r the narrow stream. One of the dogs plunged
after him, and out went the dolls and bark into the water.

The other dog shook himself free from his harness. The lodge poles he
was dragging turned upside down, holding the howling puppy in the mud.

"Oh, my puppy will drown!" cried White Cloud as she dashed down the
muddy banks in rescue.

"My dolls! My best dolls are spoiled!" mourned Flying Squirrel.

Soon the dogs were called back, everything found, the dolls bathed and
laid out to dry. Then the lodges were set up, and the children rested
in the sun.

As they looked about, White Cloud saw a feather lying on the grass.
It was painted, as if it had fallen from a warrior's bonnet.

"You had better take that feather to your father now," said Flying
Squirrel. "Perhaps there is going to be a war, and a spy has passed this
way. I am afraid. I shall pack all my things and go home with my dogs.

"Here, put this leaf around it and run to your mother. She will know
what to do."

Away ran White Cloud, holding a sprawling puppy in her arms and trying
to protect the feather, which she had concealed in a large leaf.

FINDING A WAR FEATHER

"Look, Mother; look at the big feather I have found. It is not like
the ones in my father's war bonnet."

Good Bird took the feather and examined it carefully.

"Where did you find it, White Cloud?" she asked.

"Near the little stream that runs into the lake. Flying Squirrel and I
have moved our dolls' lodges this morning."

"You must take the feather to your father at once. It may be that some
enemy is planning war and getting ready to surprise our camp.

"Then you must move your dolls and their lodge near by where I can see
you play. You may be in danger.

"Your father is spearing fish in the lake. Now run to him. Let no one
see the feather, and do not turn aside to talk to any one like the
little hare that did not mind its mother."

"When will you tell me the story of the hare?" asked White Cloud.

"Do not talk about stories now. Run along. You must not wait a minute.
I will watch you all the way. Your father, I think, will come back
with you."

White Cloud soon found her father. He left his fishing and returned
with his little daughter.

A council of the tribe was called, for the strange feather had been
dropped by no friendly Indian.

Then the medicine drum was beaten to call the people together. They
were told of the danger, and there was a great stir in the v