ple berries. She
does not pick them as we do, but breaks off long branches loaded with
fruit. Then, with a heavy stick, she beats the branch and the berries
fall on a large skin that is spread on the ground.

For dinner Good Bird has only dried meat and the sweet, juicy berries.
But she does not think of wishing for more.

At last the ripe fruit is gathered. The baby is fretting, and the
mother takes the cradle from the tree top. She unlaces the bag and
lays the little one on the warm grass.

Now the fruit must be packed and tied and the large skin be rolled
up. While the mother works the child grows restless and cries. You can
never guess why. She is asking in baby language to be put back on her
stiff board!

Very soon Good Bird is ready and, with the cradle and bags strapped to
her back, she starts for home. Other berry pickers loaded with fruit
join her, and together they walk the trail that leads back to the camp.

Nokomis is watching for the baby. She lifts the cradle and hangs it to
the lodge pole. The little one is restless. She turns her head from
side to side, her black eyes shining.

Then the grandmother sings the owl song in which Indian babies delight:

"Ah wa nain, ah wa nain,
Who is this, who is this,
Giving light, light bringing
To the roof of my lodge?"

The singer changes her voice to imitate a little screech owl and
answers:

"It is I--the little owl--
Coming
Down! down! down!"

As she sings, she springs toward the baby and down goes the little
head. How the papoose laughs and crows! Again Nokomis sings:

"Who is this, eyelight bringing,
To the roof of my lodge?
It is I, hither swinging--
Dodge, baby, dodge."

Over and over the lullaby is sung, now softer and now slower. The
eyelids droop, and the little one is quiet.

NOKOMIS TELLS A STORY

Good Bird had prepared the evening meal, but no one came to eat it.
Her husband, Fleet Deer, was late in returning from the hunt, and her
little son was still shouting and running with his boy playmates.

The tired baby slept, and the two women sat outside the wigwam in the
warm June evening.

"Now that I have a little daughter, I must learn all your stories,
Nokomis," said Good Bird. "Suppose you tell one while we wait."

"I heard a new one last moon," answered Nokomis. "Our village
story-teller has traveled far from our camp. He visited another tribe
and heard all their s