Now it began to be summer everywhere. The snow and ice melted away; the brook, which had been locked up under layers of ice, began to gurgle and laugh again; the green leaves came out on the trees, and even the flowers began to spring up in the woods. Wasewahto was perfectly happy. He grew plump and rosy, and he laughed with joy as he shot his arrows and threw the harpoon for fish. But the beaver and the moose came presently to think that perhaps they had meddled with things that were not their affair, and that if the Great Spirit had intended it to be summer all the time, he would not have tied it up in a bag part of the year. So they decided to correct their mistake; but when at last they had fixed upon a plan, they found they could not agree upon the length of time summer should be allowed out of its prison. So they called all the animals together and asked for their advice. Everyone had a different idea. Some advised a month, some ten, some eleven. At last up jumped an old frog, and holding out his webbed foot, with its four toes, so that all might see it, he croaked in his deep voice, “Have four--have four--have four--” over and over again, until he drowned out the voices of the others. His persistence so wearied them that at last they gave in to him and decided on four, as he wished. So now there are but four months of summer in the Northland, and little Wasewahto is perfectly happy during those days. Then he smiles all the time, as he works and plays. That is why the sunshine is so pleasant, and why the brooks seem to gurgle with joy in the summer time. But when the winter days come, and the cold rains of autumn fall, those are the tears of Wasewahto, sitting by the fire and weeping for his lost friend, the giant. The Feathered Bridegroom [Illustration: THE FAMILY SAT BEFORE ITS TENT] The Feathered Bridegroom Long, long ago, before the coming of the white man to the shores of America, there lived, far up in the north country, near the banks of a broad river, a squaw named Speckled Eagle, with her little son Running Buffalo and her beautiful daughter Deerfoot, a maiden of fifteen. Speckled Eagle was the widow of a great warrior and she determined that her daughter should never marry until there came to woo her some mighty chieftain of a powerful tribe. Many a young brave came to the tepee, for Deerfoot was as good as she was lovely. Many a one would have wed her, but none were ever rich or noble enough to please Speckled Eagle. But one day as the family sat before its tent, weaving mats of sweet grass, a white canoe came gliding down the broad river, and in it there sat a handsome stranger. He was clad all in white, in garments made of deer-skin, sewed over with beads and shells and trimmed with ermine tails.