rs hide in their lodges; animals crawl
into their holes; and birds fly in fear.

"When my hand touches the earth, it grows cold and hard, and all life
dies. Begone! or I will make an ice man or a snow man of you."

But the young chieftain moved not. He only sat and smiled at the bluster
of the Old Man.

Slowly he filled a pipe, and handed it to the Old Man, saying, "Here,
smoke with me. It will give you strength to go to your lodge in the
North Sky. It is time for you to depart. You are old, and tired, and
worn. You and North Wind have had your day. The days that are to come
belong to South Wind and to me.

"I, too, am powerful, and I am young! I do not fear you. When I touch
the earth, it grows soft and warm. Every living thing stirs in its
sleep,--birds and bees, flowers and trees, animals and men. When I
speak, the sleeping sun awakes. See! already he begins to send down his
arrows. Hasten! that they may not find you, on the trail to the North
Sky."

The Old Man trembled. His legs and arms grew weak. Icicles fell from his
beard. Great tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Who are you?" he whispered, as he was melting at the young chieftain's
feet.

"I am _Go hay_--the Spring," answered the young chieftain. "All the
earth is glad, when I come to drive you back to your lodge in the North
Sky, for I bring sunshine, and love, and joy."

But the Old Man did not hear. He was far on the North Sky trail, and
Spring and South Wind were masters of earth.

[Illustration]

WHY LIGHTNING SOMETIMES STRIKES

An old man of the Iroquois nation once wished to make a beautiful Indian
maiden his wife. The old man had many rare furs and valued strings of
wampum. These he brought and laid at the door of the wigwam where the
maiden lived.

[Illustration]

The father and mother were pleased with the old man's gifts. They told
him that when the Planting Moon should come, the maiden should go to his
wigwam.

Now the maiden did not love the old man. She did not wish him to make
her his wife. "I will never sit at his wigwam door," she said.

It was midwinter, when the old man brought the gifts, the time of the
pale, cold moon. From that time, the maiden watched, with a heavy heart,
the moons wax and wane.

At last the snows disappeared. No more was the North Wind heard
shrieking about the lodge. The gentle South Wind had come, bringing with
him the singing birds.

The little brooks awoke and sang. They were happy that