with glowing eyes and bristling shoulder-fur. And the mother, mad with sorrow, goaded by the screaming, green-eyed, vacant-minded, despairing--till a new spirit entered into her, the spirit of Cara the All-mother, Mother Carey the Beneficent, Mother Carey the wise Straightwalker. Then the mother mink, inspired, sprang on her suffering baby. With all the power of her limbs she sprang and clutched; with all the power of her love she craunched. His screams were ended; his days in the land were ended. He had not heeded her wisdom; the family fool was finished. The race was better, better for the suffering fool mink; better for the suffering mother mink.
The spirit left her; left her limp and broken-hearted. And away on the wind went riding, grimly riding her empire.
Four swift steeds for riding, has she, the White Wind, the West Wind, the Wet Wind and the Waking Wind. But mostly she rides the swift West Wind.
She is strong, is Mother Carey, strong, wise, inexorable, calm and direct as an iceberg. And beneficent; but she loves the strong ones best. She ever favours the wise ones. She is building, ceaselessly building. The good brick she sets in a place of honour, and the poor one she grinds into gravel for the workmen to walk on.
She loves you, but far less than she does your race. It may be that you are not wise, and if it seem best, she will drop a tear and crush you into the dust.
Three others there be of power, like Mother Carey: Maka Ina who is Mother Earth; El Sol, the Sun in the Sky, and Diablo the Evil Spirit of Disease and Dread. But over all is the One Great Spirit, the Beginning and the Ruler with these and many messengers, who do His bidding. But mostly you shall hear of Mother Carey.
It is long ago since first I heard her whisper, and though I hear better now than then, I have no happier memory than that earliest message.
"Ho Wayseeker," she called, "I have watched your struggle to find the pathway, and I know that you will love the things that belong to it. Therefore, I will show you the trail, and this is what it will lead you to: a thousand pleasant friendships that will offer honey in little thorny cups, the twelve secrets of the underbrush, the health of sunlight, suppleness of body, the unafraidness of the night, the delight of deep water, the goodness of rain, the story of the trail, the knowledge of the swamp, the aloofness of knowing,--yea, more, a crown and a little kingdom measured to your power and all your own.
"But there is a condition attached. When you have found a trail you are thereby ordained a guide. When you have won a kingdom you must give it to the world or lose it. For those who have got power must with it bear responsibility; evade the one, the other fades away."
This is the pledge I am trying to keep; I want to be your Guide. I am offering you my little kingdom.
THINGS TO SEE IN SPRINGTIME
Things to See in Springtime
TALE 1
Blue-eyes, the Snow Child, or The Story of Hepatica
Have you ever seen El Sol, the Chief of the Wonder-workers, brother to Mother Carey? Yes, you have, though probably you did not know it; at least you could not look him in the face. Well, I am going to tell you about him, and tell of a sad thing that happened to him, and to some one whom he loved more than words can tell.
Tall and of blazing beauty was El Sol, the King of the Wonder-workers; his hair was like shining gold, and stood straight out a yard from his head, as he marched over the hilltops.
Everyone loved him, except a very few, who once had dared to fight him, and had been worsted. Everyone else loved him, and he liked everybody, without really loving them. Until one day, as he walked in his garden, he suddenly came on a beautiful white maiden, whom he had never seen before. Her eyes were of the loveliest blue, her hair was so soft that it floated on the air, and her robe was white, covered with ferns done in white lace.
He fell deeply in love with her at once, but she waved a warning hand, when he tried to come near.
"Who are you, oh radiant princess? I love you even before I hear you speak."
"I am Snowroba, the daughter of the great King Jackfrost," she said.
"I love you as I never loved any one. Will you marry me? I am the King of the Wonder-workers. I will make you the Queen."
"No," said she, "I cannot marry you, for it is written that if one of my people marry one of your people, she will sink down and die in a day."
Then El Sol was very sad. But he said, "May I not see you again?"
"Yes," she answered, "I will meet you here in the morning, for it is pleasant to look on your beauty," and her voice tinkled sweetly.
So she met him in the morning, and again on the third morning. He loved her madly now, and though she held back, he seized her in his arms and kissed her tenderly.
