Part 3 (1/2)

”Then she went home as if nothing had ever happened!”

THE FIREFLY DANCE

It is a summer evening. There is no moon, and the stars twinkle brightly in the sky. A half circle of Indian lodges fronts a small lake. Wide meadows slope to its sh.o.r.es.

All the air is alive with lights, twinkling, whirling, sparkling.

Thousands of fireflies are swarming above the gra.s.s.

The meadow is full of Indian boys and girls, little and big, dancing the firefly dance. Advancing and retreating, turning and twisting, bowing and whirling, they imitate the moving lights about them and above them.

In front of the lodges sit the warriors and the squaws looking on.

Good Bird is watching every move of her son. He is one of the most active dancers on the field.

”Look, Nokomis!” she says, ”No boy is straighter than your grandson, and there is no better dancer.”

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Fleet Deer says nothing, but he is thinking of the time when his son will take part in the war dance of his tribe.

Little White Cloud stands by her mother. She has known three winters and is now a chubby, pretty little Indian girl.

Suddenly she begins to imitate her brother. She throws out her tiny brown arms, turns round and round, jumps and bows, while Nokomis and Good Bird shout with laughter.

Listen! the children are singing. What do they say? It is the song of the fireflies that we hear.

Nokomis has chanted the same words and melody for many a lullaby, and she keeps time, singing the same song:

”Wau wau tay see, wau wau tay see, Flitting white fire insect, Waving white fire bug, Give me light before I go to bed, Give me light before I go to sleep!

Come, little dancing white fire bug, Come, little flitting white fire beast, Light me with your bright white flame, Light me with your little candle.”

SWIFT ELK, THE INDIAN BOY

Four years have pa.s.sed since the summer evening when Good Bird watched her children in the firefly dance. Her son, Swift Elk, is now a tall, straight lad of eleven winters. His sister, four years younger, is a st.u.r.dy little girl, already able to help her mother in many ways.

The boy is the pride of the lodge. From his earliest babyhood he has been trained to be strong and fearless.

”Lay him very straight,” his father used to say when the baby boy was placed on his cradle board. ”Do not make his bed too soft. My son must grow tall and strong, for he will sometime be a great warrior.”

Since he could first walk he has gone with his father each day to the lake to take an early morning bath. Like all Indians, he learned to swim when he was very small, and he loves to splash and dive and play in the water.

Do you suppose that Swift Elk dresses himself after his bath? He does not think clothing at all necessary except in winter.

Does he help his mother in her work about the lodge? Never! ”A boy does not do squaw's work,” he says. ”A boy must learn to hunt and shoot.”