er, whose gaze is
fixed on her sleeping child, and her eyes glisten with the dew of joy
which wets the cheeks of those who meet long parted friends. Then she
would wander forth to search for the little berry whose flower is
yellow, and which requires keen eyes to find it in its hiding-place in
the grass, and the larger[A] which our white brother eats with his
buffalo-meat; and their progress, from the putting forth of the leaf to
the ripening of the fruit, was watched by her with eager joy. When tired
of gazing upon the pine and stunted poplar, she would lie down in the
shade of the creeping birch and dwarf willow, and sink to rest, and
dream dreams which were not tinged with the darkness of evil. The
sighing of the wind through the branches of the trees, and the murmur of
little streams through the thicket, were her music. Throughout the land
there was nothing to hurt her, or make her afraid, for there was nothing
in it that had life, save herself and the little flower which blooms
among thorns. And these two dwelt together like sisters.

[Footnote A: The cranberry.]

One day, when the mother of the world was out gathering berries, and
watching the growth of a young pine, which had sprung up near her friend
the flower, and threatened, as the flower said, "to take away the beams
of the sun from it," she was scared by the sight of a strange creature,
which ran upon four legs, and to all her questions answered nothing but
"Bow, wow, wow." To every question our mother asked, the creature made
the same answer, "bow, wow, wow." So she left off asking him questions,
for they were sure to be replied to in three words of a language she
could not understand. Did he ask for berries? no, for she offered him a
handful of the largest and juiciest which grew in the valley, and he
neither took them nor thanked her, unless "bow" meant "thank you." Was
he admiring the tall young pines, or the beautiful blossoms of the
cranberry, or the graceful bend of the willow, and asking her to join
him in his admiration? She knew not, and leaving him to his thoughts,
and to utter his strange words with none to reply, she returned to her
cave.

Scarcely was she seated on her bed of dried leaves when he came in, and,
wagging his tail, and muttering as before, lay down at her feet.
Occasionally he would look up into her face very kindly, and then drop
his head upon his paws. By and by he was fast asleep, and our mother,
who had done no evil action,