THE TOAD-WOMAN. RED INDIAN FOLK TALES

THE TOAD-WOMAN.


Great good luck once happened to a young woman who was living all alone
in the woods with nobody near her but her little dog; for, to her
surprise, she found fresh meat every morning at her door. She was very
curious to know who it was that supplied her, and watching one morning,
just as the sun had risen, she saw a handsome young man gliding away
into the forest. Having seen her, he became her husband, and she had a
son by him.

One day, not long after this, he did not return at evening, as usual,
from hunting. She waited till late at night, but he came no more.

The next day, she swung her child to sleep in its cradle, and then said
to her dog, "Take care of your brother while I am gone, and when he
cries, halloo for me."

The cradle was made of the finest wampum, and all its bandages and
ornaments were of the same precious stuff.

After a short time, the woman heard the cry of the dog, and running home
as fast as she could, she found her child gone, and the dog too. On
looking around, she saw scattered upon the ground pieces of the wampum
of her child's cradle, and she knew that the dog had been faithful, and
had striven his best to save her child from being carried off, as he had
been, by an old woman, from a distant country, called Mukakee Mindemoea,
or the Toad-Woman.

The mother hurried off at full speed in pursuit, and as she flew along,
she came, from time to time, to lodges inhabited by old women, who told
her at what time the child-thief had passed; they also gave her shoes
that she might follow on. There was a number of these old women who
seemed as if they were prophetesses, and knew what was to come long
beforehand. Each of them would say to her that when she had arrived at
the next lodge, she must set the toes of the moccasins they had given
her pointing homeward, and that they would return of themselves. The
young woman was very careful to send back in this manner all the shoes
she borrowed.

She thus followed in the pursuit, from valley to valley, and stream to
stream, for many months and years; when she came at length to the lodge
of the last of the friendly old grandmothers, as they were called, who
gave her the last instructions how to proceed. She told her that she
was near the place where her son was to be found; and she directed her
to build a lodge of cedar-boughs, hard by the old Toad-Woman's lodge,
and to make a little bark dish, and to fill it with the juice of the
wild grape.

"Then," she said, "your first child (meaning the dog) will come and find
you out."

These directions the young woman followed just as they had been given to
her, and in a short time she heard her son, now grown up, going out to
hunt, with his dog, calling out to him, "Peewaubik--Spirit-Iron--Twee!
Twee!"

The dog soon came into the lodge, and she set before him the dish of
grape-juice.

"See, my child," she said, addressing him, "the pretty drink your mother
gives you."

Spirit-Iron took a long draught, and immediately left the lodge with his
eyes wide open; for it was the drink which teaches one to see the truth
of things as they are. He rose up when he got into the open air, stood
upon his hind legs, and looked about. "I see how it is," he said; and
marching off, erect like a man, he sought out his young master.

Approaching him in great confidence, he bent down and whispered in his
ear (having first looked cautiously around to see that no one was
listening), "This old woman here in the lodge is no mother of yours. I
have found your real mother, and she is worth looking at. When we come
back from our day's sport, I'll prove it to you."

They went out into the woods, and at the close of the afternoon they
brought back a great spoil of meat of all kinds. The young man, as soon
as he had laid aside his weapons, said to the old Toad-Woman, "Send some
of the best of this meat to the stranger who has arrived lately."

The Toad-Woman answered, "No! Why should I send to her, the poor widow!"

The young man would not be refused; and at last the old Toad-Woman
consented to take something and throw it down at the door. She called
out, "My son gives you this." But, being bewitched by Mukakee Mindemoea,
it was so bitter and distasteful, that the young woman immediately cast
it out of the lodge after her.

In the evening the young man paid the stranger a visit at her lodge of
cedar-boughs. She then told him that she was his real mother, and that
he had been stolen away from her by the old Toad-Woman, who was a
child-thief and a witch. As the young man appeared to doubt, she added,
"Feign yourself sick when you go home to her lodge; and when the
Toad-Woman asks what ails you, say that you wish to see your cradle; for
your cradle was of wampum, and your faithful brother the dog, in
striving to save you, tore off these pieces which I show you."

