e little toiling figures slowly coming
nearer, and the many twinkling lights across the snow.

"My mother gave a feast to-day," murmurs Tanagela, in her soft voice.
"There were so many people for us to serve--I could not come any sooner!
But see, grandmother! I have brought you some boiled rice and venison,"
she ends, proudly bringing out the heavy kettle from under her skin robe
as they enter the well-smoked lodge.

"Ah, ah!" exclaims the story-teller, whose old eyes brighten at the
sight of the good food. "We are to feast to-night, it seems; therefore I
shall tell you of a feast and what came after."

THE FESTIVAL OF THE LITTLE PEOPLE

The big voice of the Bumble-Bee was heard in every nook and corner of
the wood, and from end to end of the deep valley, for Unktomee, the
generous, was giving a feast, and the Bee was his herald, the crier of
the day.

"Ho, every creeper, every buzzer, all ye little people who fly without
feathers, come this day to the festival!" boomed the Bee. "All must
prepare to exhibit their best skill; the Toad, who can neither fly nor
run, his brother the Bullfrog, with his band of musicians, and even the
Flying-squirrel with the rest. Tanagela, the Humming-bird, will be the
judge of beauty, and the Bat will judge your skilful performance in the
air. That wise medicine-man, the Serpent, will also be there!"

So Unktomee's herald made the cedar-fringed gulches and pine-scented
hilltops fairly hum with his call.

It was in July, the Moon of Black Cherries, and the Little People
gathered in great numbers at the place of the Singing Waterfall, which
had been chosen for the meeting-place. The happy valley buzzed with
their million voices.

Then Unktomee, the prudent, saw fit to appoint certain warriors to keep
order at the festival. For many were present, therefore mishap or
injustice might be.

The Wolf was ordered to watch upon the surrounding hills, so that no
enemy should come near; and the Owl was appointed to keep order within
the camp, and especially to see that neither the Bat, the Night-hawk
nor the Swallow tribe were permitted to disturb the little insect
people.

The day opened well, with a chorus of praise from the great orchestra--a
sunrise song, opened by Ta-she-ya-ka, the Meadow-lark, in which even the
crickets joined, with their slender instruments.

Then came the contest of beauty, in which the Butterflies, in their
gauzy dresses of every color, won the first prize. Th