stopped singing, the squirrel ceased chattering, and the rabbit sat up to listen. And the bluebird and robin and whippoorwill begged Chibiabos that he would teach them to sing as sweetly, but he could not, for he sang of the things they could not understand, of peace and love and freedom and undying life in the Islands of the Blessed. [Illustration: THE TEACHING OF AN INDIAN CHILD]. And then, too, the Indian mothers would tell their children the story of Wabun, the East Wind, who brought the morning to the earth, and chased away the darkness with his silver arrows, whose cheeks were crimson with the sunrise, and whose voice awoke the deer and the hunter; and yet, although the birds sang to him, and the flowers sent up their perfume to greet him, and "though the forests and rivers sang and shouted at his coming," still he was not happy, for he was alone in heaven. But one morning while the villages were still sleeping, and the fog lay on the rivers, Wabun, looking downward, saw a beautiful maiden walking all alone in a meadow, gathering water-flags and rushes. And each day after that the first thing he saw was the maiden's eyes, which looked like two blue lakes among the rushes, and he loved the beautiful maiden and wooed her with the sunshine of his smile, and whispered to her in the gentle breezes which sang through the trees, and at last he drew her to him and changed her to a star, and then he was no longer sad, but happy, for he was no longer alone in heaven, but with him was his bride, the beautiful Wabun-Annung, the Morning Star. And then the story of Kabibonokka, the North Wind, who dwelt among the icebergs and snow-drifts in the land of the White Rabbit; the North Wind, who in autumn "painted all the trees with scarlet and stained the leaves with red and yellow," and who drove the birds down to the land of the South Wind, ere he froze the rivers and lakes and ponds and sent the snow-flakes through the forest. And the story of Shawondassee, the South Wind, who dwelt in the land of summer, who sent the bluebirds and the robins and the swallows; and the smoke from his pipe "Filled the sky with haze and vapor, Filled the air with dreamy softness, Gave a twinkle to the water, Touched the rugged hills with smoothness, Brought the tender Indian Summer To the melancholy north-land."