They were real wampum, white and blue, shining and beautiful; and the
young man, placing them in his bosom, set off; but as he did not seem
quite steady in his belief of the strange woman's story, the dog
Spirit-Iron, taking his arm, kept close by his side, and gave him many
words of encouragement as they went along. They entered the lodge
together; and the old Toad-Woman saw, from something in the dog's eye,
that trouble was coming.

"Mother," said the young man, placing his hand to his head, and leaning
heavily upon Spirit-Iron, as if a sudden faintness had come upon him,
"why am I so different in looks from the rest of your children?"

"Oh," she answered, "it was a very bright, clear blue sky when you were
born; that is the reason."

He seemed to be so very ill that the Toad-Woman at length asked what she
could do for him. He said nothing could do him good but the sight of his
cradle. She ran immediately and brought a cedar cradle; but he said:

"That is not my cradle."

She went and got another of her own children's cradles, of which there
were four; but he turned his head, and said:

"That is not mine; I am as sick as ever."

When she had shown the four, and they had been all rejected, she at last
produced the real cradle. The young man saw that it was of the same
stuff as the wampum which he had in his bosom. He could even see the
marks of the teeth of Spirit-Iron left upon the edges, where he had
taken hold, striving to hold it back. He had no doubt, now, which was
his mother.

To get free of the old Toad-Woman, it was necessary that the young man
should kill a fat bear; and, being directed by Spirit-Iron, who was very
wise in such a matter, he secured the fattest in all that country; and
having stripped a tall pine of all its bark and branches, he perched the
carcass in the top, with its head to the east and its tail due west.
Returning to the lodge, he informed the old Toad-Woman that the fat bear
was ready for her, but that she would have to go very far, even to the
end of the earth, to get it. She answered:

"It is not so far but that I can get it;" for of all things in the
world, a fat bear was the delight of the old Toad-Woman.

She at once set forth; and she was no sooner out of sight than the young
man and his dog, Spirit-Iron, blowing a strong breath in the face of the
Toad-Woman's four children (who were all bad spirits, or bear-fiends),
they put out their life. They then set them up by the side of the door,
having first thrust a piece of the white fat in each of their mouths.

The Toad-Woman spent a long time in finding the bear which she had been
sent after, and she made at least five and twenty attempts before she
was able to climb to the carcass. She slipped down three times where she
went up once. When she returned with the great bear on her back, as she
drew near her lodge she was astonished to see the four children standing
up by the door-posts with the fat in their mouths. She was angry with
them, and called out:

"Why do you thus insult the pomatum of your brother?"

She was still more angry when they made no answer to her complaint; but
when she found that they were stark dead, and placed in this way to mock
her, her fury was very great indeed. She ran after the tracks of the
young man and his mother as fast as she could; so fast, indeed, that she
was on the very point of overtaking them, when the dog, Spirit-Iron,
coming close up to his master, whispered to him--"Snakeberry!"

"Let the snakeberry spring up to detain her!" cried out the young man;
and immediately the berries spread like scarlet all over the path, for a
long distance; and the old Toad-Woman, who was almost as fond of these
berries as she was of fat bears, could not avoid stooping down to pick
and eat.

The old Toad-Woman was very anxious to get forward, but the
snakeberry-vines kept spreading out on every side; and they still grow
and grow, and spread and spread; and to this day the wicked old
Toad-Woman is busy picking the berries, and she will never be able to
get beyond to the other side, to disturb the happiness of the young
hunter and his mother, who still live, with their faithful dog, in the
shadow of the beautiful wood-side where they were born.

GRAY EAGLE AND HIS FIVE BROTHERS. The Stories For Children

GRAY EAGLE AND HIS FIVE BROTHERS.


There were six falcons living in a nest, five of whom were still too
young to fly, when it so happened that both the parent birds were shot
in one day. The young brood waited anxiously for their return; but night
came, and they were left without parents and without food.

Gray Eagle, the eldest, and the only one whose feathers had become stout
enough to enable him to leave the nest, took his place at the head of
the family, and assumed the duty of stifling their cries and providing
the little household with food, in which he was very successful. But,
after a short time had passed, by an unlucky mischance, while out on a
foraging excursion, he got one of his wings broken. This was the more to
be regretted, as the season had arrived when they were soon to go to a
southern country to pass the winter, and the children were only waiting
to become a little stronger and more expert on the wing to set out on
the journey.

