es. "Don't you
know that the star in the crock is only a reflection of a real star above
your dear head in the sky? No one can really shoot a star, Willow Wand."

"But of course it is a real star, Fir Tree; we heard it splash as it fell
into the jar, my father and I. And I see it now; it has always been here
since that night. You are mistaken, Fir Tree."

Fir Tree rose and lifted up the jar, and, tipping the water out, said,
"See, I shall show you that Fir Tree is never mistaken. I shall empty the
crock. See, there is no star left in the jar, nor has any red star tumbled
out with the water onto the grass. Ah, your secret was very beautiful,
little Willow Wand, but now you know the truth. The truth, too, is
beautiful."

There was a little moan of anguish, and Willow Wand disappeared into the
darkness.

The next morning a tall squaw came out of Fir Tree's tepee. She picked up
the empty rain jar and with tired footsteps walked down to the spring for
water. She was dressed in the conventional clothing of her tribe, and her
face was dull and expressionless like the stones on the path over which
she walked. Down the long trail to the spring she walked. It was very,
very early, so the moon still shone and the little stars twinkled in the
sky. Often she looked at them, longing for her little red star.

Slowly she stooped, filled the jar, and lifted it to place it on her head
when suddenly she stopped, looked--then gave a cry of surprise and
delight, for there, shining clear as crystal in the water of the pail, was
the little red star.

Willow Wand set the jar carefully on the ground and then knelt long beside
it. How she loved the little red star! How happy she was to have it once
more beside her! And as she looked, the tired look left her face and a
smile of joy and peace took its place.

Picking up the jar, she looked once more into the clear cold water. Then
she said,

"Come, little star. Come with me to the wigwam of brave, strong Fir Tree.
Together we will make it the happiest wigwam in the encampment. You shall
still help me to be my best, for I shall still have a star."

-----

[B] Reprinted from the _Camp Fire Girls' Magazine_ by
permission. Revised by permission of the author.

THE TWO SEARCHERS

Peter was tired of doing the same thing over and over and he wanted a
change. Ever since he could remember he had fished and sold the fish he
had caught. He had made nets and mended them. First