Then her arms fell weakly to her sides, and her eyes half closed as she said: "I know now that the old writing spake truth. I love you, I love you, my love; but you have killed me."
And she sank down, a limp white form, on the leafy ground.
El Sol was wild with grief. He tried to revive her, to bring her back.
She only whispered, "Good-bye, my love. I am going fast. You will see me no more, but come to this place a year from now. It may be Maka Ina will be kind, and will send you a little one that is yours and mine."
Her white body melted away, as he bent over it and wept.
He came back every morning, but saw Snowroba no more. One year from that day, as he lingered sadly over the sacred spot, he saw a new and wonderful flower come forth. Its bloom was of the tenderest violet blue, and it was full of expression. As he gazed, he saw those eyes again; the scalding tears dropped from his eyes, and burned its leaves into a blotched and brownish colour. He remembered, and understood her promise now. He knew that this was their blue-eyed little one.
In the early springtime we can see it. Three sunny days on the edge of the snowdrift will bring it forth. The hunterfolk who find it, say that it is just one of the spring flowers, out earlier than any other, and is called Liverleaf, but we Woodcrafters know better. We know it is Hepatica, the child of El Sol and Snowroba.
TALE 2
The Story of the White Dawnsinger
or
How the Bloodroot Came
Have you noticed that there are no snow-white birds in our woods during summer? Mother Carey long ago made it a rule that all snow-white landbirds should go north, when the snow was gone in the springtime. And they were quite obedient; they flew, keeping just on the south edge of the melting snow.
But it so happened that one of the sweetest singers of all--the snow-white Dawnsinger with the golden bill and the ruby legs--was flying northward with his bride, when she sprained her wing so she could not fly at all.
There was no other help for it; they must stay in that thicket till her wing grew strong again.
The other white birds flew on, but the Dawnsinger waited. He sang his merriest songs to cheer her. He brought her food: and he warned her when enemies were near.
A moon had come and gone. Now she was well again, and strong on the wing. He was anxious to go on to their northern home. A second warning came from Mother Carey, "White birds go north."
But the sunny woodside had become very pleasant, food was abundant, and the little white lady said, "Why should we go north when it is so much nicer right here?"
The Dawnsinger felt the same way, and the next time the warning came, "White birds go north," he would not listen at all, and they settled down to a joyful life in the woods.
They did not know anything about the Yellow-eyed Whizz. They never would have known, had they gone north at their right time. But the Yellow-eyed Whizz was coming. It came, and It always goes straight after white things in the woods, for brown things It cannot see.
Dawnsinger was high on a tree, praising the light in a glorious song, that he had just made up, when It singled him out by his whiteness, and pierced him through.
He fell fluttering and dying; and as she flew to him, with a cry of distress, the Yellow-eyed wicked Whizz struck her down by his side.
The Chewinks scratched leaves over the two white bodies, and--I think--that Mother Carey dropped a tear on the place.
That was the end of the White Dawnsinger and his bride. Yet every year, at that same place, as the snow goes, the brown leaves move and part, and up from beneath there comes a beautiful white flower.
Its bloom threads are yellow like the Dawnsinger's beak, and its stem is ruby like his legs; all the rest is snow-white like his plumes. It rises, looks about, faces the sun, and sings a little odour-song, a little aroma-lay. If you look deep down into the open soul of the Dawnsinger you will see the little golden thoughts he sings about. Then up from the same grave comes another, just the same, but a little smaller, and for a while they stand up side by side, and praise the light. But the Wither-bloom that haunts the flowers as the Yellow-eyed Whizz does the birds, soon finds them out; their song is ended, their white plumes are scattered, and they shrink back into their grave, to be side by side again.
You can find their little bodies, but deal gently with them, for they are wounded; you may make them bleed again.
And when you hear the Chewinks scratching in the underbrush, remember they are putting leaves on the grave of the White Dawnsinger.
* * * * *
Surely you have guessed the secret; the flower is the Bloodroot, and the Whizz is the Sharp-shinned Hawk.
TALE 3
The Prairie-girl with Yellow Hair