Finding that their elder brother did not return, they resolved to go in
search of him. After beating up and down the country for the better part
of a whole day, they at last found him, sorely wounded and unable to
fly, lodged in the upper branches of a sycamore-tree.

"Brothers," said Gray Eagle, as soon as they were gathered around, and
questioned him as to the extent of his injuries, "an accident has
befallen me, but let not this prevent your going to a warmer climate.
Winter is rapidly approaching, and you can not remain here. It is better
that I alone should die, than for you all to suffer on my account."

"No, no," they replied, with one voice. "We will not forsake you. We
will share your sufferings; we will abandon our journey, and take care
of you as you did of us before we were able to take care of ourselves.
If the chill climate kills you, it shall kill us. Do you think we can so
soon forget your brotherly care, which has equaled a father's, and even
a mother's kindness? Whether you live or die, we will live or die with
you."

They sought out a hollow tree to winter in, and contrived to carry their
wounded nest-mate thither; and before the rigor of the season had set
in, they had, by diligence and economy, stored up food enough to carry
them through the winter months.

To make the provisions they had laid in last the better, it was agreed
among them that two of their number should go south; leaving the other
three to watch over, feed, and protect their wounded brother. The
travelers set forth, sorry to leave home, but resolved that the first
promise of spring should bring them back again. At the close of day, the
three brothers who remained, mounting to the very peak of the tree, and
bearing Gray Eagle in their arms, watched them, as they vanished away
southward, till their forms blended with the air and were wholly lost to
sight.

Their next business was to set the household in order, and this, with
the judicious direction of Gray Eagle, who was propped up in a snug
fork, with soft cushions of dry moss, they speedily accomplished. One of
the sisters, for there were two of these, took upon herself the charge
of nursing Gray Eagle, preparing his food, bringing him water, and
changing his pillows when he grew tired of one position. She also looked
to it that the house itself was kept in a tidy condition, and that the
pantry was supplied with food. The second brother was assigned the duty
of physician, and he was to prescribe such herbs and other medicines as
the state of the health of Gray Eagle seemed to require. As the second
brother had no other invalid on his visiting-list, he devoted the time
not given to the cure of his patient, to the killing of game wherewith
to stock the house-keeper's larder; so that, whatever he did, he was
always busy in the line of professional duty--killing or curing. On his
hunting excursions, Doctor Falcon carried with him his youngest brother,
who, being a foolish young fellow, and inexperienced in the ways of the
world, it was not thought safe to trust alone.

In due time, what with good nursing, and good feeding, and good air,
Gray Eagle recovered from his wound, and he repaid the kindness of his
brothers by giving them such advice and instruction in the art of
hunting as his age and experience qualified him to impart. As spring
advanced, they began to look about for the means of replenishing their
store-house, whose supplies were running low; and they were all quite
successful in their quest except the youngest, whose name was Peepi, or
the Pigeon-Hawk, and who had of late begun to set up for himself. Being
small and foolish, and feather-headed, flying hither and yonder without
any set purpose, it so happened that Peepi always came home, so to
phrase it, with an empty game-bag, and his pinions terribly rumpled.

At last Gray Eagle spoke to him, and demanded the cause of his ill-luck.

"It is not my smallness nor weakness of body," Peepi answered, "that
prevents my bringing home provender as well as my brothers. I am all the
time on the wing, hither and thither. I kill ducks and other birds every
time I go out; but just as I get to the woods, on my way home, I am met
by a large ko-ko-ho, who robs me of my prey; and," added Peepi, with
great energy, "it's my settled opinion that the villain lies in wait for
the very purpose of doing so."

"I have no doubt you are right, Brother Peepi," rejoined Gray Eagle. "I
know this pirate--his name is White Owl; and now that I feel my strength
fully recovered, I will go out with you to-morrow and help you look
after this greedy bush-ranger."

The next day they went forth in company, and arrived at a fine
fresh-water lake. Gray Eagle seated himself hard by, while Peepi started
out, and soon pounced upon a duck.

"Well done!" thought his brother, who saw his success; but just as
little Peepi was getting to land with his prize, up sailed a large white
owl from a tree where he, too, had been watching, and laid claim to it.
He was on the point of wresting it from Peepi, when Gray Eagle, calling
out to the intruder to desist, rushed up, and, fixing his talons in both
sides of the owl, without further introduction or ceremony, flew away
with him.

