mal henceforth would be afraid to either devour or closely approach
them, as they had been accustomed to do in the past. With this protection
granted them they were more than pleased, and so it now happens that roses
of many kinds still exist in various parts of the world."

"Thank you very much for that story," said Minnehaha. "Even if Nanahboozhoo
did put prickles on the rosebushes he was not a rascal, for we would not
have had any roses at all but for what he did."

For a wonder, Sagastao was silent for a time; but at length he found
something to say, and his words were a bit of a confession and promise of
amendment:

"Now that I know why it is that the prickles are on the wild roses I'll not
get mad even if my fingers bleed when I am gathering a bouquet for mother."

At this moment the two favorite dogs, Jack and Cuffy, came bounding up. By
this the children knew that their father was not far behind, and they were
not disappointed. At first he looked anxious when he saw the little hands
wrapped up in green leaves, but as with merry laughs they told him what the
leaves were for everything was bright again.

Souwanas was greeted very cordially, as usual, and assured that at the
mission house he would find in the mistress a willing purchaser of his
ducks and rabbits. The children were always interested in the game,
although Minnehaha strongly declared that it was a pity to kill the pretty
creatures. Souwanas and their father were chatting together while the
children were turning the ducks and rabbits over.

"See what red eyes some of the ducks have," said Sagastao. "They look as
though they had been crying."

"Guess you would have cried too," rather indignantly replied Minnehaha, "if
you had been shot as they were."

"Huh!" he replied with a tinge of contempt, "how could they cry after being
shot? I don't believe that is it at all. And, look here, Minnehaha, I am
going also to ask why it is that, while all the rabbits were so white in
winter, they are all now so brown in summer."

Quickly the resolve was carried out, and so, while Minnehaha was telling
her father what a beautiful story they had heard about the roses, Sagastao,
with his hand on the shoulder of the old Indian, who was seated on a rock,
was eagerly firing at him his double-barreled question: "Why have some
ducks such red eyes, and why are the rabbits white in winter and brown in
summer?"

"Both done by Nanahboozhoo," said the old man with a smil