Algonquin Indian Tales by Egerton Ryerson Young (ebook pc reader .txt) 📕

Indian noticed that there were several long red scratches and even some drops of partly dried blood on the hands of his little friends. It was hardly necessary for him to ask the cause of the wounds, as the bunches of sweet briers and wild roses, with their sharp needle-like thorns, in the happy children's hands told the tale.

Putting down his gun and game, Souwanas quickly gathered some of the sweet fragrant grass which is there so abundant, and skillfully twisting it into little coils he wound one around each of the bunches of flowers which the children had gathered, and which they were still having trouble to hold on account of the thorns.

The bouquets thus arranged could now be carried without inflicting any more wounds or pain. Amid their chat and laughter, for these white children were taught, like Indian children, not to be afraid of a few scratches or a little pain, Minnehaha, who was industriously wiping the blood from some wounds on her little white hands with her apron, said:

"How is it, Souwanas, that all these rosebushes and briers have such sharp thorns on them?"

"I suppose Mary would say that Nanahboozhoo, the rascal, had something to do with it," put in Sagastao.

At this reference to Mary there was a mischievous twinkle in the eyes of the old Indian.

"Yes," he replied, "Nanahboozhoo had lots to do with it, and yet when you hear the story you will see that he was not such a rascal at the time he did it as Mary would make out, but almost as good as her pet, Wakonda, who gave the bees their stings."

"O tell us all about it now," said Minnehaha. "We have this forenoon as a half holiday, and papa is to join us in about an hour for a walk in the woods."

The kind-hearted old Indian had been pleased with the plucky way in which the children had slighted their wounded hands, and before he began his story he acted the part of the skillful physician. He found some soft juicy leaves which he crushed and spread on the ugly red scratches. The effect was magical, and the children who had so bravely treated their wounds with indifference gratefully acknowledged the sudden cessation of the smart.

Selecting a pretty spot under a clump of balsam trees, where some boulder-like stones afforded them comfortable seats, the children cuddled down with their old friend, to hear how the roses got their thorns.

"Long ago the roses were the most abundant of flowers, but they grew on bushes that were smooth and fragrant, and such delicious eating that all the animals that eat grass or browse were constantly seeking for and devouring not only the rose flowers but also the bushes on which they grew. The result was that the roses of all kinds were in danger of being exterminated. In those days trees and flowers and other things had greater powers of thinking and acting than they have now, and so the roses of different kinds met in council to decide what could be done to preserve those of them that were still left in existence. It was decided that a deputation of them should be sent to Nanahboozhoo to implore his assistance.

"He is such an eccentric fellow, and assumes so many disguises, that they had a good deal of difficulty in finding him. They traveled long distances, and inquired of the various wild animals they met and even consulted the trees and hills. At length they were informed that he was now living in a valley among the mountains and experimenting as a gardener. They hurried away as fast as the fierce wind which they had hired to carry them could blow them along. At first when they reached his abode they were very much frightened, as it was easy to observe from the loud angry tones in which Nanahboozhoo, although afar off, was speaking, that he was in a great rage. However, they had come too far to be easily discouraged. They quietly drew near, and hiding behind some dense balsam trees they carefully listened to find out the cause of his anger. Fortunately, they could not have come at a better time for themselves, for it seems that Nanahboozhoo had become very much interested in his work as a gardener. All the things he had planted had grown so well that in order to protect them from prowling wild animals he had set all around the garden a fine hedge of rosebushes. So many were required that Nanahboozhoo had been obliged to transplant bushes from a great distance around, for they did not grow so abundantly as formerly.

"The morning of the very day on which the deputation of the rosebushes arrived Nanahboozhoo had returned from one of his short adventures. Fancy his indignation at finding that in his absence all sorts of animals, from the rabbit to the mountain elk, had visited his abode, and had not only completely eaten that lovely hedge of rosebushes, but had also greatly injured the beautiful garden, of which he was so proud!

"When the deputation of roses understood the cause of his wrath they at once left their hiding places and, aided by a sudden puff of wind, came before Nanahboozhoo. The sight of them excited his curiosity, as it had seemed to him that every rosebush had been destroyed. Before he could say a word, however, the rosebushes, who were then able to talk, at once presented their petition and pleaded for his powerful assistance to save them from being exterminated by their enemies.

"Nanahboozhoo listened to their petition, and after some consultation with the rose bushes it was decided to cover the stocks and branches, up to the very beautiful flowers, with small thorn-like prickles, so that every animal henceforth would be afraid to either devour or closely approach them, as they had been accustomed to do in the past. With this protection granted them they were more than pleased, and so it now happens that roses of many kinds still exist in various parts of the world."

