e shoots the sky.'
Now you shall be called 'Little Shooter.'"

Little Shooter grew to be a man. He went often on the chase, but his
arrows did not bring much game.

Many times, he wished he could meet the little elf man again, and trade
bow and arrows, for sometimes he ran for days and found no track of deer
or rabbit. But the little elf man never came.

One day, when Little Shooter had grown to be quite an old man, he was
walking in the woods. He stopped under a tree to rest. Several times he
felt something fall on his head.

At last he looked up to see what it was.

There sat the little elf man, swinging on the tip of a branch, and
throwing nuts and twigs at him. He looked just as he did when Little
Shooter met him by the stream long before. He had not grown old or
changed at all.

"How long have you been here?" asked Little Shooter.

"I have always been here," said the little man. "I have been in the
world ever since the stones were soft."

Then he laughed, and asked, "Does Little Shooter now like big bow and
arrows best, or has he learned that sometimes small things are great?
Next time, he had better trade with the little man," and aiming another
nut at Little Shooter's head, he disappeared in the tree trunk.

[Illustration]

HOW AN INDIAN BOY WON HIS NAME

It was bluebird time, many moons ago. Little brooks laughed and danced,
and all the forest was glad.

An Indian boy came running through the forest. He, too, was glad, for it
was spring!

As he ran down the trail, he saw something hanging from a bush. The bush
was but a few rabbit jumps from the trail, so he stopped to see what new
flower the spring had brought. He found the new flower to be a tiny
papoose cradle.

The boy picked the cradle from the bush, and held it in the palm of his
hand. As he looked closer, he saw that there was a tiny papoose in the
little cradle. The wee papoose laughed in his face, as he spoke to it.

The boy had never seen so tiny a papoose, and he thought he would take
it home to his mother, it was so cunning. She had but nine of her own.
He was sure she would like one more, and that there would be a place for
the tiny stranger in their wigwam.

He started to run on down the trail, but something seemed to hold him
fast. He could not get away. Three times he tried to run, but each time
he only circled round that bush. Something held him to the spot.

Just then there came a sharp cry from up the trail. The b