The little Pigeon-Hawk followed closely, with the duck under his wing,
rejoiced and happy to think that he had something to carry home at last.
He was naturally much vexed with the owl, and had no sooner delivered
over the duck to his sister, the housekeeper, than he flew in the owl's
face, and, venting an abundance of reproachful terms, would, in his
passion, have torn the very eyes out of the White Owl's head.

"Softly, Peepi," said the Gray Eagle, stepping in between them. "Don't
be in such a huff, my little brother, nor exhibit so revengeful a
temper. Do you not know that we are to forgive our enemies? White Owl,
you may go; but let this be a lesson to you, not to play the tyrant over
those who may chance to be weaker than yourself."

So, after adding to this much more good advice, and telling him what
kind of herbs would cure his wounds, Gray Eagle dismissed White Owl, and
the four brothers and sisters sat down to supper.

The next day, betimes, in the morning, before the household had fairly
rubbed the cobwebs out of the corners of their eyes, there came a knock
at the front door--which was a dry branch that lay down before the
hollow of the tree in which they lodged--and being called to come in,
who should make their appearance but the two nest-mates, who had just
returned from the South, where they had been wintering. There was great
rejoicing over their return, and now that they were all happily
re-united, each one soon chose a mate and began to keep house in the
woods for himself.

Spring had now revisited the North. The cold winds had all blown
themselves away, the ice had melted, the streams were open, and smiled
as they looked at the blue sky once more; and the forests, far and wide,
in their green mantle, echoed every cheerful sound.

But it is in vain that spring returns, and that the heart of Nature is
opened in bounty, if we are not thankful to the Master of Life, who has
preserved us through the winter. Nor does that man answer the end for
which he was made who does not show a kind and charitable feeling to all
who are in want or sickness, especially to his blood relations.

The love and harmony of Gray Eagle and his brothers continued. They
never forgot each other. Every week, on the fourth afternoon of the week
(for that was the time when they had found their wounded elder brother),
they had a meeting in the hollow of the old sycamore-tree, when they
talked over family matters, and advised with each other, as brothers
should, about their affairs.

OSSEO, THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR.

There once lived an Indian in the north who had ten daughters, all of
whom grew up to womanhood. They were noted for their beauty, especially
Oweenee, the youngest, who was very independent in her way of thinking.
She was a great admirer of romantic places, and spent much of her time
with the flowers and winds and clouds in the open air. Though the flower
were homely, if it was fragrant--though the wind were rough, if it was
healthful--and though the cloud were dark, if it embosomed the fruitful
rain, she knew how, in spite of appearances, to acknowledge the good
qualities concealed from the eye. She paid very little attention to the
many handsome young men who came to her father's lodge for the purpose
of seeing her.

Her elder sisters were all sought in marriage, and one after the other
they went off to dwell in the lodges of their husbands; but Oweenee was
deaf to all proposals of the kind. At last she married an old man
called Osseo, who was scarcely able to walk, and who was too poor to
have things like others. The only property he owned in the world was the
walking-staff which he carried in his hand. Though thus poor and homely,
Osseo was a devout and good man; faithful in all his duties, and
obedient in all things to the Good Spirit. Of course they jeered and
laughed at Oweenee on all sides, but she seemed to be quite happy, and
said to them, "It is my choice and you will see in the end who has acted
the wisest."

They made a special mock of the walking-staff, and scarcely an hour in
the day passed that they had not some disparaging reference to it. Among
themselves they spoke of Osseo of the walking-staff, in derision, as the
owner of the big woods, or the great timber-man.

"True," said Oweenee, "it is but a simple stick; but as it supports the
steps of my husband, it is more precious to me than all the forests of
the north."

A time came when the sisters, and their husbands, and their parents were
all invited to a feast. As the distance was considerable, they doubted
whether Osseo, so aged and feeble, would be able to undertake the
journey; but in spite of their friendly doubts, he joined them, and set
out with a good heart.

