The summer season rapidly nears an end. We have enjoyed ourselves watching the activities of our friends at work and at play. We have learned, too, some of the beliefs of our friends. Grandfather has told us stories about the great white bear with the copper tail who dwells underground and is the greatest power for evil. He has told the children how the “Indian Sandman,” a good-natured elf, would put people to sleep at night by hitting them on the head with a soft war club. We have learned, too, of the many spirits for good and evil who control the sun, moon, stars, winds, rain, thunder, and all the other phenomena of nature. One evening he pointed out the Milky Way and told us that this was the road over which the dead travelled to the land of the spirits. He also warned us about entering the woods alone at night because of the evil, living skeleton which haunts the forest paths seeking unwary men. [Illustration: TALES OF THE SPIRIT WORLD (PAINTING BY A. O. TIEMANN).] [Illustration: THE RICE GATHERER.] Autumn, the time for harvesting garden crops as well as various wild vegetable foods, is a season of hard work for all. Corn is the most important garden crop, and from time to time we have sampled the ripe grain. The women have served us some roasted on the cob, or the fresh kernels ground with a wooden mortar and pestle and served as a sort of porridge. The ripe corn is now gathered and the ears will be allowed to dry. The dried kernels can then be ground into a meal, as needed, since the dry corn will remain edible for a long time. Wild rice is the most important vegetable food provided for the Indians by nature. One day, in the middle of September, we all go a short distance up the river in our canoes and enter a small lake. Here the wild grain grows in great quantities. The men selected by the chief to determine when the rice is ready to be gathered have already given us the signal that the grain is ripe. We learn, however, that one more function is required before we can proceed with the harvesting of the rice. The chief medicine man of our village approaches the edge of the water and blows tobacco smoke towards the heavens as an offering to his “Grandfather,” the “Master of the Rice.” He then buries a small portion of tobacco in the ground, and we are ready to proceed. In each canoe, as the man poles the boat slowly through the rice, the woman, who sits facing the man, pulls the stalks over the canoe with one cedar stick, while with another stick she beats the ripe grain into the boat. When the canoes are full, we head back for camp where the rice is spread out to dry.