rds, who kept it in the air for some time,
until it dropped.

The bear rushed to get it, but the martin darted after it and threw
it to the bat. By dodging and doubling, the bat kept it out of the way
of the swift deer. And now the game was close. The great deer could
not turn as quickly as the bat, and so he lost the game. The little
bat threw the ball between the posts and won the victory for the birds.

And the bear and the turtle, who had done the most bragging, did not
have a chance even to touch the ball.

For saving the ball when it dropped, the martin was given a gourd to
build his nest in. And he still has it, for you can often see a gourd
on a post near the Indian lodges.

GATHERING WILD RICE

"Have you seen the beautiful new canoe father has just finished?"
asked White Cloud.

"Seen it! I helped make it," answered Swift Elk. "I cut nearly all the
birch bark."

"Your father has it ready for the wild-rice harvest," said Good Bird.
"To-day I go to tie the stalks. You are to help me, White Cloud."

Nothing could have pleased the little girl better. All summer she had
hoped for this great pleasure. From a low hill near her home she had
watched the growth of the rice.

When the June berries were ripe, the first shoots came up near the
shore of the lake. In a few weeks the rice beds looked like beautiful
green islands in the water.

And when the yellow-green blossoms opened, she coaxed her father to
take her in his canoe to the rice plants. She picked the flowers,
shaded with reddish purple, and she saw the spreading mass of
blossoms, their straw-colored anthers moving with every breeze.

Swift Elk was very proud of the new canoe. He had made the paddles,
and had cut the forked sticks that would be needed to force the boat
through the shallow water.

"When the rice is ripe, I'll go with you and manage the boat," he said
to his mother. "When you come home to-night, White Cloud, bring some
green rice to parch for supper."

"I'll have some all ready for you," promised his sister. "You shoot a
deer to-day, and to-night we'll have a feast. We'll ask grandfather,
and perhaps he'll tell us a story."

Soon Good Bird was paddling rapidly toward the rice beds. It was a
beautiful morning, and White Cloud was as happy as any little girl
could ever be.

For many weeks she had helped her mother prepare the string for tying
the rice stalks. It was cut from the inner bark of the basswood tree.
The narro