As they walked along the path they could not help pitying their young
and handsome sister who had such an unsuitable mate. She, however,
smiled upon Osseo, and kept with him by the way the same as if he had
been the comeliest bridegroom in all the company. Osseo often stopped
and gazed upward; but they could perceive nothing in the direction in
which he looked, unless it was the faint glimmering of the evening star.
They heard him muttering to himself as they went along, and one of the
elder sisters caught the words, "Pity me, my father!"

"Poor old man," said she; "he is talking to his father. What a pity it
is that he would not fall and break his neck, that our sister might have
a young husband."

Presently as they came to a great rock where Osseo had been used to
breathe his morning and his evening prayer, the star emitted a brighter
ray, which shone directly in his face. Osseo, with a sharp cry, fell
trembling to the earth, where the others would have left him, but his
good wife raised him up, and he sprang forward on the path, and with
steps light as the reindeer he led the party, no longer decrepid and
infirm, but a beautiful young man. On turning around to look for his
wife, behold she had become changed, at the same moment, into an aged
and feeble woman, bent almost double, and walking with the staff which
he had cast aside.

Osseo immediately joined her, and with looks of fondness and the
tenderest regard, bestowed on her every endearing attention, and
constantly addressed her by the term of ne-ne-moosh-a, or my sweetheart.

As they walked along, whenever they were not gazing fondly in each
other's face, they bent their looks on heaven, and a light, as if of
far-off stars, was in their eyes.

On arriving at the lodge of the hunter with whom they were to feast,
they found the banquet ready, and as soon as their entertainer had
finished his harangue--in which he told them his feasting was in honor
of the Evening or Woman's Star--they began to partake of the portion
dealt out, according to age and character, to each one of the guests.
The food was very delicious, and they were all happy but Osseo, who
looked at his wife, and then gazed upward, as if he was looking into the
substance of the sky. Sounds were soon heard, as if from far-off voices
in the air, and they became plainer and plainer, till he could clearly
distinguish some of the words.

"My son, my son," said the voice; "I have seen your afflictions, and
pity your wants. I come to call you away from a scene that is stained
with blood and tears. The earth is full of sorrows. Wicked spirits, the
enemies of mankind, walk abroad, and lie in wait to ensnare the children
of the sky. Every night they are lifting their voices to the Power of
Evil, and every day they make themselves busy in casting mischief in the
hunter's path. You have long been their victim, but you shall be their
victim no more. The spell you were under is broken. Your evil genius is
overcome. I have cast him down by my superior strength, and it is this
strength I now exert for your happiness. Ascend, my son; ascend into the
skies, and partake of the feast I have prepared for you in the stars,
and bring with you those you love.

"The food set before you is enchanted and blessed. Fear not to partake
of it. It is endowed with magic power to give immortality to mortals,
and to change men to spirits. Your bowls and kettles shall no longer be
wood and earth. The one shall become silver, and the other pure gold.
They shall shine like fire, and glisten like the most beautiful scarlet.
Every female shall also change her state and looks, and no longer be
doomed to laborious tasks. She shall put on the beauty of the
star-light, and become a shining bird of the air. She shall dance, and
not work. She shall sing, and not cry.

"My beams," continued the voice, "shine faintly on your lodge, but they
have power to transform it into the lightness of the skies, and decorate
it with the colors of the clouds. Come, Osseo, my son, and dwell no
longer on earth. Think strongly on my words, and look steadfastly at my
beams. My power is now at its height. Doubt not, delay not. It is the
voice of the Spirit of the Stars that calls you away to happiness and
celestial rest."

The words were intelligible to Osseo, but his companions thought them
some far-off sounds of music, or birds singing in the woods. Very soon
the lodge began to shake and tremble, and they felt it rising into the
air. It was too late to run out, for they were already as high as the
tops of the trees. Osseo looked around him as the lodge passed through
the topmost boughs, and behold! their wooden dishes were changed into
shells of a scarlet color, the poles of the lodge to glittering rods of
silver, and the bark that covered them into the gorgeous wings of
insects.

A moment more and his brothers and sisters, and their parents and
friends, were transformed into birds of various plumage. Some were jays,
some partridges and pigeons, and others gay singing birds, who hopped
about, displaying their many-colored feathers, and singing songs of
cheerful note.

