"'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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"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 gra.s.s 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 gra.s.s, 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.