nt flowers in his hand.

"Ah, my son," said the old man, "I am happy to see you. Come in! Tell me
your adventures, and what strange lands you have seen. I will tell you
of my wonderful deeds, and what I can perform. You shall do the same,
and we will amuse each other."

The old man then drew from a bag a curiously wrought pipe. He filled it
with mild tobacco, and handed it to his guest. They each smoked from the
pipe and then began their stories.

"I am Peboan, the Spirit of Winter," said the old man. "I blow my
breath, and the streams stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as
clear stone."

"I am Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring," answered the youth. "I breathe,
and flowers spring up in the meadows and woods."

"I shake my locks," said the old man, "and snow covers the land. The
leaves fall from the trees, and my breath blows them away. The birds fly
to a distant land, and the animals hide themselves from the cold."

"I shake my ringlets," said the young man, "and warm showers of soft
rain fall upon the earth. The flowers lift their heads from the ground,
the grass grows thick and green. My voice recalls the birds, and they
come flying joyfully from the Southland. The warmth of my breath unbinds
the streams, and they sing the songs of summer. Music fills the groves
where-ever I walk, and all nature rejoices."

And while they were talking thus a wonderful change took place. The sun
began to rise. A gentle warmth stole over the place. Peboan, the Spirit
of Winter, became silent. His head drooped, and the snow outside the
lodge melted away. Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, grew more radiant, and
rose joyfully to his feet. The robin and the bluebird began to sing on
the top of the lodge. The stream began to murmur at the door, and the
fragrance of opening flowers came softly on the breeze.

The lodge faded away, and Peboan sank down and dissolved into tiny
streams of water, that vanished under the brown leaves of the forest.
Thus the Spirit of Winter departed, and where he had melted away, there
the Indian children gathered the first blossoms, fragrant and delicately
pink,--the modest Spring Beauty.

THE FAIRY TULIPS

ENGLISH FOLK-TALE

Once upon a time there was a good old woman who lived in a little house.
She had in her garden a bed of beautiful striped tulips.

One night she was wakened by the sounds of sweet singing and of babies
laughing. She looked out at the window. The sounds seemed to come f