The Igorot often says that a certain thing occurred in La'-tub, or will occur in Ba-li'-ling, so these periods of the calendar are held in mind as the civilized man thinks of events in time as occurring in some particular month.

The Igorot have a tradition that formerly the moon was also a sun, and at that time it was always day. Lumawig told the moon to be "moon," and then there was night. Such a change was necessary, they say, so the people would know when to work -- that is, when was the right time, the right moon, to take up a particular kind of labor.

Folk tales

The paucity of the pure mental life of the Igorot is nowhere more clearly shown than in the scarcity of folk tales.

I group here seven tales which are quite commonly known among the people of Bontoc. The second, third, fourth, and fifth are frequently related by the parents to their children, and I heard all of them the first time from boys about a dozen years old. I believe these tales are nearly all the pure fiction the Igorot has created and perpetuated from generation to generation, except the Lumawig stories.

The Igorot story-tellers, with one or two exceptions, present the bare facts in a colorless and lifeless manner. I have, therefore, taken the liberty of adding slightly to the tales by giving them some local coloring, but I have neither added to nor detracted from the facts related.

The sun man and moon woman; or, origin of head-hunting

The Moon, a woman called "Ka-bi-gat'," was one day making a large copper cooking pot. The copper was soft and plastic like potter's clay. Ka-bi-gat' held the heavy sagging pot on her knees and leaned the hardened rim against her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s. As she squatted there -- turning, patting, shaping, the huge vessel -- a son of the man Chal-chal', the Sun, came to watch her. This is what he saw: The Moon dipped her paddle, called "pip-i'," in the water, and rubbed it dripping over a smooth, rounded stone, an agate with ribbons of colors wound about in it. Then she stretched one long arm inside the pot as far as she could. "Tub, tub, tub," said the ribbons of colors as Ka-bi-gat' pounded up against the molten copper with the stone in her extended hand. "Slip, slip, slip, slip," quickly answered pip-i', because the Moon was spanking back the many little rounded domes which the stone bulged forth on the outer surface of the vessel. Thus the huge bowl grew larger, more symmetrical, and smooth.

Suddenly the Moon looked up and saw the boy intently watching the swelling pot and the rapid playing of the paddle. Instantly the Moon struck him, cutting off his head.

Chal-chal' was not there. He did not see it, but he knew Ka-bi-gat'

cut off his son's head by striking with her pip-i'.

He hastened to the spot, picked the lad up, and put his head where it belonged -- and the boy was alive.

Then the Sun said to the Moon:

"See, because you cut off my son's head, the people of the Earth are cutting off each other's heads, and will do so hereafter."

"And it is so," the story-tellers continue; "they do cut off each other's heads."

Origin of coling, the serpent eagle[36]

A man and woman had two boys. Every day the mother sent them into the mountains for wood to cook her food. Each morning as she sent them out she complained about the last wood they brought home.

One day they brought tree limbs; the mother complained, saying:

"This wood is bad. It smokes so much that I can not see, and soon I shall be blind." And then she added, as was her custom:

"If you do not work well, you can have only food for dogs and pigs."

That day, as usual, the boys had in their topil for dinner only boiled camote vines, such as the hogs eat, and a small allowance of rice, just as much as a dog is fed. At night the boys brought some very good wood -- wood of the pitch-pine tree. In the morning the mother complained that such wood blackened the house. She gave them pig food in their topil, saying:

"Pig food is good enough for you because you do not work well."

That night each boy brought in a large bundle of runo. The mother was angry, and scolded, saying:

"This is not good wood; it leaves too many ashes and it dirties the house."

In the morning she gave them dog food for dinner, and the boys again went away to the mountains. They were now very thin and poor because they had no meat to eat. By and by the older one said:

"You wait here while I climb up this tree and cut off some branches." So he climbed the tree, and presently called down:

"Here is some wood" -- and the bones of an arm dropped to the ground.

"Oh, oh," exclaimed the younger brother, "it is your arm!"

Again the older boy called, "Here is some more wood" -- and the bones of his other arm fell at the foot of the tree.

Again he called, and the bones of a leg dropped; then his other leg fell. The next time he called, down came the right half of his ribs; and then, next, the left half of his ribs; and immediately thereafter his spinal column. Then he called again, and down fell his hair.

The last time he called, "Here is some wood," his skull dropped on the earth under the tree.

"Here, take those things home," said he. "Tell the woman that this is her wood; she only wanted my bones."

"But there is no one to go with me down the mountains," said the younger boy.

"Yes; I will go with you, brother," quickly came the answer from the tree top.

So the boy tied up his bundle, and, putting it on his shoulder, started for the pueblo. As he did so the other -- he was now Co-ling'

-- soared from the tree top, always flying directly above the boy.

When the younger brother reached home he put his bundle down, and said to the woman:

"Here is the wood you wanted."

The woman and the husband, frightened, ran out of the house; they heard something in the air above them.

"Qu-iu'-kok! qu-iu'-kok! qu-iu'-kok!" said Co-ling', as he circled around and around above the house. "Qu-iu'-kok! qu-iu'-kok!" he screamed, "now camotes and palay are your son. I do not need your food any longer."

Origin of tilin, the ricebird[37]

As the mother was pounding out rice to cook for supper, her little girl said:

"Give me some mo'-ting to eat."

"No," answered the mother, "mo'-ting is not good to eat; wait until it is cooked."

"No, I want to eat mo'-ting," said the little girl, and for a long time she kept asking her mother for raw rice.

At last her mother interrupted, "It is bad to talk so much."

The rice was then all pounded out. The mother winnowed it clean, and put it in her basket, covering it up with the winnowing tray. She placed an empty olla on her head and went to the spring for water.

The anxious little girl reached quickly for the basket to get some rice, but the tray slipped from her grasp and fell, covering her beneath it in the basket.

The mother returned with the water to cook supper. She heard a bird crying, "King! king! nik! nik! nik!" When the woman uncovered the basket, Tilin, the little brown ricebird, flew away, calling: