The Little Robber Girl
The Boy Who Cried Wolf
AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES
Animal Sketches And Stories
Blondine Bonne Biche and Beau Minon
BRER RABBIT and HIS NEIGHBORS
CHINESE MOTHER-GOOSE RHYMES
FABLES FOR CHILDREN
FABLES FROM INDIA
FATHER PLAYS AND MOTHER PLAYS
FIRST STORIES FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK
For Classes Ii. And Iii.
For Classes Iv. And V.
For Kindergarten And Class I.
FUN FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK
Good Little Henry
JAPANESE AND OTHER ORIENTAL TALES]
Jean De La Fontaine
King Alexander's Adventures
KINGS AND WARRIORS
LAND AND WATER FAIRIES
Lessons From Nature
LITTLE STORIES that GROW BIG
MODERN FAIRY TALES
MOTHER GOOSE CONTINUED
MOTHER GOOSE JINGLES
MOTHER GOOSE SONGS AND STORIES
Myths And Legends
NEGLECT THE FIRE
ON POPULAR EDUCATION
PLACES AND FAMILIES
Poems Of Nature
RESURRECTION DAY (EASTER)
RHYMES CONCERNING "MOTHER"
RIDING SONGS for FATHER'S KNEE
ROMANCES OF THE MIDDLE AGES
SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY
Selections From The Bible
SLEEPY-TIME SONGS AND STORIES
Some Children's Poets
Songs Of Life
STORIES BY FAVORITE AMERICAN WRITERS
STORIES FOR CHILDREN
STORIES for LITTLE BOYS
STORIES FROM BOTANY
STORIES FROM GREAT BRITAIN
STORIES FROM IRELAND
STORIES FROM PHYSICS
STORIES FROM SCANDINAVIA
STORIES FROM ZOOLOGY
STORIES _for_ LITTLE GIRLS
THE DAYS OF THE WEEK
The King Of The Golden River; Or, The Black Brothers
The Little Grey Mouse
THE OLD FAIRY TALES
The Princess Rosette
THE THREE HERMITS
THE TWO OLD MEN
UNCLES AND AUNTS AND OTHER RELATIVES
VERSES ABOUT FAIRIES
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO
The Spring Beauty
from Good Stories For Great Holidays
- MAY DAY
AN OJIBBEWAY LEGEND
BY HENRY R. SCHOOLCRAFT (ADAPTED)
An old man was sitting in his lodge, by the side of a frozen stream. It
was the end of winter, the air was not so cold, and his fire was
nearly out. He was old and alone. His locks were white with age, and he
trembled in every joint. Day after day passed, and he heard nothing but
the sound of the storm sweeping before it the new-fallen snow.
One day while his fire was dying, a handsome young man approached and
entered the lodge. His cheeks were red, his eyes sparkled. He walked
with a quick, light step. His forehead was bound with a wreath of
sweet-grass, and he carried a bunch of fragrant flowers in his hand.
"Ah, my son," said the old man, "I am happy to see you. Come in! Tell me
your adventures, and what strange lands you have seen. I will tell you
of my wonderful deeds, and what I can perform. You shall do the same,
and we will amuse each other."
The old man then drew from a bag a curiously wrought pipe. He filled it
with mild tobacco, and handed it to his guest. They each smoked from the
pipe and then began their stories.
"I am Peboan, the Spirit of Winter," said the old man. "I blow my
breath, and the streams stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as
"I am Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring," answered the youth. "I breathe,
and flowers spring up in the meadows and woods."
"I shake my locks," said the old man, "and snow covers the land. The
leaves fall from the trees, and my breath blows them away. The birds fly
to a distant land, and the animals hide themselves from the cold."
"I shake my ringlets," said the young man, "and warm showers of soft
rain fall upon the earth. The flowers lift their heads from the ground,
the grass grows thick and green. My voice recalls the birds, and they
come flying joyfully from the Southland. The warmth of my breath unbinds
the streams, and they sing the songs of summer. Music fills the groves
where-ever I walk, and all nature rejoices."
And while they were talking thus a wonderful change took place. The sun
began to rise. A gentle warmth stole over the place. Peboan, the Spirit
of Winter, became silent. His head drooped, and the snow outside the
lodge melted away. Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, grew more radiant, and
rose joyfully to his feet. The robin and the bluebird began to sing on
the top of the lodge. The stream began to murmur at the door, and the
fragrance of opening flowers came softly on the breeze.
The lodge faded away, and Peboan sank down and dissolved into tiny
streams of water, that vanished under the brown leaves of the forest.
Thus the Spirit of Winter departed, and where he had melted away, there
the Indian children gathered the first blossoms, fragrant and delicately
pink,--the modest Spring Beauty.
Next: The Fairy Tulips
Previous: The Water-drop