But his wife, Oweenee, still kept her earthly garb, and exhibited all
the indications of extreme old age. He again cast his eyes in the
direction of the clouds, and uttered the peculiar cry which had given
him the victory at the rock. In a moment the youth and beauty of his
wife returned; her dingy garments assumed the shining appearance of
green silk, and her staff was changed into a silver feather.

The lodge again shook and trembled, for they were now passing through
the uppermost clouds, and they immediately after found themselves in the
Evening Star, the residence of Osseo's father.

"My son," said the old man, "hang that cage of birds which you have
brought along in your hand at the door, and I will inform you why you
and your wife have been sent for."

Osseo obeyed, and then took his seat in the lodge.

"Pity was shown to you," resumed the King of the Star, "on account of
the contempt of your wife's sister, who laughed at her ill fortune, and
ridiculed you while you were under the power of that wicked spirit whom
you overcame at the rock. That spirit lives in the next lodge, being the
small star you see on the left of mine, and he has always felt envious
of my family because we had greater power, and especially that we had
committed to us the care of the female world. He failed in many attempts
to destroy your brothers and sisters-in-law, but succeeded at last in
transforming yourself and your wife into decrepid old persons. You must
be careful and not let the light of his beams fall on you, while you are
here, for therein lies the power of his enchantment. A ray of light is
the bow and arrow he uses."

Osseo lived happy and contented in the parental lodge, and in due time
his wife presented him with a son, who grew up rapidly, and in the very
likeness of Osseo himself. He was very quick and ready in learning
every thing that was done in his grandfather's dominions, but he wished
also to learn the art of hunting, for he had heard that this was a
favorite pursuit below. To gratify him, his father made him a bow and
arrows, and he then let the birds out of the cage that he might practice
in shooting. In this pastime he soon became expert, and the very first
day he brought down a bird; but when he went to pick it up, to his
amazement it was a beautiful young woman, with the arrow sticking in her
breast. It was one of his younger aunts.

The moment her blood fell upon the surface of that pure and spotless
planet, the charm was dissolved. The boy immediately found himself
sinking, although he was partly upheld by something like wings until he
passed through the lower clouds, and he then suddenly dropped upon a
high, breezy island in a large lake. He was pleased, on looking up, to
see all his aunts and uncles following him in the form of birds, and he
soon discovered the silver lodge, with his father and mother,
descending, with its waving tassels fluttering like so many insects'
gilded wings. It rested on the loftiest cliffs of the island, and there
they fixed their residence. They all resumed their natural shapes, but
they were diminished to the size of fairies; and as a mark of homage to
the King of the Evening Star, they never failed on every pleasant
evening during the summer season to join hands and dance upon the top of
the rocks. These rocks were quickly observed by the Indians to be
covered, in moonlight evenings, with a larger sort of Ininees, or little
men, and were called Mish-in-e-mok-in-ok-ong, or Little Spirits, and the
island is named from them to this day.

Their shining lodge can be seen in the summer evenings, when the moon
beams strongly on the pinnacles of the rocks; and the fishermen who go
near those high cliffs at night, have even heard the voices of the happy
little dancers. And Osseo and his wife, as fondly attached to each other
as ever, always lead the dance.

THE TWO JEEBI Story For Children

There lived a hunter in the North, who had a wife and one child. His
lodge stood far off in the forest, several days' journey from any other.
He spent his days in hunting, and his evenings in relating to his wife
the incidents that had befallen him. As game was very abundant, he found
no difficulty in killing as much as they wanted. Just in all his acts,
he lived a peaceful and happy life.

One evening during the winter season, it chanced that he remained out
longer than usual, and his wife began to fear that some accident had
befallen him. It was already dark. She listened attentively, and at last
heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Not doubting that it was her husband, she went to the door and beheld
two strange females. She bade them enter, and invited them to remain.
She observed that they were total strangers in the country. There was
something so peculiar in their looks, air and manner, that she was
disturbed by their presence. They would not come near to the fire. They
sat in a remote part of the lodge, shy and taciturn, and drew their
garments about them in such a manner as nearly to hide their faces. So
far as she could judge, they were pale, hollow-eyed, and long-visaged,
very thin and emaciated.

There was but little light in the lodge, as the fire was low, and its
fitful flashes, by disclosing their white faces and then dropping them
in sudden darkness, served rather to increase than to dispel her fears.

