Then the Chief took his daughter in his arms and hastened back to his tribe. But each day she grew more and more sorrowful, and longed for her husband, the Wind. For many hours the Wind lay unconscious beside his lodge. When he awakened, the Chief and his daughter had gone. Sorrowfully he set out in search of his wife. He traveled to her father’s tribe, and there at last he found her. But she was in a canoe with her father, far out upon the lake. Then the Wind cried, “Come to me, my loved one,” and his voice swept out over the water. The Chief said, “The winds are blowing,” but his daughter knew her husband’s voice. She could not see him, for he was still invisible, but she lifted herself up in the canoe and stretched out her hands toward the shore. As she did so a breeze stirred the water, and the canoe overturned. The Chief’s daughter threw up her arms, and the Wind tried to catch her in his embrace, but he was too late. The Great Spirit bore her far up into the sky, and there he gave her a home where she would live forever in the lodge of the moon. [Illustration: “THE WIND TRIED TO CATCH HER IN HIS EMBRACE”] The great Chief was drowned in the waters of the lake. Night after night his daughter looks down upon the earth, hoping for a sight of her lost lover. But though the Wind still roams about the earth in search of his bride, he has never, since the Chief’s blow fell upon his head, had the power to become visible to men. And now you will understand why the voice of the Wind is so mournful as it wails about the wigwam; and why the Moon Maiden’s pale face is always turned downward toward the earth. STORY OF THE HUMMING BIRD (Shoshonee) “SEE!” said the Indian grandfather, as he sat in the opening of his tepee. “See the little Fire Bird! How swiftly it darts! Now it drinks honey from the flowers. How fast its wings move!” A little Indian boy stood quietly at his grandfather’s side. “I see the fire on its throat,” he said softly, and then, as the bird darted away, he begged, “Tell me the story of the little Fire Bird, grandfather. I like the story.” Then the grandfather told this tale, which his grandfather had told to him: Long, long ago the Indian people lived in a country where it was cold, and the snow fell for many, many days. The falling snow covered the tracks of the forest children, so the hunters could find little meat. Many times the Indian children cried to the Great Spirit for warmth, and for better hunting. Far to the west of the Indian village there was a high mountain; and often the people watched the red sun as he sank from sight beyond the mountain, and all the sky was filled with brightness. One night a little child went running about the tepees calling, “Come, come; see the sun! See the sun!” The people looked toward the west. All the sky was bright; and they said, “The sun is touching the mountain top.”