m your hiding-place. As the stranger comes
near, the crouching Dog sees that it is one of his own kind, and that it
is needless to hide any longer; indeed, that it is impossible to remain
hidden. So the moment the stranger stops and looks at the crouching Dog,
the latter stands straight up on all fours, raises his tail up high, and
wags the white tip from side to side in the sign which means, "Let's be
friends."

Every Dog knows the sign, every Dog in every town does it yet; every boy
has seen it a thousand times. We flatter ourselves that we invented the
wig-wag code with our little white flag. Maybe so; but the Dog had it
long before we did.

TALE 68

Why the Dog Turns Around Three Times Before Lying Down

Yes, they all do it; the big St. Bernard, the foolish littlest lap Dog,
the ragged street Dog; give them bare boards, or a silken cushion, or
snow, three turns around and down they go.

Why? Not so hard to answer as some simple questions. Long, long ago, the
wild great-great-grandfather of the Dog--a yellow creature with black
hair sprinkled on his back, sharp ears, light spots over his eyes, and a
white tail-tip--used to live in the woods, or on the prairies. He did
not have a home to which he might return every time he wanted to rest
or sleep; so he camped wherever he found himself, on the plains, in a
thicket, or even in some hole in a rock; and he carried his bedclothes
on his back. But he always found it worth while to add a little comfort
by smoothing the grass, the leaves, the twigs, or the pebbles before
lying down; and the simplest way to do this was by curling up, and
turning round three times, with the body brushing the high grass or
pebbles into a comfortable shape for a bed.

Yes, and they all do it to-day just the same, big and little, which is
only one of the many proofs that they are descended from the same
wild-wood great-grandfather, and still remember his habits.

TALE 69

The Deathcup of Diablo

[Illustration: The Deathcup Toadstool]

The world went very well in those bright days of the long ago, when the
wedding of El Sol and Maka Ina set all living things rejoicing. Green
youth and sparkling happiness were everywhere. Only one there
was--Diablo--who found in it poor comfort. He had no pleasure in the
growing grass. The buttercups annoyed him with the gayness of their
gold. It was at this time he chewed their stalks, so that many ever
since have been flattened and mangled. And t