"Merciful Spirit!" cried a voice from the opposite part of the lodge;
"there are two corpses clothed with garments!"

The hunter's wife turned around, but seeing nobody save her little
child, staring across from under his blanket, she said to herself, "The
boy can not speak; the sounds were but the gusts of wind." She trembled,
and was ready to sink to the earth.

Her husband at this moment entered, and in some measure relieved her
alarm. He threw down the carcass of a large fat deer.

"Behold what a fine and fat animal!" cried the mysterious females; and
they immediately ran and pulled off pieces of the whitest fat, which
they greedily devoured.

The hunter and his wife looked on with astonishment, but remained
silent. They supposed that their guests might have been stricken with
famine.

The next day, however, the same unusual conduct was repeated. The
strange females again tore off the fat and devoured it with eagerness.
The third day, the hunter thought that he would anticipate their wants
by tying up a share of the hunt, and placing it apart for their express
use. They accepted it, but still appeared dissatisfied, and went to the
wife's portion and tore off more.

The hunter and his wife were surprised at such rude and unaccountable
conduct, but they remained silent, for they respected their guests, and
had observed that they had been attended with marked good luck during
the sojourn of these mysterious visitors in their lodge.

In other respects, the deportment of the females was strictly
unexceptionable. They were modest, distant, and silent. They never
uttered a word during the day. At night they would occupy themselves in
procuring wood, which they carried to the lodge, and then, restoring the
implements exactly where they had found them, resume their places
without speaking. They were never known to stay out until daylight. They
never laughed or jested.

The winter was nearly passed away, when, one evening, the hunter was
abroad later than usual. The moment he came in and laid down his day's
hunt, as was his custom, before his wife, the two females seized upon
the deer and began to tear off the fat in so unceremonious a way that
her anger was excited. She constrained herself, however, in a good
degree, but she could not conceal her feelings, though she said but
little.

The strange guests observed the state of her mind, and they became
uneasy, and withdrew further still into the remote gloom of the lodge.
The good hunter saw the eclipse that was darkening the quiet of his
lodge, and carefully inquired of its cause; but his wife denied having
used any words of complaining or reproach.

They retired to their couches, and the hunter tried to compose himself
to sleep, but could not, for the sighs and sobs of the two females were
incessant. He arose on his couch and addressed them as follows:

"Tell me," said he, "what is it that gives you pain of mind and causes
you to bemoan your presence here. Has my wife given you offense, or
trespassed upon the rights of hospitality?"

They replied in the negative. "We have been treated by you with kindness
and affection. It is not for any slight we have received that we weep.
Our mission is not to you only. We come from the other land to test
mankind, and to try the sincerity of the living. Often we have heard the
bereaved by death say that if the lost could be restored, they would
devote their lives to make them happy. We have been moved by the bitter
lamentations which have reached the place of the departed, and have
come to make proof of the sincerity of those who have lost friends. We
are your two dead sisters. Three moons were allotted us by the Master of
Life to make the trial. More than half the time had been successfully
passed, when the angry feelings of your wife indicated the irksomeness
you felt at our presence, and has made us resolve on our departure."

They continued to talk to the hunter and his wife, gave them
instructions as to a future life, and pronounced a blessing upon them.

"There is one point," they added, "of which we wish to speak. You have
thought our conduct very strange and rude in possessing ourselves of the
choicest parts of your hunt. _That_ was the point of trial selected to
put you to. It is the wife's peculiar privilege. You love your wife. For
another to usurp what belongs to her, we know to be the severest test of
her goodness of heart, and consequently of your temper and feelings. We
knew your manners and customs, but we came to prove you, not by
complying with but by violating them. Pardon us. We are the agents of
him who sent us. Peace to your dwelling. Farewell!"

When they ceased, total darkness filled the lodge. No object could be
seen. The inmates heard the lodge-door open and shut, but they never saw
more of the Two Spirits.

The hunter found the success which they had promised. He became
celebrated in the chase, and never wanted for any thing. He had many
children, all of whom grew up to manhood; and he who had lain in the
lodge, a little child, while the Jeebi dwelt there, led them in all good
deeds, and health, peace, and long life were the rewards of the hunter's
hospitality.