"

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to kill the great snake that eats the farmer's cattle."

"I'm very glad," said the sheep, "for it takes my lambs. How are you
going to kill it?"

"I don't know," said the pig; "can't you help me?"

"I'll give you some of my wool."

The pig thanked the sheep, and went a little farther and met a horse.
"He-ee-ee!" said the horse. That was his way of saying "How do you do?"
"Who are you?"

"I am the little Fire Pig."

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to kill the great snake that eats the farmer's cattle."

"I'm glad of that," said the horse; "for it steals my colts. How are you
going to do it?"

"I don't know," said the pig. "Can't you help me?"

"I'll give you some of the long hairs from my tail," said the horse.

The pig took them and thanked the horse. And when he went a little
farther he met a cow.

"Moo!" said the cow. That was her way of saying "How do you do?" "Who
are you?"

"I'm the little Fire Pig."

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to kill the great snake that eats the farmer's cattle."

"I am glad of that, for it steals my calves. How are you going to do
it?"

"I don't know. Can't you help me?"

"I'll give you one of my sharp horns," said the cow.

So the pig took it and thanked her. Then he spun and he twisted, and he
spun and he twisted, and made a strong woolen cord of the sheep's wool.
And he wove and he braided, and he wove and he braided, and made a
cunning snare of the horse's tail. And he whetted and sharpened, and he
whetted and sharpened, and made a keen dart of the cow's horn.

--Now when the little pig has all his materials ready, and sees the
great snake come gliding, gliding--I turn the situation over to the
children. What did he do with the rope, the snare and the horn? They
work it out each in his own way. There is a mighty wrangling all around
the hearth.

One day is never really like another, though it seems so.

Perhaps being used to the sight of the Iroquois at Lake George, makes it
impossible for me to imagine what the settlers dread, and that is an
attack. We are shut around by forests. In primitive life so much time
and strength go to the getting of food that we can think of little else.

It is as bad to slave at work as to slave at pleasure. But God may
forgive what people cannot help.

There is a very old woman among the settlers whom they call Granny. We
often sit together. She cannot get a gourd e