his grandfather, who got it
from his grandfather, who had one time visited the great mountain where
Little Chief's ever-so-great-grandfather lived in the very place where
Little Chief lives now. Old Man Coyote had chased Peter into the dear
Old Briar-patch one cold winter day, and as he peered through the
brambles at Peter he noticed that Peter was very thin, very thin indeed.
Old Man Coyote grinned.

"I'm just as well pleased not to have caught you this time, Peter," said
he. "You wouldn't make much of a dinner just now. When I dine I want
something more than skin and bones. It must be that you are having as
hard work as I am to get a living these days."

"I am," replied Peter. "With all this snow and ice on the ground, there
is nothing to eat but bark and such tender twigs as I can reach, and
they are not very filling. But they'll keep me alive until better times
come, and then perhaps I'll get fat enough to suit you." It was Peter's
turn to grin.

Old Man Coyote grinned back good-naturedly. "I should think, Peter,"
said he, "that when there is so much sweet grass and clover in the
summer, you would make some of it into hay and store it away for winter,
as Little Chief Hare does. There's the thrifty little hay-maker for
you!"

"Who is Little Chief, and where did he learn to make hay?" demanded
Peter, his ears standing straight up with curiosity.

Old Man Coyote likes to tell a story once in a while, and having nothing
else to do just then, he sat down just outside the dear Old Briar-patch
and told Peter all about Little Chief and his hay-making.

"Of course," said he, "Little Chief's father taught him how to make hay,
and his father's father taught him, and so on way back to the days when
the world was young and Old Mother Nature made the first Pika or Coney,
whichever you please to call him, and set him free on a great mountain
to prove whether he was worthy to live or was so helpless that there was
no place for him in the Great World. Now Mr. Pika, who was promptly
called Little Chief, no one remembers now just why, was exactly like
Little Chief of today. He was just about a fourth as big as you, Peter.
In fact, he looked a lot like one of your babies, excepting his legs and
his ears. His legs were short and rather weak, and his ears were short
and rounded. He was very gentle and timid. He had neither the kind of
teeth and claws for fighting nor long legs for running away, and it did
seem as if Little Chief's