"Thank you very much for that story," said Minnehaha. "Even if Nanahboozhoo did put prickles on the rosebushes he was not a rascal, for we would not have had any roses at all but for what he did."

For a wonder, Sagastao was silent for a time; but at length he found something to say, and his words were a bit of a confession and promise of amendment:

"Now that I know why it is that the prickles are on the wild roses I'll not get mad even if my fingers bleed when I am gathering a bouquet for mother."

At this moment the two favorite dogs, Jack and Cuffy, came bounding up. By this the children knew that their father was not far behind, and they were not disappointed. At first he looked anxious when he saw the little hands wrapped up in green leaves, but as with merry laughs they told him what the leaves were for everything was bright again.

Souwanas was greeted very cordially, as usual, and assured that at the mission house he would find in the mistress a willing purchaser of his ducks and rabbits. The children were always interested in the game, although Minnehaha strongly declared that it was a pity to kill the pretty creatures. Souwanas and their father were chatting together while the children were turning the ducks and rabbits over.

"See what red eyes some of the ducks have," said Sagastao. "They look as though they had been crying."

"Guess you would have cried too," rather indignantly replied Minnehaha, "if you had been shot as they were."

"Huh!" he replied with a tinge of contempt, "how could they cry after being shot? I don't believe that is it at all. And, look here, Minnehaha, I am going also to ask why it is that, while all the rabbits were so white in winter, they are all now so brown in summer."

Quickly the resolve was carried out, and so, while Minnehaha was telling her father what a beautiful story they had heard about the roses, Sagastao, with his hand on the shoulder of the old Indian, who was seated on a rock, was eagerly firing at him his double-barreled question: "Why have some ducks such red eyes, and why are the rabbits white in winter and brown in summer?"

"Both done by Nanahboozhoo," said the old man with a smile, as he took his pipe out of his mouth.

"Hurrah for Nanahboozhoo!" shouted the lad.

This outburst on the part of Sagastao at once attracted the attention of the others to him and Minnehaha wanted to know what was the matter now.

"Why, did you not hear? Souwanas says that Nanahboozhoo gave the ducks the red eyes and makes the rabbits to be white in winter and brown in summer." Then turning to Souwanas he asked, "How does Nanahboozhoo do it?"

Here the father, while amused at the lad's enthusiasm, interposed, and said:

"You have already kept Souwanas a long time, and perhaps he is busy."

"Busy!" said the irrepressible Sagastao, who was shrewd beyond his years. "Busy! Why Souwanas would rather tell stories than do anything else—unless to smoke his pipe."

Then he glibly told Souwanas in Saulteaux what had passed between him and his father in English, and added, "Is that not so, Souwanas?"

The old Indian smiled, and said kindly:

"How can I help enjoying telling stories when I have such good little listeners?"

"But what about his dinner?" asked the kind-hearted Minnehaha. "If we keep him here telling stories he will be too late to get back to his wigwam for his dinner. I think we had better take him home with us."

This was quickly decided upon, and that there might be no mistake a piece of bark was quickly cut from a birch tree and a few lines written upon it telling the good mother in the home that they had met Souwanas, and that he was entertaining the children with Nanahboozhoo stories and would be with them to dinner. Then Jack, the great dog, was called and sent back with the missive, with orders to give it to his mistress.

As the dog dashed away homeward the mischievous Sagastao said:

"My! don't I wish I was in the kitchen when Mary hears that we are out here with Souwanas listening to stories about Nanahboozhoo! Won't she be hopping mad!"

"It will be better," said his father, "for Souwanas to tell his story than for you to make any further remarks of that kind."

At first Souwanas seemed to show some hesitancy in beginning his story in the presence of his missionary, and he whispered to Sagastao his fears that perhaps his father would not care for such trifles as Indian legends and stories.

With his usual bluntness, the lad declared:

"O, you don't know our father if you think that way about him. He loves nice stories as well as we do, and tells us lots of them; so go ahead, for you are going home to dinner with us."

Thus assured, the old man began:

"I will tell you to-day about how it is that the rabbits are white in winter.

"Long ago they were always brown, just like those that are lying there with the ducks. It is true that they increase very fast, but then it is very true that they have many enemies. They have not many ways to defend themselves against their foes, who are of so many kinds. Almost all the animals that live on flesh are always hunting for rabbits, and so are the foxes of all kinds, the wild cats, wolves, and wolverines, and even the little weasels and ermine. Then there are fierce birds—the eagle, the hawks of all kinds and the owls—that are always on the lookout for rabbits, young or old.

"The result was that with this war continually being waged against them the poor rabbits had a hard time of it, and especially in winter; for they found it very difficult to hide themselves when the leaves