on of
their guests. She is proud of her husband's honorable position as the
village teacher, and makes all the children welcome, as they arrive,
with her shrill-voiced, cheerful greeting:

"Han, han; sit down, sit down; that is right, that is very right, my
grandchild!"

To-night the Humming-bird has come leading by the hand her small
brother, who stumbles along in his fringed, leathern leggings and
handsomely beaded moccasins, his chubby, solemn face finished off with
two long, black braids tied with strips of otter-skin. As he is inclined
to be restless and to talk out of season, she keeps him close beside
her.

"It is cold to-night!" he pipes up suddenly when all is quiet. "Why do
we not listen to these stories in the warm summer-time, elder sister?"

"Hush, my little brother!" Tanagela reproves him with a frightened look.
"Have you never heard that if the old stories are told in summer, the
snakes will creep into our beds?" she whispers fearfully.

"That is true, my granddaughter," assents the old man. "Yet we may tell
a legend of summer days to comfort the heart of the small brother!"

THE FROGS AND THE CRANE

In the heart of the woods there lay a cool, green pond. The shores of
the pond were set with ranks of tall bulrushes that waved crisply in
the wind, and in the shallow bays there were fleets of broad water lily
leaves. Among the rushes and reeds and in the quiet water there dwelt a
large tribe of Frogs.

On every warm night of spring, the voices of the Frogs arose in a
cheerful chorus. Some voices were low and deep--these were the oldest
and wisest of the Frogs; at least, they were old enough to have learned
wisdom. Some were high and shrill, and these were the voices of the
little Frogs who did not like to be reminded of the days when they had
tails and no legs.

"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!" croaked a very large
bullfrog, sitting in the shade of a water lily leaf.

"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!" replied a hoarse voice from
the opposite bank.

"Kerrump! kerrump! I'm chief of this pond!" boasted a third old Frog
from the furthest shore of the pond.

Now a long-legged white Crane was standing near by, well hidden by the
coarse grass that grew at the water's edge. He was very hungry that
evening, and when he heard the deep voice of the first Bullfrog he
stepped briskly up to him and made a quick pass under the broad leaf
with his long, cruel bill. The old Frog gave a