FABLE AND FOLKLORE 275 



That night the Mountain dreamed of this, and sent his 

 son to demand Mipis, and the Storm gave him up, so 

 that soon Little Leaf was back on his safe mountain- 

 tree — but he lived in lonely grief. 



His life was gone with the Little Fire, 

 And the fire of his life was all in ashes. 



How then had it fared with the lost Red Bird ? When 

 she fell under the boy's arrow she was not killed but 

 sorely wounded ; and when the young Indian carried her 

 home, very proud of his prize, his grandsire said truly 

 that the bird must be kept captive. Red Bird recovered 

 rapidly, and one morning Monimquess was dismayed 

 to hear her singing as loudly as possible, "like a brook 

 to sunshine," as he thought, for he knew she was trying 

 to make herself heard by the Mountain, and that if she 

 succeeded destruction would be hurled upon the wig- 

 wam. At last, wearied with anxious thinking — 



Down by the fire he lay on a bearskin 



Smoking himself into silent sleep. 



The door was closed, nor was there a crevice 



Through which the Red Bird could creep to freedom, 



When all at once she thought of the opening 



Through which the smoke from the fire ascended, 



Ever upward so densely pouring 



Nobody dreamed she would dare to pass it. 



As the head of Monimquess drooped on his shoulder. . . . 



Softly the Red Bird rose, and taking 



A birchen bucket filled it with water. 



Dipping her wing in the water she sprayed it 



Little by little upon the fire. 



Little by little the fire, like Monimquess, 



Sank to sleep, and the bright red flame 



Lay down to rest in the dull gray ashes. 



Out of the smoke-hole, in careful silence, 



Flitted Squ'tes. . . . 



